Chapter Text

The best part about visiting her cousins, Penelope decided, was the ride home.

Unfortunately, she was currently riding towards their palace, not away from it. She was surrounded by her father, two of her brothers, and an armed guard as they paraded through her beloved city. They slowly wound their way through the narrow cobbled streets, waving at their people as they smiled from their doors and windows. Soon they crossed the dividing line into her uncle’s kingdom. Then they waved at his people as well. 

Her father and uncle both ruled in Sparta, dividing the city in two. The roads were lined with small white-washed stone houses topped with low clay tile roofs, with small gutters on either side to carry away the filth of living. Sadly, it was only carried away in the rain, and the rainy season was still a moon cycle away. 

Penelope hated the smell of the roads. However, the blue of the sky was just as beautiful here as it was from her balcony at home, and each tree that threw shade in their path was just as welcome as her favorite olive tree that adorned the women’s courtyard just outside her bedroom. Well, perhaps not quite as welcome, since Penelope would happily have climbed into that olive tree and these birches could only be ridden past. She did love to see the people, though, and tried to focus on them instead of the smells. And their destination.

As they climbed the hill to her uncle’s palace, their party was met by a contingent of his guards. They were guided through the palace walls, where servants took their horses. Penelope watched her mount as the mare was led away. There went her escape, she thought. There was little chance of her uncle allowing her to ride while she was here. Her cousins were only allowed in carriages and wagons, never astride a horse.

She reminded herself sternly that she was here to be charming and help entertain her cousins while the business of Helen’s suitors was being conducted. “Charming” was not actually one of her many talents, but she could always try. Perhaps her father was providing an opportunity to learn how to be charming from her cousins. She smirked. No one had been able to teach her so far.

The entire party was led into an inner courtyard, where they were welcomed by King Tyndareus. He was tall, much like her father, though much more solidly built. Her father, King Icarius, had the build of a runner. Tyndareus, though, was more of a warrior than a sportsman, she could see. Before she could compare the two brothers much more, she was summarily excused and escorted away to the women’s rooms by a group of female servants. 

The women’s rooms were up a flight of stairs. Penelope felt a bit overwhelmed by the onslaught of color: each room was intricately adorned with tile mosaics and tapestries, and the walls themselves were painted bright colors: orange, teal, and even bright red. It didn’t seem to matter which color was used, as long as it was vibrant and contrasted well with the textiles and tilework. Her palace on the other side of Sparta was much simpler; she preferred rooms to flow into one another, and so would use a sky blue in one room that led to a soft teal in the next, and then to a faded green. She hoped the extreme colors wouldn’t give her a headache.

The women’s rooms included a large courtyard that was open to the sky, a workroom, and a long balcony that oversaw the play yard where men were competing and training. A small corridor led to the bedrooms. Penelope wondered if this would be her world while she was here. She was accustomed to having the run of her palace, both men’s and women’s rooms, but she did know how unusual that was.

Penelope was taken to the workroom first, which was a large rectangular room. Tables and settees were arranged throughout the room to accommodate many different entertainments and activities. A table was set up for painting and carving the spinning and weaving tools; two standing looms took up one entire short wall; a corner was dedicated to a pile of wool next to spinning implements that were hung on a wall; and a pair of lutes rested forlornly against an empty bench. There were also tables holding water, wine, and several different foods: dried and fresh fruits, breads, and even a selection of cheeses. 

“Penelope!” Her Aunt Leda stood from a reclining settee and welcomed her with a stilted embrace and a kiss to her cheek. Aunt Leda was tall and stately, with long black hair that was currently unbound. Her flounced skirts were bright blue and a short yellow tunic was clasped along her arms with beautiful jade pins. 

Aunt Leda waved to her girls, who were lounging across the room. Helen, with her halo of red-gold hair and turquoise eyes, was stunning. She looked tired, though, and her red lips pouted in what Penelope could only assume was boredom. At Penelope’s entrance, she brightened a little and came across the room to greet her with a hug and a kiss on each cheek. Clytemnestra, a shorter version of her mother, smiled at her from across the room, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her teeth were crooked, and at this angle she looked like a feral cat, ready to sink her fangs into her latest meal. She did not bother to rise.

“Penelope, it has been so long since you have come to visit us,” Clytemnestra complained idly. “Is the other side of Sparta so interesting that you cannot spare us a day or two each moon?”

Penelope forced a smile. It was true, she tended to make excuses so she only had to visit once or twice a year. She preferred the company of her brothers to these two: they were straight-forward, engaging boys. Helen and Clystemnestra loved gossip and dancing, both of which Penelope did not excel at or even enjoy. Penelope always felt like there were several layers to each word they spoke and she grew quickly exhausted trying to untangle the meaning and stories behind them.

She did realize, though, that this was a skill she needed to learn. She was too much around men, who often just said what they thought. So she resigned herself to her fate. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here as much as I’ve wanted. I’ve had so much to do!”

Aunt Leda looked reprovingly at her girls. “Remember girls, Penelope has to be the woman of her palace. She has many responsibilities.” Leda frowned at her bored girls. “Perhaps we should spin as we exchange news,” she suggested.

Her cousins groaned and Penelope hid her smile as she went to gather the wool and spinning tools. There were always drop spindles and wool available in almost every room, as everyone was expected to contribute to spinning thread when time allowed. Even the men, although they frequently didn’t have - or make - the time. She found a basket, filled it with fluffy clean wool, and took it with some spindles for herself and her cousins. Aunt Leda held out her hand for one as well, so Penelope returned to fetch another of the ornate tools. 

Helen smiled again, looking thankful for something to do. Penelope couldn’t stop the ungracious thought that ran through her mind: she could have taken up any of the activities available instead of pouting on a couch. Her cousins, though, did appear to love lazing about. Penelope always liked to have her hands and mind busy.

She studied her chosen spindle for a moment, appreciating the drawings along the edge and the gilt worked into the design of women gathering herbs and pounding them into poultices. Aunt Leda smiled, “I think that one was done by a friend of Helen’s, wasn’t it?” She showed Penelope hers, which didn’t have gilt workings but was a skillful rendition of women weaving. “This was Helen’s work, and Clytemnestra has the one she did.”

Clytemnestra held out hers. It was colorful, but there wasn’t any pattern to speak of; just dyed alternating sections of blue and yellow. “Simple,” she said, “but it works just the same as the others.”

Helen giggled. “Clytemnestra would rather spin than decorate, though I’m exactly the opposite.” The sisters forced a smile towards each other. Penelope marveled that they were twins, as she often did. They seemed to have so little in common. Penelope hummed to herself as she pulled a tuft of wool and started her spinning.

Aunt Leda asked, “What stories can you tell us of the other side of Sparta, Penelope?”

Penelope began with stories of her brothers. Little Aletes, the youngest, was learning the bow, though he was almost smaller than the smallest one they owned. He loved it so much, though, he would often be found sleeping with it. Perious and Thoas, the oldest two boys, were picking up statecraft with her father. She was lucky enough to sit in on some of these sessions. She did not tell her cousins that her father’s favorite classroom was the running track, or that she would join her brothers and father for running almost every day. They probably only saw their father on special occasions.

Her father loved to run. He also loved to have all his children run with him, although only Penelope and Semus enjoyed the running; the others only joined because it was expected of them.

That only left Semus and Damasippus, the middle two boys, who were picking up a new weapon every day, or so it seemed. They were  done with being babied by their sister but not yet ready for the topics the older children were learning, so she spent the least time with them.

Aunt Leda paused in her spinning to pull another piece of wool from the basket. “And your father? Has he yet decided to take a bride?”

Penelope bit her lip. At least her aunt had waited to ask until she had finished with tales of her brothers. The family - and probably many others - were always wondering if he was waiting for Clytemnestra or Helen to be old enough to marry, or if he had his sights set on another one of the eligible young ladies. They had likely been surprised he did not arrive with the other suitors now thronging the palace for Helen. Penelope shook her head, murmuring, “He is still most devoted to my mother, Aunt Leda.”

Clytemnestra snorted. “A naiad? They are about as loyal as a snake. How is your father even sure you’re his?”

Aunt Leda reached over and smacked her daughter. “That is enough Clytemnestra.” Clytemnestra scowled, but kept her head down and worked furiously at her spinning. Helen tried to hide a grin but was unsuccessful. Aunt Leda ignored it and went back to her own spinning.

Penelope tried to change the subject by asking Helen, “How are you enjoying the competitions?” She saw Aunt Leda smile grimly at her and nod approvingly as Helen began talking about the suitors and their pursuits. Clytemnestra made a point of sighing loudly and rolling her eyes. The topic of suitors had already worn thin with her.

The suitors were from all over the Aegean and Ionian seas. King Tyndareus had announced that Helen was ready to marry, and every eligible bachelor with any title or property to speak of had shown up. There were kings, princes, and other wealthy men, all who wanted a beautiful wife from a lineage that they all coveted. They had been in attendance for a half span of the moon, and the girls’ father had been setting out competitions for them each day to prove their worth.

Penelope stole looks at Clytemnestra as Helen prattled along. It must have been annoying at best that Helen was being paraded around for marriage while Clytemnestra played the handmaiden. Clytemnestra did shoot poisonous glares at her twin occasionally, but seemed to be trying to ignore the conversation.

Helen set aside her spinning - still not even begun - and pulled Penelope with her out to the balcony. They could see several men lining up with their bows, targets far away at the other end of the field. They were all bare chested with simple skirts about their hips and sandals on their feet. Their hair was free, and most of them wore it long. 

“Look,” Helen said softly. Even though their voices could not possibly carry to the field without shouting, Helen was careful to keep her voice low. “The first man, just there - he is very skilled. He is a prince of Salamis Island, Teucer, son of King Telemon. His half-brother is the second man - the large man. He is Ajax the Greater, also known as Telemonian Ajax.”

Penelope agreed, Ajax the Greater was indeed large. Taller than all of the assembled men, he also resembled a bear with his broad chest and dark coloring. 

“The other Ajax is there,” she said, pointing farther down the line to a thinner man who was much shorter than even Teucer. He looked wiry and quick even at this distance. “He is Oilean Ajax, or Lesser Ajax. I do think it is unfair to call him “lesser,” though - he has shown himself to be a very strong competitor. You probably have met Agamemnon, haven’t you?” Helen pointed at the man next to Greater Ajax. He was almost as tall as Ajax, though not quite as broad. He was also dark, with light skin and a thick beard.

When Penelope shook her head in the negative, Helen looked surprised. “You must not have visited us when he and his brother Menelaus were being sheltered here. They were in exile while their uncle had the throne in Mycenae. Terrible business, but Agamemnon holds the throne now.”

The archers pulled up their bows and shot. Teucer’s went directly to the center of his target, as did the man next to Agamemnon, whom Helen had not introduced yet. The other men had varying degrees of success; both Ajaxes were on the target but not centered. Agamemnon’s arrow had glanced off the side and he was waving his hands in the air - probably something about a stray breeze, no doubt. The slaves were already retrieving the arrows so the men could shoot again.

“The other perfect shot,” Helen said without needing to be asked, “was from Odysseus, son of Laertes. He is the King of Ithaca.”

“Where is that?” Penelope hadn’t even heard of Ithaca, which meant it was probably an island and not on the Peloponnese, the large peninsula at the base of the mainland.

“To the west. I believe the kingdom includes several islands and part of the peninsula, but I am not entirely sure. Ithaca is the primary island, or at least the island where the palace is located.” She shrugged, obviously uninterested. 

Penelope looked at him again. Shorter than Agamemnon, Greater Ajax and Teucer, but certainly not short. Built strongly like a warrior - he probably had many more skills than just archery. Dark hair, olive skin. She thought him handsome, certainly more so than some of the others. She looked sideways at Helen, who seemed to be more interested in some of the taller men such as Greater Ajax and a blonde farther down the line. 

She listened as Helen told her each of their pedigrees. “Helen, are you partial to any of them?” she asked once they had been discussed.

“None on the field,” she sighed.

Clytemnestra joined them. Penelope had been half listening to Aunt Leda chide her on her lack of work, her terrible posture, and anything else she could think to criticize. It was not surprising that she had decided to leave her mother’s harping and come to the balcony instead. 

Penelope saw one of the archers look at the balcony and nudge his neighbor. They both turned and waved. Several of the other men turned as well, before being called to order. She wondered at what they thought: all three girls were fairly tall for women. Helen, with her curves, red-gold hair, and turquoise eyes was stunning, which often caused even women to stop and stare. Clytemnestra, willowy with flashing dark eyes and long black hair was also arresting with her barbed words and sly smile. And then there was Penelope. Some might call her willowy from a distance, but really she was muscle and sinew. Her eyes were blue-gray, pretty enough on their own she supposed, but they looked washed out and dull next to her cousins. And her own hair was blonde, but not shining or metallic - just a dull blonde. Like the fine dust that lay on the roadsides.

Aunt Leda set aside her spinning and shortly remarked, “Have a good afternoon, girls. I may or may not join you for dinner, so do not wait for me.” She left with a few slaves in tow and both girls sighed in relief.

Helen excused herself, “Since Mother is gone, I think I will lay down.” She happily returned to her lounging, handing her spinning - what there was of it - to a slave to finish.

Clytemnestra watched her sister for a moment, shaking her head slightly, then turned to see the men shoot off another volley. Again, Teucer and Odysseus’s arrows were dead center. Another far down the line also hit center. Clytemnestra was watching someone else, though. A tall man with a generally pleasing face and not much bulk. Perhaps more of a runner like father, thought Penelope.

“Who is that?” she asked, wondering who could have caught Clytemnestra’s eye.

“Iolaus,” she said reverently. “King of Phylace. A large kingdom, I believe. He is not wealthy, but has many men and lands untold. You should hear him speak - all energy and ideas.” She looked at Penelope. “Not that I would know.”

“What do you mean?”

“We aren’t supposed to have heard them talk, you know. We are allowed to gawk at them from here,” she waved at the men, some of whom saw because they were between shots and weren’t talking with their neighbors. They waved back, though not very interested with Helen gone. “I am not Helen, and they know it,” she said. “The other sister.” She looked appraisingly at Penelope. “At least you’re here now, so there are two that they can ignore.”

Penelope tilted her head and creased her eyebrows. “I doubt they are all ignoring you, Clytemnestra.”

“Helen has a way with men,” she whispered. “You’ll see. She only has to talk to them or even give them a look, and they will fall all over themselves to be at her feet. It is actually a bit disgusting.” She raised her voice. “No one will notice us. It’s all for the best. Once she is gone, father will be able to find me a suitor without her distracting them. I only hope Iolaus will stay long enough. Come. If we don’t have baskets of spun wool by the end of the day, I am certain mother will make us spin all day tomorrow as well. And that would be tragic.” 

Penelope laughed as she followed Clytemnestra back to their spinning. She had never seen Helen around men, and wondered if Clytemnestra was telling the truth. Helen was, after all, a daughter of Zeus. Who knew what kind of power came with such a lineage?

Strangely, Clytemnestra was not a daughter of Zeus but was Tyndareus’s true daughter. Penelope wasn’t sure if she believed the story of their lineage or not. Aunt Leda had reportedly produced four children on the same day: two eggs with two children in each. One egg held the girls, the other two boys. Each egg had a child from Zeus: one was Helen and the other was Pollox. Each egg also had a child from Tyndareus: Clytemnestra and Castor. 

While Penelope believed in the gods and was constant with her devotions, she doubted the details of this birth. She wanted to see the eggshells, having heard Aunt Leda mention that she had kept them. The girls had gone searching for the shells during one trip when Penelope was younger and had been severely reprimanded for the attempt. Wouldn’t it be simple just to show the shells to them? Now that she was older, she thought they wouldn’t actually exist. It was just a story. The four children certainly existed, though.  

Her cousins made no secret that they thought Penelope’s mother was just a story, too. Penelope hadn’t met her mother, but her father talked of her often. Every two to three years he would bring home a newly delivered infant, and all the siblings were remarkably similar in features and temperament. There was one exception: little Aletes had bright red hair and couldn’t sit still or make the slightest decision. Still, had his coloring been blonde, he would have looked like Semus’ twin. 

All of the boys and Penelope pestered their father to introduce them to their mother. Their father, King Icarius, had finally forbidden them from bringing up their mother in conversation. They still spoke of her, but only amongst themselves. 

Penelope hated when others discussed her mother, though. She turned back to her spinning, grateful that Clytemnestra seemed happy to spin in silence to allow Helen her rest.

Icarius had promised Penelope that they would only stay until a suitor was chosen for Helen. How long could it take? Penelope had hoped for a quarter span of the moon, although her father guessed it could take up to an entire moon cycle. Perhaps more.

They had arrived a half moon span ago, and the girls filled their days watching the contests in the morning from their balcony or attending temple, and practicing dances and music in the afternoons. Penelope was happy to spin, but the others avoided it whenever possible - which was whenever Aunt Leda wasn’t attending them. The cousins had also kindly allowed Penelope to take over an entire standing loom, where she was working on a design of fields overwatched by a magnificent sky as a tribute to Zeus. She thought it would be lovely to provide the finished work to Helen as a wedding gift.

They seemed to be no nearer in determining a suitor, though. Penelope was grateful that she could turn away from the other girls to work the loom and just listen instead of being called on to give her opinion of each man. Clytemnestra and Helen constantly debated the merits of each one, even though King Tyndareus would make the final decision. He was a kind father, or at least Penelope assumed he was, so she was certain he asked Helen for her opinion. Helen still hadn’t told Penelope who her favorite was, although she was definitely in favor of any suitor who enjoyed a larger treasure cache. Clytemnestra had not changed her opinion, but she had also not told Helen that Iolaus was her favorite. Penelope didn’t have a clear favorite, much more interested in their weapons than the men themselves.

She did enjoy the contests. Penelope watched the competition closely whenever she was taking a break from her loom, noting how each opponent handled their weapons. Spears, swords, shields, longbows. Her hands itched to touch them, to see how they were made. Each was designed specifically for the man who held it, and the decorations and artwork that went into each piece were impressive even from the balcony. But to hold them! 

She especially admired the swords and bows, as she was well-versed in those. Shields were typically too heavy for her to lift, and she found throwing spears to be frustrating. Her throws never went half as far as her brother Perious’s throws, and she had given up trying to best her brothers in spear-throwing a year or so ago. 

She looked back at her design on the loom. Three half birds flew into the unfinished work. She had been working on it most of the morning, listening to the clangs and crashes of swords in hand-to-hand combat, her least favorite of the competitions. 

The noise stopped in the courtyard. The competitors were between matches. She looked out to see Greater Ajax and Agamemnon bow to one another and walk with arms around each others’ shoulders as they left to wash. They seemed friendly, not at all like adversaries.

Helen smiled at her. “They are quite well made, don’t you think?”

Penelope nodded and sat beside her. The loom could wait. Both Ajax and Agamemnon were tall men, muscular and imposing. They were both bronzed by the sun and had dark hair. From this vantage point, they could have been brothers. 

“Hasn’t anyone caught your eye? I’m sure your father hopes to find someone for you while he is here.” Helen whispered, keeping her comments from Clytemnestra, who was unsatisfied and undoing her work at the other loom. Penelope had wondered when Helen would start poking at her, trying to make her choose one or two as her favorites.

“I don’t think so,” Penelope demurred. “I doubt my father wants me to marry.”

Helen’s eyebrows shot up. “Not want you to marry? That cannot be true.”

King Icarius had actually told Penelope many times that he did not intend for her to marry. “He likes to have me running the household and caring for my brothers.” Truth be told, she liked it as well. She was not tied to a husband’s whims, she could do much as she willed. Her father gave her anything she asked for in return for her acting almost like a queen: she was responsible for any diplomatic duties such as dinners; she knew and cared for their people; and she loved her family dearly. She wasn’t sure she wanted to give that up.

Clytemnestra must have been listening closely, because she piped up quickly, “That is very selfish on his part. We,” she indicated the three of them with the shuttle from her loom, “need children to keep our status and to care for us. And our own household! When Perious marries, won’t his wife take over everything you do?”

“Perhaps,” Penelope agreed, shrugging. “But that is many years away. And then I can help with his children. I will be the best aunt, I think.” She smiled softly. “And I will have many nieces and nephews, I am sure, with so many brothers!”

Clytemnestra shook her head. “Not the same thing. They will have no need to care for you as you grow older. You will lose your place in the household and not have your own children to keep you safe. Besides, there is always the possibility that your father will marry and you’ll be completely useless!”

Penelope rose, irritated. They just didn’t understand. Her father loved her mother to distraction. Her brothers cared for her almost like a mother. She had the best of all worlds. “You know,” she stated, “I think I will gather some herbs today. It is too beautiful a day to be stuck indoors.” She needed to get away from her cousins and their meddling. 

Helen nodded sympathetically, realizing she was looking for an end to their conversation. “That would be very useful, Penelope.” 

Clytemnestra gave her a narrow look but shrugged. “I could go with you if you want company,” she offered, turning to glare at her loom.

“No thank you, Clytemnestra,” Penelope said shortly, quickly leaving the room so that Clytemnestra didn’t have time to join her or continue arguing. 

Penelope went into the women’s courtyard and out into the hallways of the palace, taking a deep breath in the relative silence. Servants were bustling about and she could hear muted talking, but none of it was directed at her. She looked about, knowing she should go back into the room and take at least one of the slaves with her, but she couldn’t stand the thought.

She would be fine. She knew the palace well, and started confidently towards the gardens.

As she walked through the hallways, she realized that she had left behind the women’s rooms and was encountering only men. Somehow she had ended up in the part of the palace that housed male guests. She was about to turn around when her brother Thoas rushed into the hallway, pursued by Perious. They both stopped short when they saw her, Thoas’s eyes bulging.

“What are you doing here?” Perious whispered, and the boys flanked her immediately and ushered her quickly outside. She wasn’t too far off, actually; she had just managed to take a wrong turn. Or two. 

The boys managed to avoid anyone and shushed her every time she started to speak. Once they reached a courtyard - this one with a fountain instead of competing suitors - they faced her and glared.

“I’m just trying to find the kitchen gardens to pick some herbs,” she explained. “I got lost.”

“Yeah, well, don’t!” growled Thoas. She thought he should be more considerate, especially since she had obviously interrupted Perious from thrashing him soundly. She wondered what trouble Thoas had gotten into today. It could have been as simple as a stolen fruit and as complicated as a prank on one of the suitors - or even King Tyndareus himself. She sighed.

Perious looked between them and nodded, coming to a conclusion. “Thoas, accompany your sister. She obviously cannot be trusted to find a suitable companion and she cannot even get to the gardens without finding herself in the wrong place!” He was exasperated, and Penelope held in a snicker. He was only two years younger than she, but lorded over everyone except for their father. 

She pretended to be chagrined and took Thoas’s arm. He gallantly escorted her away from the palace and into the gardens. They were planted neatly in rows, with all manner of herbs around the small greens. 

“You have very good timing,” Thoas said happily once Perious was out of earshot. She raised her eyebrows at him, but he shook his head. “You don’t really want to know.” 

She stifled a laugh, knowing he was probably correct.

He found her a basket and then left her to climb the trees that fenced in the garden. She gathered and bundled several herbs, taking deep breaths of the mint and lavender as she muttered to herself, “No, Helen, I do not care which you choose. No, Clytemnestra, I don’t wish I were here on this side of the city with the refined people. Honestly, I like my brothers. Most of the time.” She glanced up at the trees, where she could no longer see Thoas.

She placed the gathered herbs on the side of the garden and sat near one of the trees where a patch of wildflowers grew in a circle of sunlight. She picked them one by one, adding them to a miniature bouquet in her hand, then stripping the lower leaves and rearranging them. She thought she might bring Clytemnestra a bouquet of beautiful but rancid-smelling flowers. As she smelled them, though, she was disappointed. “None of you smell bad,” she murmured. “Too bad for me…”

“That makes no sense.” a male voice spoke from just above her and she squeaked, jumping out from under the tree and swirling, dagger in hand.

“I just…” the voice became a man as he dropped from the tree, “didn’t want you to continue speaking as if you were alone. I don’t particularly approve of eavesdropping.” He was not very tall, but was well-built, with tanned olive skin, dark hair like oil-rubbed bronze and laughing dark eyes. His smile was a bit lopsided and his long curling hair dropped into his eyes as he landed. He shook it out of his face and bowed slightly. His short skirt was smudged with dirt and he was barefoot. He appraised her quickly, and she took a shuddering breath as she put her dagger away.

“Nice form on the dagger, though. Where did you learn to do that?” he leaned against the trunk of the tree, deliberately trying not to be threatening, she supposed. 

She didn’t respond immediately, still trying to figure out exactly how she had managed to be alone with one of the suitors. She couldn’t remember his name, either. He was a very good archer. Fast in races. But his name? Nothing. “Thoas?” she called. 

Thoas popped his head out of one of the neighboring trees. “Oh, hi. I’m just over here!” He too jumped out of his tree and, landing, noticed they were not alone. His eyes widened a bit and he managed a quick bow. “King Odysseus.”

Ah, that was it. Penelope managed a quick curtsy of her own. “You startled me, Lord Odysseus,” she said, ignoring the question of her dagger.

“Thoas?” Odysseus looked at her younger brother, who looked staggered at being addressed by name. “Why does this young woman look like she knows how to use a dagger?”

Thoas grinned. “Because she does, Lord Odysseus. You should see her throw it!”

Penelope’s face heated. She wasn’t supposed to let people outside of her family know of her love for blades. She really wasn’t supposed to carry one in the palace, either, but didn’t feel quite right without it strapped to the top of her thigh. She had even devised a clever pocket in her skirts to keep it hidden but fully accessible. 

“That I would like to see,” he laughed. “Thoas, would you do me the honor of introducing me to your sister?”

Thoas stood tall, and bowed correctly. “King Odysseus, I would like to introduce you to Princess Penelope of Sparta. And I am Prince Thoas, though it seems like you already know that.”

Odysseus bowed. “That I do, we were introduced just yesterday.”

“You remembered?” Thoas was blinking like a young maid in love and Penelope stifled a laugh.

“My lord, what are you doing here?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

His lips pursed and he lost the laughing look of a moment before. “I wish I knew,” he said, almost to himself.

“But, you are one of Helen’s suitors? Are you not competing today?” she asked, perplexed. 

He nodded, but it was Thoas who spoke. “He’s the best. Haven’t you seen him, Penelope? But Uncle Tyndareus wants someone older.”

“Thoas!” Penelope chided, but Odysseus was already laughing.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Thoas looked furtively around, obviously hoping the ground would just swallow him whole.

Odysseus waved the comment aside. “No, you’re right. I didn’t think I had a chance before I got here.”

“Then why did you come?” Thoas wondered aloud. Penelope wished he were close enough to smack. She had to settle for a glare, which he completely ignored.

“Ah, my father and mother asked me to come.” He ran both hands through his hair, tossing it in such disarray that Penelope was tempted to smooth it for him. 

“You didn’t want Helen for yourself?” Penelope asked this time, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t even know this man. He was a king and she was simply a princess; she shouldn’t be speaking to him, much less asking him such personal questions.

He shook his head, though, unworried about her lack of decorum. “Not really. Why would I want something that everyone else wants?”

Thoas nodded, as though he had also come to this conclusion. “If you have something everyone wants, all they do is try to take it from you.”

Penelope smirked at him. 

Her father had given her a smooth river rock from her mother a year or so ago, and all her brothers had united in removing it from her room and taking turns stealing it from one another. It bothered her greatly until she saw the youngest, Aletes, holding it on his bed, tears running down his face. She had gathered him close and rocked him. None of them had ever met their mother. She was a naiad over her father’s favorite spring and had provided him with six children, but none of them had ever seen or known her. Penelope had let Aletes keep it, with the provision that she could see it whenever she wanted.

“No one would steal another man’s wife, though,” she scoffed. “It is just not done.” Family was the cornerstone of their society, as she had been informed many times by her father. Marriage was the most important part of that structure, and those who sought to destroy it or work against it were often killed by an offended husband or extended family. Ironic, considering Icarius’s own marital status.

Odysseus looked at her, thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

She blinked at him, confused that he would find wife stealing to be a possibility. She realized they had been staring at each other for a moment too long and quickly dropped another small curtsy. “Lord Odysseus, I am sorry I interrupted you. I did think the gardens were empty.”

He pushed away from the tree. “They were. It was just the tree that was occupied.”

She couldn’t stop her laughter this time. “So it was. I should go…” she motioned to Thoas, who moved reluctantly beside her. She pointed to the basket full of herbs, which he retrieved, and gathered the flowers from where they had flown when she pulled her dagger.

“No, stay,” Odysseus insisted. “I wouldn’t want to stop you from finding terrible-smelling flowers.”

She couldn’t say why she had been gathering flowers, so she just murmured, “I really have what I need. You are welcome to your tree. Good day, my lord.”

He nodded, and his smile went wide. “A pleasure, Princess Penelope. And Prince Thoas.”

As they walked away, Thoas exclaimed, “He remembered my name, Penelope! He remembered!” She could hear Odysseus laughing behind them. Thoas was too happy to care.

Chapter Text

When she returned to the women’s room, a slave was waiting with a message. Penelope’s father was requesting her presence for the entirety of the next day. This was a reward, she was certain; her father had known she was tired of the women’s rooms and was letting her escape for a day.

“Perhaps you can find out what is holding up a decision,” Clytemnestra sniped as she popped a grape into her mouth. While Penelope had been out, the servants had delivered the midday meal.

“I doubt it,” Penelope mused. “Although I do miss him. I’ll be glad to spend the day with him.”

“Miss him?” Clytemnestra giggled and even Helen had a smile. “You were together as you arrived - it wasn’t that long ago!”

“I know,” she muttered. They didn’t understand. She and her father managed most things together. They were a team. “I’m used to seeing him every day. A half moon is a long time.”

Helen and Clytemnestra looked at each other and laughed. “Do you remember the last time you saw our father?” Helen asked. “I think he might have called for me once in the past moon, even with all these men sniffing about!”

Clytemnestra sniffed. “Longer for me, definitely longer.”

Penelope shrugged. “But you have your mother.”

“Have you seen her lately?” Helen asked, still giggling. “She was here when you were announced, a few times since, but now I think she’s hiding. Maybe she’s left the palace…Do you think she might have left altogether?” The girls, aligned for once, started giggling.

Penelope looked at them, confused. “She wouldn’t leave without telling you…?” she questioned. Then she realized this was exactly what Aunt Leda would do - disappear. She might tell her husband, but her children? There was no need.

Penelope needed to offer sacrifices to Hera again for her loving family relationships. She was truly blessed by the goddess.

She gave her bouquet to Clytemnestra, who thanked her perfunctorily and handed the flowers to a slave to put in water. Helen reached for the herbs and started sorting them and sprinkling selected herbs on her fish. Penelope and Clytemnestra shared an impressed look, then moved to add the herbs to their fish as well.

The next morning, she was attired for visiting nobility and ready for her father just after the morning meal. Aunt Leda had indeed not shown up and the girls were still amused that Penelope was spending the day with her father. They reluctantly approved her looks, poking her many intertwined braids and tugging her forelocks. Helen offered her some beautiful bangles for the day, as she was only wearing a few. “You need more!” she cried, as she hastily ran to her room to get more jewelry. She returned with gold and jade bracelets that contrasted beautifully with Penelope’s dark blue tunic and saffron flounced skirt. She also brought a few toe rings, “to peek out,” as she said. “It’s like your feet are flirting.”

“With her father?” Clytemnestra asked snidely. “That’s disgusting.”

Helen shook her head. “With whomever her father is talking. You know they won’t sit in a room all day and look at each other the way we do!”

And so, attired with flirting feet, Penelope met her father in the main courtyard with several attendants. She had learned her lesson about wandering without slaves and didn’t need her brother telling tales about her getting lost in what should have been as familiar as a second home.

The courtyard was bustling with slaves serving the morning meal to the suitors. She also saw Perious across the yard and waved. He gave her a distracted smile as he spoke with another young boy who was probably a year or two older than he. She sighed. He was getting too old. Thoas still waved and grinned conspiratorially whenever they saw each other, as if they were in on a great secret.

The courtyard was brilliantly mosaiced with twining vines in turquoise over an orange plain, red houses and black fields mixing in harmony throughout. The floor was many mixed colors that sparkled brightly as the sun glanced off the tiles. It could have looked as overwhelming as the women’s rooms if the area wasn’t so spacious, with a large fountain full of gleaming water in the middle. The statue in the middle wasn’t her favorite - it was a boar mauling a warrior. She really thought it should be the other way around.

“Penelope,” King Icarius smiled as he walked toward her. He was also well dressed in a tunic and cape, with sandals that laced almost to his knee. He always looked very handsome, she thought, even with his hair starting to gray and thin a bit on top. It was wispy enough that it still gave the impression of being full, but Penelope knew exactly how thin it was. He kept his face shaved so everyone could see his lovely dimples - he had one on each cheek that seemed to deepen his approval or anger as he saw fit. 

He was only a foot taller than Penelope, though his thin frame suggested otherwise. He looked like a runner, Penelope thought: compact and lithe. She took his arm and he leaned to whisper in her ear. “I hope you won’t be terribly bored following me as I trade today.”

She grinned widely. “I shall try to keep myself awake,” she returned. “I am just grateful to spend time with you. What have you been doing?”

He shook his head playfully, “Oh no, we’re not telling tales quite yet. Besides, this is hardly the place for us to banter. Come, daughter, let us walk.” Icarius straightened and placed his hand on hers. He flicked a hand at her attendants, excusing them. He led her away from the courtyard and down a corridor lined with stacked blocks of stone. These were unadorned, unlike the courtyard, but beautiful in the workmanship. All the blocks were different sizes, yet they fit together perfectly. A functional puzzle, thought Penelope. She would love to see a wall like this as it was being constructed.

She trailed a finger along the edges of the blocks.

“We will first see -” her father started, but then stopped abruptly as they were intercepted at another hallway. King Odysseus, with a few of his men, appeared around the corner. Surprised, the parties bowed to one another - Penelope curtsying, of course - and exchanged greetings.

“Good morning, Lord Odysseus.” Icarius addressed Odysseus politely. “Aren’t you in the competition today? What is it, archery again?”

“It is archery,” he agreed. “I think I’ve proved my worth with a bow more times than is truly necessary, so I planned to spend today on kingdom business.”

“Truly? That is my mission as well,” said Icarius. He squeezed Penelope’s hand and she replied with a quick squeeze, while casting her eyes downward. It was important that she look demure and completely uninterested. “Would Ithaca be interested in trading with Sparta?”

“Definitely. May I walk with you?” Odysseus dismissed his men and followed Icarius and Penelope into the next open courtyard. This courtyard was much smaller, meant for private conversations. Many individual rooms also led off of the courtyard for discussions that needed to be behind closed doors. This area was not typically one that Penelope would be welcome, so she kept her eyes down and tried to be unseen.

The men started talking about goods and quantities, while Penelope listened closely. She and her father had worked out a system: a tap high on his arm meant they needed a good; a tap in the middle meant only a good deal would be acceptable; and a tap at the elbow meant they did not need or want the good - they already had plenty in stock or produced a surplus of their own. Once they agreed on trading something specific, she would tap higher for a bigger quantity and lower for a lower quantity. She was skilled at keeping her father’s inventory in her mind and knew everything they produced and in what amounts. 

This was one of the primary reasons her father loved to have her around. She was invisible and practically indispensable. A steward would have to announce their intentions. This meant that Icarius could negotiate as if he had all the information on the tip of his tongue, and it significantly increased his status.

She indicated that they did want casks of wine, pottery if it was a good price, and they didn’t need wool or even linens. They had plenty of iron, bronze, and grain to trade and both men seemed satisfied after the bargaining was complete.

Finished, Icarius and Odysseus bowed to one another, and Icarius indicated that he and Penelope would continue on to their next meeting.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” asked Odysseus deferentially. 

At this, Penelope raised her eyes. Why would he want to accompany them? Usually business dealings only included the two parties. She narrowed her eyes at him, and could have sworn he glanced just imperceptibly at her expression, then at her ringed toes. His eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit and she wondered if her father had seen.

“I suppose that would be acceptable. I would hate to keep you from dealings of your own, however.” Icarius would not turn him down outright, but was obviously trying to maneuver out of continuing with Odysseus.

“I would easily bet that we’re talking to many of the same people,” he said easily, smiling. “I won’t be in the way, I promise. Perhaps I will learn something about trading.”

He didn’t look at her, but she had the feeling that he knew she was involved in their deal somehow. She shook herself mentally; he was not accompanying them to figure out their system of communication. He must just be interested in their kingdom and in also making profitable trades.

They continued across the courtyard until they reached the farthest room. Inside was King Menesteus of Athens, surrounded by many of his servants and a few of his men around a largish rectangular table where they were in the middle of a discussion. Penelope heard a brief frustrated comment about languishing in a foreign palace over a woman before all conversation stopped. 

Menesteus stood and welcomed Icarius and Odysseus, dismissing all but one of his men. This man was not introduced to them, and Penelope assumed that this was his steward. Menesteus gestured for them to sit at the table. Icarius chose the seat directly opposite Menesteus and his man. Odysseus excused himself to lean against the wall, claiming that he didn’t want to interfere but was only observing. Penelope kneeled next to her father, resting her hand on his upper arm again and her head against his shoulder. Menesteus watched this, eyes narrowed at the intrusion of a woman in their affairs. “King Icarius,” he began, “Could we possibly excuse the woman to be about her own affairs?”

Icarius sighed. “My daughter and I are quite devoted to one another and haven’t seen each other in a long time. This suitor business does drag on. I promised her that she could spend today at my side. I promise you that you won’t even notice she is here.” He patted her head and she dropped her eyes.

“Truly?” He was silent for a moment, thinking. “Or are you trying to parade her about to encourage another suitor tournament?” His tone was accusatory. Penelope hadn’t realized how frustrated the suitors must be after almost an entire moon cycle to be sitting around waiting for an answer. Competitions were engaging for a while, but the waiting while King Tyndareus refused to make up his mind must be annoying and a waste of their time. She wondered if they would start leaving. Could they leave without losing their honor? She wasn’t entirely sure.

Marriages were usually arranged quite quickly, with only a few days to decide the details; rarely, a full moon span would elapse, but only if the bargaining was going poorly. Once the details and dowry or bride gifts were paid, the wedding took place soon, within a day or two. For this one to languish so long was obviously wearing on everyone. She, at least, had been able to arrive later than everyone else.

Icarius stroked her head fondly. “Actually, I may not allow her to marry. And we definitely will not have a contest such as this -” he gestured to indicate the palace and all within it. “I will have to be quite convinced in order to give away my child.”

At this, Menesteus was quiet again. Penelope wanted to peek at his expression but focused instead on keeping her expression neutral. “Is there something wrong with her?” he asked tentatively. She might have thought the question was meant to be kind, but she could hear the questions behind it: would she make a suitable bride? Was she not able to produce an heir? Was she maimed, deaf, blind?

“No.” Icarius infused the single word with menace. “Penelope, would you like to respond?”

He would only ask her to respond when his temper was at its peak, and so she took a deep breath and raised her eyes to Menesteus. “I do have my faults, Lord Menesteus. For instance, I cannot play the lute or lyre; they are simply beyond my understanding. While I can sing, no one would ask me to do so. They would instead describe my voice as ‘unoffensive’.” Menesteus gave her a small smile. “I am not quite as stubborn as a mule, although my father would say I come very close - perhaps as close as a tree to its roots. I also have issues bridling my tongue and can be quite opinionated. These are my primary faults which I work on constantly. I do believe there is no hope when it comes to my musical abilities, unfortunately. Father, did I miss anything?”

She looked up at him, trembling a little to be called upon to enumerate her faults. It was humiliating. If this was her father’s way of humbling her, it was quite effective.

Her father stroked her hair again and gave her a look of approval. “My dear, you have summarized your faults quite well. I think you might have missed a few, but the others could be mistaken for strengths as well: overly devoted to family, a sharp mind and thoughtful heart, a devout worshipper of the gods.” He looked at Menesteus. “I could be accused of being biased toward my own daughter. I do believe she is quite perfect.” He cleared his throat. “At any rate, we are here for business, are we not?”

Menesteus took another long look at her, which she returned defiantly before dropping her eyes again to her lap. No good ever came out of matching wits with a man, especially one who could be considered as a suitor at some point. He could easily make her regret any insolence shown to him.

A quick glance at Odysseus found him still lounging against a wall, his thoughtful eyes on her and a half grin on his face. His hair was falling into his face again. She liked how it curled just over his cheekbone. She looked down, embarrassed to be caught looking at him.

The men began to dicker over silver, as Athens was rich from its silver mines. The iron of Sparta was a good exchange, but not as valuable. Icarius ran a much harder bargain with Menesteus than Penelope expected - he must be furious at the slight towards her. Penelope smiled to herself. Her father would keep her safely in Sparta.

The morning continued more or less the same: a new room, another man with his steward and bargaining would start and end mostly without reference to her presence. Her father left her at her rooms for the midday meal, to give her a chance to refresh herself after the long morning.

He kissed her forehead and lifted her chin. “I will see you shortly,” he said. She also heard what he didn’t say: he was proud of her. She nodded to Odysseus, who was still trailing them, and left them in the corridor.

She leaned against the back of her door for a moment, enjoying the brief silence before her servants surrounded her. They fed her and tucked stray hairs back into her braid, clucking over her like mother hens. She asked them to leave her alone in her bedroom so she could spend a moment resting, then she went into her room and listened to make sure they were staying outside the room. She could hear them talking softly. 

At the end of the bed stood a chest she had brought from her palace. It wasn’t fancy - just a wooden box - to make it appear there was nothing exciting inside. She knelt and opened it, and set aside the linens that lay innocently on top. At the bottom, she pulled a small stoppered pot and a sheet of papyrus, along with a reed stylus.

She quickly pulled her dagger from beneath her skirts and sharpened the stylus, then unstoppered the pot. She unrolled the papyrus, on which were already several notations, and dipped the stylus in the pot, which held ink. She tallied all the trading they had done that day, blowing on it furiously afterwards. She sharpened the stylus again, in case she had to use it even more quickly that evening, and put it carefully away. The pot was next. She took the papyrus and shook it gently to dry the ink. She kept her eyes on the doorway, hoping the servants wouldn’t think it necessary to check on her.

Finally judging the ink to be dry enough, she rolled up the papyrus and carefully laid the linens back on top. Then she closed the chest and crawled into bed. Resting suddenly seemed to be a good idea.

She found her mind kept returning to the sight of Odysseus propped against a wall, watching her with those dark eyes. Always thoughtful.

The knock on her door woke her, and she quickly returned to her father’s side. Odysseus had not chosen to join them again this afternoon, and she could tell her father was grateful for the time alone with her as they walked to each appointment. He told her amusing anecdotes of the men trying to propose new contests in hopes that a decision could be made - and they could all return to their normal lives. One of the sillier contests was who could spit the highest. This contest was abandoned when someone choked on his own spit, to loud laughter. She couldn’t wait to share that one with Helen and Clytemnestra. She wished her father would tell her who had choked, but knew he would chide her for even asking.

That evening, she once again requested to be alone in her room so she could tally their work for the day. She was quite good at remembering, but had found that the act of writing it down improved her recall. The afternoon with her father had helped drive Odysseus from her mind, but she found herself thinking about him again as she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning she joined her cousins again, finding them in a state of excitement around their morning meal. “There are no contests today!” Helen announced.

“Why?” Penelope was surprised by the tension in the room.

“After everyone eats, all the suitors are to gather in the courtyard,” Clytemnestra said as she popped a grape in her mouth. She did seem to love the oval fruits - mostly as punctuation for her remarks. The table where the two girls sat had been laid with oats, goat milk, cheeses, and fruits for their morning meal. Penelope joined her cousins and helped herself to the grapes as well. There was a selection of several different colors, since early fall was the perfect time to sample all the varieties grown in the region.

Helen was frustrated with Penelope. “Aren’t you even curious as to why they’re gathering this morning?”

Penelope grinned. “Extremely. But I’m also pretty hungry,” she laughed as she poured some oats, milk, and berries into a bowl.

Clytemnestra laughed as well, picking up another grape. “There is time for both curiosity and food,” she snickered. “And we don’t know what’s going on, anyway. Helen just wants you to ask.” 

Helen pouted at her sister. “You at least can tell Penelope your news.” She turned to Penelope. “It was such a busy day yesterday, you missed so much!”

Penelope looked at Clytemnestra questioningly, but Clytemnestra just played with the grapes and ignored them both. Penelope finally had to ask, “What did I miss? What is your news?”

Before Clytemnestra could respond, Helen chimed in, “Agamemnon made a formal offer for her hand and father accepted!” She was almost bouncing.

Clytemnestra, however, just picked up a grape and tossed it at her sister. Helen caught it and popped it in her mouth, then stuck out her tongue. 

“My sister is correct. We will be married within a quarter span.” Clytemnestra’s words were distinct and clipped. Her eyes were hard as fired beads as she met Penelope’s across the table.

“Are you not happy with the arrangement?” she asked quietly. She knew, of course, that he was not her first choice. He was not Iolaus, but he was a king of a mighty kingdom, strong and well-built if not classically handsome.

Helen laughed. “Of course she is! She will have everything she wishes - he is rich, powerful...She has gotten first prize in the marriage competition!”

Penelope looked back and forth at the two sisters. Helen had to be able to see that Clytemnestra was not happy. Maybe she was just sad to leave her childhood home. Whatever the reason, something was wrong.

“Every happiness for your marriage,” Penelope said carefully.

Clytemnestra laughed without humor. “Thank you, cousin. I’m sure there will be gifts aplenty during the wedding, so you must stay through the celebration.”

“Oh, yes! Please say you’ll stay!” clamored Helen.

“If my father gives me leave, of course,” Penelope murmured. She didn’t see that there was any other option; her father would ask her to stay if she didn’t request it.

Helen started listing all the things they would need to do: contact their mother - where was she, anyway? - choose bridal clothes, pack linens and gifts for Clytemnestra to take to her new home in Mycenae, pour libations and perform sacrifices for Artemis, Aphrodite, and Athena, prepare entertainments for the celebration…the list went on and on.

Although Penelope was skilled at planning events, the scope of the wedding was far more than she had undertaken for her kingdom. Her efforts had been focused on dinners or hosting guests. Weddings were an entirely new experience: three days of feasting, processions, sacrifices, ceremonies, and gift-giving. Penelope looked across the room at her loom, with the blanket for Helen still unfinished. She hadn’t even thought to bring something for Clytemnestra and would need to ask her father to send slaves to their palace to retrieve gifts.

“Helen,” Penelope said suddenly, “Does this mean that your suitor has been settled? Is that what is happening this morning?”

Helen stopped rambling, her mouth forming a perfect “o”.  Clytemnestra also looked to Helen, tapping one finger against her mouth. “That would make sense.”

The girls looked at one another, speechless. After so long without a decision, the end seemed to have come unexpectedly. 

Clytemnestra picked up another grape and rolled it around in her fingers. “You know, Helen, it has been a long time since we have visited the back storeroom.” She looked meaningfully at Helen, whose grin turned a bit wicked. Both girls looked at Penelope.

“Have you seen the back storeroom, Penelope?” asked Helen, eyes wide with innocence.

The storeroom shared a wall with the men’s courtyard and could be reached without anyone in the men’s quarters or in the public rooms seeing them. They took only a few slaves with them, and had them stand inside the door to the first storeroom, just out of sight. Helen took Penelope’s hand, and they walked into the darkness.

Helen and Clytemnestra obviously knew the room well, but Penelope struck several unknown items - most very hard - with her shins and once with her hip. Her muted grunts of pain were met with shushing as they moved into the second room. This must be the back storeroom.

As her eyes adjusted, she could see seams in between the blocks that made up the wall. The seams let in just enough light and sound that they could see move a few crates around and provide themselves seating. After they had each sat themselves by a seam, they peeked through to see the main courtyard filling with the men.

Clytemnestra handed both Helen and Penelope a soft blob, whispering, “Here. These meetings can last forever.” 

Penelope held the soft substance to her nose and smelled a soft, appealing cheese. She nibbled a little and put her face to the crack nearest her.

In front of her was King Tyndareus, talking softly to his brother Icarius and, strangely, Odysseus. All three of the men were dressed in tunics and capes, with their headbands showing their status as kings. Behind them was a large altar, prepared with wood, tinder, and materials to light the fire. A large horse was tethered to one of the large columns near the front. They were prepared for a sacrifice, and a momentous one, Penelope thought. She looked at her cousins. “A decision has definitely been made,” she whispered. 

The girls looked at her and nodded. Helen looked terrified, but Clytemnestra just took a bite of her cheese.

Behind the altar, Penelope could see benches filling with the suitors, also dressed for a serious occasion. Each man held a cup that she supposed was full of wine. She couldn’t see the entrance from her vantage point, since the altar was in the way, but she knew that each would receive their cup and their allotment of wine. The first sip of wine would be poured on the ground as a libation and the rest would be kept for the ceremony. Many of the men were already enjoying a drink as they conversed with the other men.

Clytemnestra was right: it took many minutes for them to even come to order, promising a very long meeting indeed. Then Tyndareus stood in front of the assembled suitors and raised a hand. Odysseus and Icarius moved to seats on the front bench, and Penelope was disappointed to find that she couldn’t watch either of them.

The assemblage quieted and Tyndareus began by thanking them for their interest in competing for his daughter’s hand. He assured them that a decision had been made, and he would be announcing it soon. However, first…

The girls listened in astonishment as the king expounded on his worries for his daughter. She had been abducted once before - at this Penelope raised an eyebrow at Helen, who shrugged - and he was worried that because there were so many interested in her, it would happen again. For this reason, he asked them all to swear to her safety, even to the point they would go to war if she were taken again. 

The silence in the room was deafening. She could see them shuffling and looking around at everyone else’s reactions. A few were furious, some understanding, and a couple even thought it was a joke. But most were nodding.

“Think of it this way,” Tyndareus said. His voice was soft and yet spread throughout the room. “If you were the one chosen, would you want the rest of these men to take this oath?”

He stopped. Penelope thought she could hear a breath from everyone, all at once. He waited.

She heard someone rise and blinked when she saw Odysseus appear from behind the altar to stand at Tyndareus’s side.

“I, for one, will take the oath.” Odysseus’s voice was mild yet firm. “You all know I am not even in the running,” he said with laughter in his voice, and the men joined him in a chuckle. “I didn’t even bring a bride gift, knowing that there would be men better than myself here.” He nodded at a few men that Penelope couldn’t see. She assumed that Agamemnon was at least one of the men he singled out, and possibly both Telemonian Ajax and Oilean Ajax. Agamemnon was the most wealthy and powerful in the assembly, and both Ajaxes were strong champions. 

Odysseus gave them a minute, then turned to Tyndareus and knelt before him. “I am Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes, and I vow that I will defend your choice for Helen’s husband, even should that choice lead to defending your choice with my life. She will be safe in her new home, and you will be able to rest knowing she is protected.”

Tyndareus laid his hand on Odysseus’s head. “I accept your vow.”

Odysseus nodded, poured a small amount of wine onto the sacrificial altar, and returned to his seat.

Penelope scowled. 

One by one, each of them came up and vowed the same. The girls sat back and nibbled on their cheese. The oath-taking wouldn’t take long, unless someone objected. Penelope didn’t think anyone would object; if they objected, they had wasted their time and resources in coming to try for Helen’s hand. With everyone else pledging to uphold the decision, any that wished to abstain would face severe social disappointment and perhaps even loss of status or honor.

No one abstained. Not even her father.

Tyndareus thanked them all again, and then announced, “It is time to tell you my decision.” He beckoned to a slave who was holding a large piece of pottery. “Put your markers in this pot. I will draw.”

The few men Penelope could see were laughing, but she could also hear shocked gasps. To choose a marriage partner based on lots! She peeked at her cousins. Clytemnestra was looking intently at Helen. “You’re lucky father vetted all these men beforehand,” she whispered. “Still, there are some I would be wary of in this collection.”

Helen nodded. “Very,” she breathed.

The slave went around the room collecting markers - stones, metal pieces, anything that would identify a man - and returned to the front. It all seemed to happen very quickly for her, but she couldn’t imagine how Helen felt. She reached out a hand to Helen and she grasped it, hard. When Penelope looked down at their hands, she saw Clytemnestra was holding Helen’s other hand.

Tyndareus shook the pot so hard that Penelope was afraid it would shatter. Then he reached his hand deeply into the pot and pulled out a marker. He held it up. “Whose marker is this?” He passed it to the men, who examined it, and passed it along. 

“Menelaus of Mycenae, Son of Atreus.” Agamemnon announced his brother’s name loudly. “This is my brother’s marker. Submitted by me, Agamemnon, King of Mycenae.”

Interesting , thought Penelope. How did Agamemnon know he would need one of his brother’s markers? 

The reactions again varied. The men stayed seated, no one saying anything loud enough to be heard by all. Tyndareus gestured to another slave to bring the horse into the center. “Let us thank the gods: Zeus, the keeper of oaths. Hera, the goddess of marriage. Athena, the goddess of wisdom.”

He produced a slim dagger and slit the throat of the horse.

Penelope glanced at Helen. She was wearing a small smile. Perhaps he was her first choice. Perhaps it was rigged. She certainly didn’t look unhappy. Penelope supposed that he wouldn’t have needed to take the oath, since her husband would fight for her in any event. “You’re marrying brothers,” Penelope breathed. She turned again to Helen. “Do you think you’ll go to Mycenae?”

Clytemnestra answered, “No, of course not. Agamemnon and I will rule Mycenae and I would bet that Helen and Menelaus will stay here. Agamemnon won’t want him as a threat to his rule there - they both took the throne together, so the people would see both as legitimate rulers.”

Penelope suddenly started. The noise in the courtyard over the sacrifice was covering their speech, but for how long? And when would they start looking for the girls? Would they look for them? “Cousins,” she hissed. “We need to be somewhere else. Somewhere conspicuous.”

Clytemnestra nodded. Helen was starting to look a little dazed.

“The temple?” Penelope suggested.

They both nodded and they left quickly, startling their dozing attendants on the way out of the first storeroom. Clytemnestra scolded them all the way back to the women’s area, where the girls quickly gathered more attendants and headed out of the palace and into the adjoining temple. None of the men were out of the courtyard yet, thankfully, and they met no obstacles.

They prayed. Penelope mostly prayed that they wouldn’t get caught. She could hear her cousins praying for a happy marriage and for a husband who would care for them. She joined them in their prayer, wishing the best for both of them.

She was grateful once again that her father didn’t want her to marry.

Chapter Text

No one found out about their spying. Helen must have been very convincing in her surprise when her father told her the news. Helen asked and received permission to tell Penelope and Clytemnestra herself. 

Clytemnestra’s wedding date was set: four days and she would be a bride. She and Agamemnon would return to Mycenae and tell Menelaus his good fortune, at which point he would come to Sparta to marry Helen. This would allow Mycenae to have a ruler in the palace at all times; the brothers Agamemnon and Menelaus had just overthrown their uncle - who had usurped the throne from their father - and the brothers did not want to leave the palace empty at this crucial juncture.

This meant that Penelope would be staying in her uncle’s palace to help the girls get ready for and celebrate their weddings for another long while. Her father, however, returned to their palace at the other end of Sparta. He departed with the boys and left her with only a hug and a kiss. 

Many of the suitors left shortly thereafter as well, though a few stayed for the celebration. The girls did not have time to miss them, as their days were now filled with morning rituals at the temple and weaving. Always more weaving. The bride must have many high-quality linens to take with her - and with Helen marrying soon as well, there were so many linens to make.

Clytemnestra was quick to point out that in marrying the older brother, she needed more. Always more. With Clytemnestra, quantity was more important than artistry, so both looms were kept busy day after day with simple yet elegant designs. Since Penelope was an efficient weaver, she worked side by side with one of the servants who also worked quickly. Penelope went to sleep exhausted, with patterns of warp and weft behind her eyelids. 

On the first day of Clytemnestra’s wedding, Penelope was awoken far earlier than normal by her slave. She grumbled something about sleep being the only way to look her best, but her slave opened the shutters and allowed light to fill the room anyway. Early morning was usually Penelope’s favorite time of day: she loved the smell of dew on the earth and the lack of human chatter. 

But today, she could already hear women speaking and bustling about, many of them seemingly just outside her bedroom door. The early morning solitude was lost. She glared at the timbered ceiling, wishing again for the day when she would finally be able to go home. 

Resolving to do her duty, she rubbed her eyes and allowed the slave girl to dress her for temple. 

All the women were getting in line for the procession to the temple when she realized they all had sacrifices in their hands: linens, trinkets, ribbons. She ducked out of line, earning a scowl from Clytemnestra, and ran back to her room. She opened her trunk and plowed through it, finally able to see her treasure for sacrifice: one of her favorite dolls from childhood.

Dolls were precious; not many girls had them, and she only received the first one because her nurse saw how she would dress up even vegetables and treat them like babies. She had a particularly lovely carrot that she would wrap in cloth and smooth its “hair”. Even after the tops wilted, she would carry it everywhere she went. The nurse replaced it one morning with a simple doll and Penelope had wept tears of joy for a “real” baby. She was overjoyed when she was allowed to play with her brothers as infants. The nurse kept making her dolls to keep her occupied when they needed feeding or naps.

This first day of wedding celebration, the proaulia , was for the women. Penelope, now with her doll in hand, lined up with Helen behind Clytemnestra and Aunt Leda and they were each handed a cup of wine to carry in addition to their sacrifice. Helen had brought a wooden bangle and was yawning widely until her mother caught sight of her. Then she quickly hid the yawn behind her wine. 

Penelope hadn’t seen Helen much in the few days before the wedding. Helen was skilled in avoiding work and managed to be out of sight whenever something needed doing.

The women processed through the corridors and out into the early morning chill. She was a bit jealous that Uncle Tyndareus had a separate temple within the estate walls; her own palace only had a dedicated room for devotions.

The priestesses welcomed the women to the temple, their lovely hair ribbons stirring a bit in the slight breeze. Each woman took a moment to pour a sip of wine into the roaring fire in the altar at the center of the temple, then stood in a circle about the fire. Clytemnestra was waved forward, and she added a lock of her hair, the sash she had worn about her waist since her courses started, and several toys she had kept from her own childhood. 

Helen’s eyes went wide at the sight of one of them - a small horse that had been whittled out of wood. She gave Penelope a meaningful look and whispered angrily, “That was mine .” Penelope tried not to snicker. It was something her brothers would have done to her.

Penelope hadn’t seen much grumbling between the two sisters in the past few days - partially due to Helen’s continual absence in the face of work, but even at meals they had either ignored each other or been civil. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen the feral cat look on Clytemnestra since her betrothal either. Clytemnestra was certainly short-tempered and demanding, but she looked more like the prey than the predator as she supervised the wedding preparations. 

The altar’s light flickered, casting shadows on Clytemnestra’s bowed face. She looked tired. If she were anyone else, Penelope might have thought she looked a bit scared.

It was Penelope’s turn. She placed the doll on the altar and watched it burn.

They finally adjourned to the women’s courtyard, where they ate a large feast. The girls were interspersed with women from the nobility, who told the girls horrific tales of their wedding nights and giving birth to scare the younger women. Marriage sounded worse than it ever had - even Helen was pale, and Clytemnestra wouldn’t even look up from her food, which she dissected and prodded instead of eating. After the meal, Helen and Penelope both hugged Clytemnestra and told her emphatically that she would be different. But would she, Penelope wondered? Would Helen? 

They spent the afternoon finalizing the packing and trying to distract Clytemnestra, who started sniping at them more and more as the day progressed. Nothing seemed to please her: Penelope and Helen were too loud, they weren’t packing things correctly, Clytemnestra’s braids were too tight and causing her a headache…the list just went on. 

Helen tried to persuade Clytemnestra to lay down to calm her headache, but she insisted on staying to make sure everything was done correctly. She would get up randomly and start pacing, then snap at a servant. The evening meal was simple and delivered to them in the women’s rooms so they did not need to pause their labors.

Finally, Clytemnestra was talked into getting ready for bed. She asked Helen to stay with her and Penelope gave Helen a commiserating look: Helen’s task was not an easy one. Penelope kissed them both and retired to her own room, relieved at the quiet.

On the second day, the gamos , all the girls were up early again to bathe and dress the bride. Penelope helped with holding towels and untangling Clytemnestra’s hair as she sat, uncharacteristically silent. Helen gathered clothing and jewelry. Aunt Leda joined them just as Clytemnestra was ready to put on her veil, which made Clytemnestra tear up just a bit.

They tied her veil in place and led her, Aunt Leda on one side and Helen on the other, with Penelope following behind her. The dark purple veil, a royal color - and an expensive choice - wasn’t completely opaque, but it would be difficult for Clytemnestra to see well. Helen whispered directions to her as they walked, and Clytemnestra snapped at her, “I know this palace as well as you, Helen.”

After that, Helen stayed silent. 

The women led the bride to the main courtyard, where the men were arranged on one side of the court. The women took the other side, and Clytemnestra was led to her father’s side at the front. A lute played off to the side, softening the occasion and blurring the voices that filled the space. 

King Tyndareus welcomed everyone and presided over a short ceremony, where the bride was given to her husband. Agamemnon proudly announced that he would take her into his home. Clytemnestra did not need to say a word. Tyndareus took his daughter by her wrist and handed her to Agamemnon, who raised her arm for all to see his new possession. She was now officially his.

Such a short ceremony to mark such a momentous change in a girl’s life, Penelope thought. 

Agamemnon and Clytemnestra led a procession to the temple, where they again sacrificed to the gods. The women watched from the mezzanine as the men filled the temple proper, leaving Clytemnestra as the only woman in the midst of the men. This time, the sacrifice was a bull. Agamemnon slit its throat himself. The men laughed and cheered as the blood saturated Agamemnon’s feet. At least the remaining suitors would get another feast, if not a bride.

Penelope was glad she couldn’t see Clytemnestra’s reaction.

The feasting began after the temple, and the celebration lasted the entire afternoon. Tables were set up in the courtyard when they returned, and the men feasted heartily while the women waited and talked through the details of the decorations and discussed what gifts were being given the next day. Clytemnestra presided over them, but did not lift her veil or even speak. Penelope wondered if she had been replaced by a servant so she herself could get some rest before the meal began. But no, her hand - wearing all the rings she could fit on it - appeared to feed herself as the men finished and the women were finally served. The men stayed in the courtyard to drink as the women ate, and their laughter turned boisterous and bawdy as the day progressed. 

Penelope had been intimidated by the stories that the women told the day before, but the men’s taunting was somehow worse. Almost all of the women were blushing a little; Penelope and Helen were bright red. Perhaps Clytemnestra had worn a dark veil on purpose; no one could see her reaction. Penelope couldn’t wait until they could be dismissed.

Since the season had progressed into mid-autumn, the day was ending only a bit after the evening meal. Penelope thanked Helios for making the day shorter on this interminable day as Clytemnestra was ordered up front by her new husband; a summer wedding would have dragged on forever. Agamemnon again took her by her wrist and led her into the courtyard, with the laughing and drunken men following behind. 

Penelope was happy to see that her father and brothers, back for the celebrations, were only  mildly intoxicated and allowed the others to go first. With a jolt, she recognized that Odysseus was also with them. She had thought he had left to go back to Ithaca. He also did not look drunk, although his eyes were a bit shinier than normal. Odysseus helped Perious to his feet and they followed the group as well. As she watched, Odysseus looked over to her and caught her eye. He gave her a small smile, which she returned. She turned away, feeling a little confused.

The men followed the bridal couple to their bedroom for the night and watched - and added bawdy comments - as Agamemnon lifted Clytemnestra’s veil. Penelope knew what was happening just from the noise level as they left the public halls and entered the guest wing. She could hear the chanting as the men encouraged Agamemnon to rip off the veil, and the cheer when Clytemnestra’s face was revealed. Then the jokes started - and increased in volume as the men were shut out of the bedroom. Lutes were brought into the corridor outside the room and the noise continued. Tables were taken from the courtyard so that the men could play games and continue to provide noise throughout the evening.

The women dispersed, with Helen taking Penelope’s hand as they walked back to the women’s work room. They were supposed to continue working on Helen’s linens this evening. 

As they entered the long room, Penelope released Helen’s hand to rub her temples wearily. “Why are they still so loud?” 

Helen answered seriously, “So that no one will hear if the bride screams.”

The girls looked at each other, worry shining in their eyes. 

Penelope walked to the loom and started weaving her latest creation, a pastoral field with trees. Now that she was working on linens for Helen, she was adding pictures and patterns. She found herself making stupid mistakes and gave up trying to make progress for the evening. Helen was spinning, and Penelope joined her. She could pace while she was spinning, which she did until she was so tired she knew she couldn’t stay awake any longer. Helen was resolutely staying awake and gave Penelope a determined look; she was going to stay up all night in solidarity with her twin. 

Penelope curled up on a lounge chair and covered herself with a blanket. The least she could do was to stay with Helen, though she knew she’d never stay awake.

She was right: as soon as she laid her head down, she fell asleep.

The final day of the wedding, the epaulia , did not require Penelope and Helen to wake early. Even so, they were still difficult to wake when the slaves came for them.

Penelope was glad to see that Helen had gotten some sleep. She was certain that she herself looked awful - she could feel the tiredness behind her eyes and a slight pain in her head. Helen, of course, still looked radiant. They were given soft cloths dipped in cool spring water to press on their eyes while the slaves attended to their hair.

Helen explained that normally the newly married couple would have spent the night at their own home. This third day was for everyone to visit them there and give them gifts. Since Agamemnon and Clytemnestra were headed home, they would spend the day getting gifts and packing the wagons for the trip. Clytemnestra would sit and receive gifts with her friends and family, while Agamemnon supervised taking the gifts and packing them away.

Helen and Penelope took their time eating the morning meal, saying little to each other. Penelope couldn’t shake the word “screaming” from her mind. She knew what happened on wedding nights, but she hadn’t imagined it to be brutal. She caught Helen wiping a tear, and the two gave each other grim looks.

Finished with their meal, they linked arms and left with their attendants to find the festivities of the day. They found Clytemnestra easily: she was being thronged with well-wishers. She had a smile plastered on her face, but her eyes were wary. Helen and Penelope were immediately welcomed to the center of the attention, and Clytemnestra hugged them both. She held onto Helen for an extra moment, and Penelope looked away to give them a tiny bit of privacy.

The girls spent all morning welcoming wedding guests and accepting gifts. Agamemnon would stride over to them every so often and instruct slaves to gather the gifts that were quickly piling off to the side. Penelope lost count of the many bowls, three-legged cauldrons, bolts of cloth, and even foodstuffs that were heaped upon Clytemnestra. She could see that Clytemnestra’s eyes were glazed over. Helen didn’t look much better, and Penelope just wished for the day to end.

Finally, the guests stopped coming and the girls were allowed to enter the banquet hall, where they sat chatting about their favorite gifts until the men were finished eating. Then they were served. Helen and Penelope ate heartily, since they had been unable to have a midday meal, but Clytemnestra just picked at her food. How long had it been since she had eaten, Penelope wondered. Helen leaned over and whispered in her ear, but Clytemnestra just shook her head.

After the meal, Clytemnestra was again led away to cheers and loud singing. Helen and Penelope linked arms again until they reached their bedrooms, then parted with an embrace.

“Did she say anything to you at all today?” Penelope asked Helen softly.

Helen just shook her head, then turned away.

They awoke early the next day to wish the new couple a good trip. A large feast was held for the morning meal, but the women ate in their rooms while the men feasted in the courtyard. Helen was anxious to find Clytemnestra and tell her goodbye, so the girls hurried through their meal. As they stood to go find the bride, Clytemnestra herself entered the room. Her attendants entered as well and closed the door. Once the door was closed, Clytemnestra flew to her sister’s arms and they clutched at each other, tears flowing.

Clytemnestra pulled her hair back over her shoulder from where it was caught between herself and Helen. Penelope shuddered; Clytemnestra’s neck was bruised. Penelope could see where four fingers had pressed into her neck, and as she looked, she could also see signs of bruising in the open gaps of her sleeves. 

Helen caught her eye, and Penelope quickly excused herself. She walked to the balcony and looked out over the playing field. Several of the younger boys were playing games. She could see Thoas playing ball with several boys his age. The suitors that were still in town were gathered to one side of the field, playing dice or just talking. She missed the contests. She missed them all not being married.

Clytemnestra came out to the balcony and gave Penelope a hug. “Thank you for being here with Helen,” she said. “Please take care of her.” She was in earnest, and Penelope nodded. “I will miss you,” she said. “Strange, isn’t it?” They laughed a little. Penelope found it difficult to maintain a smile as she searched for more signs of bruising. At least Clytemnestra’s face had been spared.

Penelope was able to see her father for a moment the day that Clytemnestra left. She asked to stay until Helen was married, and he agreed, pleased that she would request more time with Helen. Leaving would have felt like a betrayal.

Since they didn’t know how long it would take Menelaus to arrive, they worked almost as frantically as they had for Clytemnestra’s wedding. They were able to vary the pace of their days by taking walks through the estate, since there were no more suitors lounging about the palace. Tyndareus even gave them leave to go into the town, though the roads were muddy from the seasonal rains. Most days, they preferred to send the house slaves to town if they needed anything. 

Without Clytemnestra, the girls spent more time praying than dancing. Helen had been subdued since her twin had left, spending most afternoons napping. Penelope worried about her, but wasn’t sure what to do.

“Come on, Helen, let’s go to market!” It was finally a clear day, and the weather had managed to coincide with a market day. Penelope had been up early, so she sent a request to her uncle for guards to accompany her and Helen. She had to get Helen out of the palace. Between the rain and the wedding responsibilities, Helen was turning moody and petulant. Penelope preferred the bored and vain Helen to this.

Helen just looked up at her from her morning meal. A slave was winding her hair into elaborate braids, pinning her in place. “Aren’t you excited?” Penelope asked. “A chance to finally get outdoors.” Helen’s expression did not change. “The market always has new trinkets. And the clothes!” She did not care for either of these things, but the mere mention of them had Helen’s attention.

“I suppose we can spare a day…” she considered.

“Yes!” Penelope almost ran to her room to find her sandals and cloak. The palace walls had been closing in on her since the competitions ended. She was ready for a change of scenery. And Uncle Tyndareus had even given them permission to walk instead of being confined to a carriage. Movement, sunshine. If it wasn’t what Helen wanted, it certainly was what Penelope needed.
They walked from the palace with two guards each, followed by two ladies each. It had taken another hour for Helen to decide what to wear and to finally concede that she would look beautiful regardless. Penelope glanced at her as they walked. She seemed to glide, almost dance as she walked. Did Helen miss the dancing they did when Clytemnestra was around? Both girls were skilled in dancing, but perhaps Helen missed it.

“Should we dance for your wedding?” Penelope asked. There had been dancing at Clytemnestra’s wedding, but Clytemnestra had just sat and watched.

Helen looked at the sky, thoughtful. “The bride wouldn’t dance, and without Clytemnestra…”

“True, I am not the most able dancer,” Penelope admitted.

Helen shook her head. “That wasn’t what I meant. You are a fine dancer - “ Penelope snorted, “Perhaps your dancing is more suited to war than a courtyard.” Penelope started to laugh, and Helen gave her a small smile.

“Penelope,” she said seriously, “It is good of you to stay. But you don’t have to pretend to like me or try to keep up my spirits…”

Penelope put her arm through Helen’s. “I’m not pretending.”

“Women don’t usually like me,” Helen said softly, almost guiltily.

“That’s okay,” Penelope returned, “I don’t usually like women.”

Helen was startled into a laugh.

“Truly,” Penelope insisted. “Father used to have girls from the nobility come often to spin and weave with me, or to…I don’t know what we were supposed to do, honestly.” Helen laughed again. “All I wanted to do…”

“Was fight with your brothers?” Helen guessed.

Penelope shrugged. “The girls stopped coming. I was boring.”

“The girls here stopped coming as well,” Helen said sadly. “I wanted them, but...Clytemnestra can be…”

“Cruel?” Penelope offered.

“Brutally honest,” Helen corrected. “I do love my sister, though I know it doesn’t seem like it some days, but I really hoped…to find a friend.” She laid her head on Penelope’s shoulder. “They just…instinctively…hated me.”

“Because you attract men by just breathing?” Penelope asked, eyebrows high and eyes wide with innocence. “Because you are stunning and no one stands next to you without feeling…lesser?”

It was Helen’s turn to laugh. “I suppose.” She raised her head and looked speculatively at Penelope. “You don’t seem to care.”

Again, she shrugged. “I’m not looking for a husband.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” She pursed her lips. “Is it, do you think, because you have a goddess for a mother and I have a god for a father? Do you think your divinity somehow…blocks…mine?”

This time, Penelope was genuinely amazed. First, that Helen seemed to honestly believe her mother was a naiad. But also…she might have a point. Helen seemed to stun men and women alike. Men were entranced, women were jealous. She truly did not feel any jealousy towards Helen. “You might be right.”

“Even Clytemnestra…” Helen sighed, but then looked at her sharply. “I think you do have eyes for someone.” When Penelope started to protest, she held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Especially your father. He really is set on you running his household for life, from what you say. But I have seen your eyes soften as you watched the suitors. I think there is at least one that caught your eye.”

Penelope blushed, but replied, “Are you certain it wasn’t the gorgeous weaponry I was eyeing? There were some amazing specimens on the field.”

“Oh, are we calling men ‘specimens’ now?”

The girls laughed. They were nearing the market, and Helen’s eyes went wide with joy at the sparkling array of goods spread about her. Tables with awnings were piled high with linens, livestock were tethered in small pens, wheeled cauldrons were heating over open fires and delicious but competing smells filled the air. There were traders selling metals and jewelry, hunters selling pelts, farmers selling all manner of vegetables and grain. 

Helen was in her element. She dragged Penelope from booth to booth, sighing over a silky fabric from the east, draping gems over her skin to see which looked best. And everywhere they went, male vendors tried to give her items. She would refuse for the most part - it was terribly improper for a woman to accept gifts from a man she didn’t know - but couldn’t resist a small carved box given her by a young boy. She did have the guards pay for it, but she carried it lovingly and caressed the whorls in the design as they walked. 

“I’m so glad I don’t have to leave Sparta,” she commented softly. “I love our markets.” She turned and looked over the crowds. “I love the mountains. I love the valley. I love the buildings and the people…how can Clytemnestra stand leaving?”

Penelope shook her head. “I don’t know. She said it was closer to the sea. Have you ever seen the sea, Helen?”

“Once. Are we finished here? Do you want to see anything else?”

Penelope tilted her head. She had not been in the market to see anything, really, so the question and the turn of conversation surprised her. “No, I’m finished.”

They walked out of the market, still surrounded by their entourage. The slave women were now carrying parcels of all shapes and sizes - Helen had found many items to her liking.

“When did you see the sea? Where? What was it like?” Penelope asked interestedly. She would like to see the sea.

Helen bit her lip. “When I was taken to Athens. I was quite young…well, I guess it was only about five years ago. Athens is on the sea, you know.”

Penelope’s veins ran cold. Helen must be referring to when she was abducted as a girl. “I’m sorry, Helen, forgive me. You do not have to discuss this. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Helen waved away her concern. “Other than being bound and taken from my home, I was well treated. Theseus wanted a wife, and I was too young…so he left me with his mother.”

“Other than being taken from your home? That is the worst part, I think,” Penelope objected.

“It was quite…distressing. But his mother lived by the sea. Listening to it…the waves are calming. Some nights when I am upset, I miss the sound.” She smiled at Penelope sadly. “Strange, isn’t it? How you could miss something from a terrible moment in your life?”

Penelope nodded. “Men,” she said finally. “Why do they think they can take what they want?” She took a deep breath. “Why does power reside with them, when they are so…violent, so capricious?”

Helen wound her arm through Penelope’s again. “You’ve been listening to the wrong people, Penelope,” she confided in a low tone. “Probably men. Men aren’t in power. They just think they are.” The girls met gazes. “Apparently you need some new lessons.” 

It took a full two moons for Lord Menelaus to make his way to Sparta from Mycenae. Privately Penelope thought he was being quite rude to keep his bride waiting, but Helen didn’t seem to mind the extra time to prepare for the wedding. Penelope found she was enjoying the company of her cousin much more than anticipated, but still wished to return home. 

The thought of Aletes, her littlest red-headed brother, being teased or ignored by her other brothers followed her through the hallways in Tyndareus’s household. He was often left to fend for himself. The older brothers would be fine, she was sure, but they didn’t see everything that needed to be done. 

Penelope was relieved, then, when Lord Menelaus finally made his arrival. He was not quite as tall or as fit as his brother, and his coloring was completely different. Agamemnon had dark hair, but Menelaus was a reddish blonde - a faded version of Helen’s own brilliant hair. She wasn’t very impressed with his manners, either; he hardly even spoke to Helen and ignored Penelope completely when they were introduced.

When Penelope brought it up, Helen was untroubled. “He’ll be interested enough once we’re married,” she assured Penelope. “And if he is disinterested, that bodes well for me - I can do more of what I wish and less of what he wants.”

“I have never seen a man that could look at you and not…keep looking at you, Helen. Do you not find it strange that the one who can look away is to be your husband?”

She shrugged. “I get to stay in my home. I will be wealthy. Nothing else really matters to me.”

“But…don’t you want to love your husband? Have him love you?”

Helen looked at her strangely. “Again, I wonder where you get these ideas. Love and marriage do not go hand in hand. Love is for adventures. Marriage is for providing for a family.”

Penelope’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “Are you joking? ‘Love is for adventures?’” She lowered her voice to a whisper, so that not even their ladies could hear them. “Are you already planning on ‘adventures’?”

Helen laughed and patted her hand. “Of course not. But one cannot guess the future, right?”

The night before Helen’s wedding, Penelope welcomed back her father. He had brought the two oldest brothers to this wedding as well. She was surprised to see that Odysseus was with them - again - and all looked very comfortable in one another’s company.

After welcoming them, she couldn’t stop herself from addressing Odysseus. “Lord Odysseus, have you not been back to your home in all this time?” 

He shook his head. “Lord Icarius has been kind enough to host me so that I could see both weddings. My mother will love to hear of the festivities. I have enjoyed the company of your brothers very much these past few moons.”

She tilted her head at him, then looked to her father. “Father, you are not given to being so kind,” she teased. “Have you been well?”

He laughed and kissed her forehead. “Not without you, sparrow. It has been a long time without you, but Lord Odysseus has lightened our hearts with stories while you’ve been gone. I am glad you are coming home with us soon!”

“Me too, father. Although I will be sad to leave Helen…” she wistfully looked towards the womens’ rooms. She worried about Helen, especially since meeting Lord Menelaus. Clytemnestra had been battered - and who knew what else - on the night after her wedding. Would Helen have anything better to look forward to?

“She will be happy to be married,” her father assured her. “Tyndareus is keeping the married couple here, isn’t he?”

She nodded. 

“There you are!” he exclaimed. “Helen will be well taken care of.”

“And I suppose I can come to visit her,” she sighed. Again, her eyes strayed towards the womens’ rooms. She wanted to spend time with her father, but there was so little time left with Helen. She wondered if Helen was working at the loom - as she had been when Penelope left to greet her family - or if she had tucked herself into a lounge and was sleeping instead. Either way, Penelope supposed she wouldn’t be missed much. She could afford to spend time with her family for the afternoon.

She turned back to her father to see him casting a meaningful glance at Odysseus. “My dear daughter, shall we walk?”

She grinned, taking his arm. “I would be delighted, father.” What she really wanted was a run, but that was out of the question here. But the slow pace of life on this side of Sparta could only be improved by time with her father. 

Her father led her away from the palace, on a small dirt path that she knew wound around the estate. She was surprised to see that Thoas and Odysseus followed them without being invited. She tried to tamp down her disappointment; she was hoping to spend time with just her father to see how their estate was doing. She supposed she could ask anyway, but she would not get as many details with someone outside of the family nearby.

“How is the estate, father? The boys?”

He chuckled. “The boys are doing well. Aletes is constantly asking for you, and the others all wait to hear news of you as well - of course, they pretend they don’t care.” She grinned. “Your  mother has provided me with another lovely child -”

She gasped and stopped. “No! You didn’t send for me?”

He laughed and continued walking. “We do have plenty of nurses and slaves to care for her.”

She didn’t follow him, and Thoas and Odysseus caught up to her. She blinked at Thoas. “A sister?” He nodded, a wide smile on his face. She glanced at Odysseus, again feeling the strangeness of this familial conversation happening in front of a stranger. She remembered that her family had just spent more than an entire moon cycle with him - perhaps it was only strange to her.

“Father!” She caught up with him easily. “A baby sister!” 

He nodded, pleased. “Her name is Iphthime. I think you will be pleased to meet her.”

“And I missed mother!” she exclaimed.

He shook his head. “She did not stay to even greet the boys,” he admitted. “She is like…” he looked up into the sky with a wistful look. “Like the breeze that gently strokes your hair back from your face. You wish to keep it with you always, but…” he shrugged. “Then she is gone.”

They walked for a moment in silence. “But little Iphthime is beautiful. She reminds me so much of you.”

Penelope ducked her head, smiling at the love in her father’s voice. This is what she missed; being a part of a loving family. Helen was becoming a close friend, but her family was strange to Penelope. They spent almost no time together at all. Tyndareus would spend some of his days with his two boys, but Aunt Leda was never around, and Helen was almost forgotten in her part of the palace - and Penelope with her. 

“Is Perious doing well in his lessons?” she asked. He was supposed to spend a portion of each day with Icarius, learning statecraft. Instead of being where he was supposed to be, he often found ways to hide from his responsibilities. He would disappear before the morning meal and could be seen walking back through the fields at dusk. Her father supposed he was off fishing with his friends, or playing games with them. Perious was lucky Icarius was very tolerant of youthful ramblings in his boys - he rarely chastised for his lack of dedication.

Icarius tilted his head back and forth, indicating that the boy was still up to his disappearing tricks. “Thoas is doing much better.”

Penelope looked back to find Thoas walking quietly beside Odysseus. She furrowed her brow. It was so unlike Thoas to be quiet.

“Semus?” she asked, turning her attention back to her father.

“He’s taken up the bow and is doing quite well; Damasippus has progressed to a wooden sword. Both are quite strong for as young as they are.”

She grinned. The two boys were almost inseparable but were always brawling. Most inhabitants in the palace just stayed out of their way.

“You don’t need to worry for them, sparrow. They are doing quite well.” He looked at her knowingly. 

“I am sure they are, father. You take good care of us all. I do still worry about them, though.” She missed tucking Aletes into bed at night and singing to him as he fell asleep. The others wouldn’t allow her to tuck them in anymore, but they all suffered a hug and a kiss at the end of a long day. Grubby hands would tackle her around the waist if she forgot any one of them. She smiled to herself, glad that she would see them all soon. “And you’re well?”

“As you can see, daughter.” He was silent for a moment. “I do have some business to discuss with you.” His tone had a quiet air of command. 

“Did any of the trades not go through?” she whispered, trying to keep her words from travelling to the pair that followed them.

Her father laughed again. “You are too worried about my kingdom, little one. No, no, the trades went well.” He took a deep breath. “I have decided to allow Lord Odysseus to court you.”

She kept moving, but knew her eyes were wide and wild. Her heart had suddenly started beating irregularly and her breath was a bit uneven. She clenched her father’s arm tightly and he looked at her, worried. “Father?” 

“I know you and I had talked about you not marrying,” he murmured. “But Tyndareus and I spoke at length, and I have been getting to know Lord Odysseus…”

“What does my uncle have to do with this?” she muttered, pressing her free arm against her heart. It was still doing funny things inside her chest, and she knew her face must be bright red.

“Lord Odysseus helped Tyndareus out of the suitor situation,” he explained. 

Penelope remembered seeing Odysseus talking with Uncle Tyndareus when the oath was announced. She huffed out a breath. It must have been his idea. “How?” she asked quietly.

“He proposed an oath in exchange for Tyndareus’s help in courting you.” She couldn’t speak. For her! “You should be very proud.”

“I am honored,” she whispered automatically, her training taking over even when she was hardly able to speak. Was she to return home only to leave again? Would she see her brothers again? Who would raise her new sister?

“Sparrow, I will not marry you to him if you don’t agree. I would like you to get to know him a bit before you make a decision.” 

Helen had not had a choice. Clytemnestra most certainly had not had a choice. This was a priceless gift, and the thought that her father would allow her such freedom brought tears to her eyes. 

“However,” he continued, placing his free hand over hers on his arm, “I would strongly advise you to recognize that he is an unusual man.” He looked at her until she met his eyes again. “He is the gem,” he said softly. 

“Truly?” she asked.

Long ago, when she was only a child, her father had walked her to the quarry one morning. She thought it was going to be an adventurous day, just the two of them - and their guards, of course - hiking, peering into caves, setting traps…they had spent many days thus when she was younger. Instead, he had set her a task: find a gem in the quarry rocks. He left her with a mallet and told her to be careful of her eyes. He left her then, and she spent the morning turning over the rocks and wondering what lay inside. Every rock she broke open, and she broke open many, was nothing more than a rock. 

Her father returned with the midday meal, and they picnicked together. After they had eaten, and she had bemoaned not finding anything all morning, he went to the rock pile and examined them closely. He chose one that looked completely ordinary. More ordinary than any she had chosen, she remembered thinking. When he broke it open, she was shocked to see purple crystals spiking from a hole in the center of the rock. They fairly coated the interior of the rock, and were blinding when the sun hit them. 

“Daughter,” he had said. “There are people all around you.” He gestured to the pile of rocks. “It is difficult to know which contain beauty just by looking on the outside. I have had much experience in this, however. I want for you to trust me. I love you and would never want to see you harmed. I will show you the gems, if you will let me.”

She still had that rock. She had learned to ask for and trust her father’s opinion. 

“Penelope.” He took a deep breath. “Keep your heart open. You will see what I see. And,” he added, squeezing her hand, “he is determined that you choose to marry him.” 

Her heart flipped again. He was certainly handsome - perhaps not as handsome as Greater Ajax, but very nice to look at. He was strong and had won or almost won at many of the contests. He was also well-spoken and able to persuade others. 

“Who will run our palace?” she asked.

He smirked. “Surprisingly, I did just fine before you were around,” he teased. “You just made things a bit easier. You might find you like having your own house. And your own children.”

Her face went hot and she remembered Clytemnestra’s tearstained face as she hugged her sister, her wary eyes that testified of recent pain as she sat through hours of gifts, and the bruises that peeked from underneath her hair and her clothing. “I thought you didn’t want me to marry.”

“I still don’t, my dearest.” He gave her a sad smile. “But you may. Your mother -”

“My mother?”

“Your mother requested that I give you the option. Keeping you is very selfish on my part.”  

Her mother had told him that she should be allowed to marry. The thought was staggering. She wasn’t given much time to reflect, however. Her father patted her hand and beckoned to Odysseus, who joined them.

She wanted to protest, but dropped her gaze and dropped a small curtsey as he joined her father at her side. She glanced back to see Thoas waving as he left them to climb a nearby tree. Traitor. Her throat felt completely closed and she wondered how long she could continue walking when she wasn’t getting any complete breaths.

“Princess Penelope,” he started, then took a breath.

”Lord Odysseus, I am honored…” her voice left her. At the realization that they were both nervous, she began to giggle. He started to chuckle as well. Soon they were both laughing, and she found she was struggling for breath again, which made her laugh even harder. Her father even joined in.

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Icarius began again to walk, taking her hand and tucking it into his arm. Odysseus started to walk again as well, letting them set the pace. She would often walk between her two brothers, and she found the comparison comforting. 

Icarius was the first to speak. “Penelope, we never got to talk about the contests for Helen. Did you find them enjoyable?”

She nodded. “The past few moons have been rather dull without them.” 

Her father grinned. “Do you wish they were all still here, competing for Helen?”

“Oh, no, father, that isn’t what I meant,” she stumbled. “I am glad that things are settled for Helen, as is she.” She added the last as an afterthought, knowing they might wonder. Or perhaps it was only she who wondered what everyone thought in every situation? She blundered on, “I did love watching them as we worked. Especially archery and sword fighting.”

Odysseus’s eyebrows shot up. “Sword fighting?”

Her face turned hot again. Women usually didn’t love the clang of the swords, or so she was led to believe. Helen and Clytemnestra had been annoyed by the noise. Archery, javelins, spears - she thought those were what she was supposed to like. She loved forms of sword fighting, though - they were constantly changing and being expanded into new movements, much like a dance. A deadly dance, certainly, but the fighting could be almost lyrical. The other competitions that were supposed to appeal to ladies were just testing aim or trying to throw as far as possible. 

“Swords are as much about strength as they are cunning,” she replied. “There are butchers, like Idomeneus of Crete, who are not so fun to watch, defenders like Telemonian Ajax who are constantly keeping the others at bay, and then the offensive fighters - “ another blush, “such as yourself. There are so many combinations, so much strategy.”

The men shared a look over her head which she could not interpret, as she tried to keep her eyes downcast, as she had been taught was proper around men she was not related to. “I find Idomeneus extremely entertaining,” her father rejoined, “as he tends to frighten anyone who comes near.”

“Yes, but there is no finesse to his fighting,” Penelope countered. “What do you think, Lord Odysseus?”

“Hm. I, of course, prefer my own style.” 

She glanced up at him to see him smiling, his eyes twinkling.

He started comparing the strategies she listed, adding men to one or the other of her categories. Then he started breaking the categories down: there were those who started offensively and would break into defense for just a moment or two, then would shift back into offense once their opponent had taken a blow.

It wasn’t long until all three were discussing particular matches. Penelope had an advantage of seeing the matches from the balcony, where she could more clearly see each move. Both men had been at the side of the playing yard, and so one opponent could easily block their view of the action.

Penelope was surprised to see that they had completed the circuit of the estate and had only talked through a day or so of the contests.

“I should probably return to Helen,” she said, finding herself torn: she wished to continue the discussion, and yet she knew that Helen needed her.

The men both stepped back and bowed slightly. 

Her father took her hand and said, “Until tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, father.” She turned to Odysseus and bobbed a quick curtsy again. “My lord.”

“Princess.” He just smiled at her. That brilliant, lopsided smile.

She motioned to her ladies, who had waited for her at the main doors, and left the men. The thought of that lopsided smile would not leave her. Or those dark eyes. Or that lock of hair that would just keep falling into his face, causing him to shake it back or pull it back every so often.

What would it feel like, she wondered, to push it back for him? She loved doing that for her brothers. Would it be annoying for a wife to do so, like she was mothering him?

She shook off her thoughts and continued walking. She couldn’t decide if she was more disturbed at her thoughts or the fact she was even having them. Was she really thinking of marriage, after so long being happy at the prospect of staying with her father for her entire life?

Helen was sleeping on the lounge again, curled tightly into herself. Penelope picked up a blanket that was draped over a nearby chair and tucked it around Helen, watching her visibly relax as she warmed. Helen sleepily opened an eye and gave Penelope a small smile. “How is your father and brothers?” she asked groggily.

“I have a new sister, she answered, kneeling on the floor in front of Helen.

Helen opened both eyes and reached for Penelope’s hand, which she readily clasped into Helen’s. “Oh, Penelope! A baby!” Her eyebrows creased together. “I’m so sorry, you probably want so badly to be with her. And instead, you are here with me…and this wedding…” she closed her eyes again.

Penelope studied her face closely. Helen was usually relaxed in sleep, but there was a tension around her eyes. “Does your head hurt?” she asked softly, just in case loud talking would make it worse.

Helen just nodded a little. “I think it may possibly hurt for the remainder of my life,” she said, again with her small smile.

“Helen,” Penelope said sternly, “You know that isn’t true. No matter where you are, you find people you love and make their world better. Look at what you’ve done for me! You could turn your husband’s life into a dream, if you wished. And you’ll make yourself happy in the process.” She hugged her cousin’s hand to her chest. “If not, I will come myself to rescue you. From all the way across town.”

Helen actually giggled a little, and Penelope smiled. Her smile faded, though, as she thought again of Lord Odysseus. She might not actually be across town if his suit was successful. She leaned her head against the lounge.

“You were already happy,” Helen murmured, using her other hand to smooth Penelope’s braids. “You brought such life into our boring halls.”

Penelope shook her head. “You have been the first female friend I think I’ve ever had,” she said softly. When Helen started to protest, she continued. “Slaves and servants are kind to me because they must be. My brothers are…well, brothers. I love them dearly, but I never realized how much I wanted a friend. One that just wanted to see how I was doing in the morning and talk to in the afternoons…” She smiled up at Helen. “I will miss you terribly.”

Helen’s eyes welled up with tears. “I will miss you, too. First Clytemnestra is gone…although this wedding has gone much more smoothly without her…and now you. But I suppose we can meet more often. You really don’t need to be home all the time, do you?”

Penelope sighed. “Father tells me he does just fine without me,” she confessed. “A few moons ago, he said the opposite. I am not sure what to believe.” She shrugged. “I am not sure where I belong anymore.”

“You’re too beautiful not to marry,” Helen said definitively. “But then, where will you be? Too far, I think…”

How far away was Ithaca? She would have to ask Odysseus.

That night, she dreamed of Odysseus. She woke up feeling unsettled, as if the dream were telling her something significant. Perhaps her father was right: she needed to get to know this man.

The first day of the wedding went smoothly, with sacrifices and prayer and women crowding around Helen. Helen had recovered from her headache and was able to enjoy the festivities. Tyndareus had several honey cakes delivered to her room in the morning for the women to enjoy, since Helen liked those specifically. Clytemnestra hadn’t asked for or received any special treats, and Helen was very flattered.

Aunt Leda, of course, had reappeared for this moment and was not pleased. “You shouldn’t eat sweets for your wedding feast,” she said sourly. “You’ll develop a taste for them, keep eating them, and lose your lovely figure.”

Helen smiled. “Too late, mother! Father knows how much I love them and sent them for me.” She pointedly pushed an entire cake, which was the size of her fist, into her mouth. 

“That,” her mother pointed at her face, “is disgusting. You are lucky your husband is not here to witness that!” Leda turned and walked out while Helen crossed her eyes at her mother and Penelope tried not to laugh. Several of the slave women did snicker, but everyone managed to keep the laughter inside until the door firmly closed behind Aunt Leda.

She did not receive a message summoning her to her father’s side that night. She supposed he had forgotten, or assumed she was busy. She did not know what to make of it.

The second day, Helen did have a headache again. She made it through the morning, but had to excuse herself from the afternoon feasting to rest. Penelope joined her, grateful for the excuse to remove herself from the loud, boisterous feast. She placed a cool cloth on Helen’s forehead, while tucking warm blankets around her. Then she sat quietly and napped as well, knowing there would be little sleep for either of them that night.

She helped Helen dress again as the day turned towards night. The girls embraced tightly. Helen finally pulled back, and Penelope put on her veil. Aunt Leda had made an appearance so as to tie the veil in place, and they formed a procession to bring the bride to her husband.

Penelope kept her head down. “Lady Artemis, please help her,” she muttered under her breath. “Great Athena, keep her safe,” she chanted. All she wanted to do was take Helen’s hand and run back to their room.

The men caught up with them then and it was too late. Menelaus took her wrist and they disappeared into the throng of men and into their bedroom, already prepared for their wedding night. The men cheered.

Penelope turned to go back to the women’s workroom, but her elbow was caught in a firm hand. “Penelope,” her father said firmly. 

She stopped and turned back to him. “Father,” she said obediently.

“I have agreed that Thoas can walk with you and Lord Odysseus this evening while we celebrate.”

Now she wanted to climb into a tree or crawl into some underbrush until morning. “This evening?” she choked out. “What happened to last night? Why not tomorrow?”

“We were detained by my brother yesterday evening. Tonight will do.” Icarius pulled Thoas out of the crowd, then took her hand and placed it in the crook of Thoas’s elbow. Thoas yanked her away from the crush. She kept her eyes lowered, hoping Thoas would keep Lord Odysseus occupied with his natural chatter. She was certainly not in the mood for company tonight - especially male company.

She supposed that Thoas only barely qualified as male - he was still in his early teens. The thought lifted her spirits a little. Maybe Thoas would help her escape into a tree.

“Princess,” Lord Odysseus said. His feet were in sandals, neatly tied about his ankles.

“My lord,” she replied softly. Her voice was almost too soft to hear over the ruckus.

“Come on, Penelope,” Thoas complained. “We can’t even hear each other here.” He pulled her onto the path and they walked just on the outer reaches of the torchlight. “I can’t believe I’m walking with my sister instead of playing games.” He looked longingly at the crowd behind them. “I could get drunk and no one would know!”

“Until you were sick all night,” Odysseus laughed.

“Not me,” Thoas insisted. “I am tough!” 

Odysseus continued to laugh. 

Thoas turned to her. “Penelope! Tell him! I can do it!”

She shook her head, and he pouted. “Ugh, sisters. Worthless. What do you think, Lord Odysseus? If we go back, will we really hear cousin Helen scream?”

Penelope bit her lip so that she tasted copper. She was not going to cry. She was not.

Odysseus’s reply was unexpected. “I hope not.”

“But isn’t that the point?” Thoas asked. He was confused. Penelope was mortified. Brothers were the worst.

“Not really…” Odysseus was also uncomfortable. For some reason, that made Penelope feel a little better. 

Thoas opened his mouth again, then shut it. He realized, belatedly, that his audience was not as keen on this conversation as he was. “Penelope, did I show you how fast I can climb this tree?” He dashed away to a large tree out of the light, leaving Penelope and Odysseus to follow.

Odysseus did not move to follow Thoas, but moved just slightly closer to Penelope. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. The bottom flounce of her skirt was suddenly very interesting. She didn’t know what was worse: Thoas’s inane and uncomfortable conversation or being left alone in the half dark with a man who had declared his intention to marry her. Left along with him on the night her friend - her only friend - was with her husband for the first time. Perhaps in pain. Perhaps screaming.

She turned away and took a step towards Tomas, but was stopped by Odysseus’s hand on her arm.

“Be assured,” he said firmly, “My wife will only ever scream in pleasure.”

She blinked. This was not what she expected. She was having trouble breathing again.

“I intend for my wife to enjoy my bed - and if it takes a day, a moon cycle, or a year…I want her to beg me to come to our bed. Not be taken there by force.” With that, he walked under the tree. “Someone should make sure Prince Thoas doesn’t break his neck…” he muttered.

Penelope stood still, unsure. She should follow him - being left alone on a night with the men drunk as they were was unsafe. She wasn’t sure how she felt about his last words. She wasn’t sure how she felt about anything. But she forced her feet to move anyway.

She reached the tree she thought held Thoas, then listened for the telltale rustling as he climbed. 

“Over here,” Odysseus called. She had not gone quite far enough, and she thought of several humiliating ways to end Thoas as she went farther into the darkness.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he said, suddenly by her side again. “It’s just…it seemed that Prince Thoas was…” his words drifted into silence.

“Being awful,” she finished for him. 

He accepted that with a tilt of his head. Her eyes starting to adjust, she saw that he was gazing into the tree, probably keeping an eye on her brother.

“Princess, is this - “ he gestured to the palace where the men were now singing raucously, “ - part of your hesitation to marry?”

“I never said I was hesitant to marry.” Her voice sounded breathy and weak. She cleared her throat, but didn’t continue.

“Your father gave me the impression that you would never marry. By your request.” The statement was an obvious question, but she didn’t reply. After a moment, he continued. “Here’s what I see: you are a beautiful and frighteningly intelligent woman.”

She glanced at him sharply, and he held out both hands in a defensive position. “You were making those trades like you were born for it. Better than most men I have known. And you can tell me your father was making the decisions all you want, but I know what I saw.” 

She shrugged.

“I also see someone who loves her family. Possibly to a fault.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Being with them has shown me how much they adore you. They are constantly saying what you would or wouldn’t do, how you would handle any situation…and Aletes cried every night for you to sing for him.” He was silent. “I can see how that would be very difficult for you to leave. But would you be happy taking care of your father’s family, and then your brothers’ families, always being in the shadow? When could you run your own household?”

“I do run the household,” she said firmly, surprised at herself. Her father would be very disappointed that she had admitted as much out loud - he was very proud of how the house was run, but she was not supposed to let anyone know. Perhaps her role was shadowy. But she loved her family…

“Do you get credit for it?” 

She was silent.

“You deserve more, Princess Penelope.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. He was earnest.

“You may be worried about the changes. You may be worried about losing your home. But you would gain so much.”

“I love them…” she said, helplessly.

“And they love you.” He nodded. “That’s true. But…” he breathed out a puff of air. “When you pulled that dagger on me, I was lost.” He stepped just a little bit closer. “Everything you have done beyond that has only deepened what I feel for you.” Another step. “You would have love, Penelope. I would love you.”

She couldn’t look away. “I don’t even know you,” she said softly, almost to herself. 

“What do you want to know?” he asked, flippantly. “You’ve seen me compete. You know I’m a king of an island kingdom. You know I have wealth enough to make your life comfortable and even luxurious. I am patient.” Another step and he was in front of her. Close enough to touch if she reached out her arm. “I am very patient. But please…” he reached out to her, but pulled back his hand, glancing upwards into the tree again, which had gone completely silent. “Please give me hope that my attention is not wasted.”

“My lord…” she breathed as the tree produced a mighty crack and her brother fell from the sky. Odysseus managed to catch Thoas’s head before it smacked into the ground, but his arm wasn’t so lucky. 

“Oh, Thoas!” she cried, and fell beside him to cradle his head. 

He tried to push her off. “Leave me alone, Penelope…stop it!” He pulled away and started to cry. Odysseus helped him up and held out a hand for her as well.

She took it, tears also threatening in her own eyes. She met his gaze again, and nodded once. He took a deep breath, satisfied. Thoas started off on his own, but they caught up with him and tried to talk him out of limping back into the palace.  He finally agreed to lean on Odysseus, still frustrated with his sister for babying him. They took him into the palace, found him a warm spot by the fire in the courtyard, and Odysseus went off to see if there was a healer in the crowd. 

Thoas glared at her, and she knelt by his side. She usually didn’t talk to him when he was upset, but she always hoped that she could provide some balm just by being near. “I hate you,” he said in a low, angry voice.

She looked at him sadly. “I love you, too,” she said. 

“You’re going to leave us,” he accused. “You can’t love us. You don’t love us.” His words started to smash together as his crying intensified. “You can stay with us, Penelope. Please stay with us!” He threw himself into her arms and sobbed.

She rocked him back and forth gently, trying not to upset his arm, which was starting to swell alarmingly. It had been years since Thoas had allowed her to hold him so. Tears rolled down her own cheeks as well as she felt her heart crack. How could she leave them? She kissed Thoas’s head.

The healer arrived and she continued to hold her brother while his arm was wrapped carefully. He was given strong wine to drink to dull the pain, and she held him gently until he finally gave in and went to sleep. 

“Do you want me to carry him to his room?” asked Odysseus, who had watched silently as they had ministered to Thoas. She shook her head. “Would you ask the servants to make him a pallet here in front of the fire?” she whispered.

He went and did as she asked, and soon Thoas was wrapped in blankets and snoring gently by the fire. His face was still a grimace of pain and Penelope softly smoothed the wrinkles between his brows, and on the outside of his eyes, and finally around his mouth. 

Her tears had lessened, but they still leaked out when she blinked. She loved her brother so much. She had held him as a baby. Granted, she had been too small to hold him without help at the time.

She looked up to see that Odysseus had lowered himself to the floor and was watching them. He was always watching. For some reason, she thought, him being there and watching made her feel very safe. Possibly even…loved.

At some point, she fell asleep beside her brother. He awoke in a terrible temper, and she happily turned him over to slaves who would see him to his bed. He would certainly be fine if he had enough energy to loudly abuse everyone in sight. He allowed her to kiss his head before pushing her off and telling her she needed sleep: “You look terrible, Penelope. Good. Maybe you’ll have to stay with us because you’re too ugly to marry!”

She bit back a laugh and looked about to see Odysseus - still watching from the side of the fire - also grinning. She gave him a small curtsey and walked to meet her women, who were already coming to find her. They had also slept in the courtyard, unable to leave their mistress in the hall by herself. They were also cranky, but thankfully they kept their comments low enough that she could pretend not to hear.

She was able to get a few more hours of sleep in her own bed before Helen was back. Helen didn’t seem upset or harmed, which made Penelope feel a bit better.

Then they were getting ready for the third and final day of the wedding. Guests and gifts. After dressing, they sat in the couple’s new rooms in the palace. Tyndareus had given them several rooms: a bedroom, two sitting rooms, their own bathing room, and a receiving room. The receiving room was only big enough for a dozen people, so guests were shown in, received, and then shown out.

Penelope was a little jealous that Helen had a veil today - everyone could see how tired she was from the long night. Many people already seemed to know that Thoas had broken his arm and she had nursed him through the night, so at least she had a good excuse.

She was able to go to bed early that night, thanks to an early feast and to her father allowing her rest after helping Thoas the night before. Her father wasn’t at his best either; he had definitely helped himself to too much wine both all night and throughout the day. He made sure she knew they were leaving the following day, and she was left to sleep.

Chapter Text

Penelope awoke to another bustling morning. The slaves had packed her things and taken them to the wagons before she was finished with her morning meal. 

“And so. You are finally going home.” Helen joined her at the morning meal in the women’s rooms, smiling. Penelope stopped mid-chew, looking her cousin over for signs of misuse or discontent, but could not find any, and was able to finish the bread and honey. 

“You are able to join me this morning?” Penelope was pleased to see her, but Helen was not typically a person who embraced Dawn. 

“I didn’t want you to leave until I had seen you.” She pulled a piece of bread towards her and began to pick it apart, placing small morsels in her mouth. “One last morning. I couldn’t squander it with Menelaus; he will be here later. You will not.” 

“I will miss you,” Penelope confessed. “Are you well, cousin?” She couldn’t help herself. 

Helen’s smile faded a little. “I am well. I was worried after Clytemnestra was married…did you see?”

Penelope bit her lip and nodded. Would the sight of those bruises on Clytemnestra’s beautiful neck ever leave her? “I hope things are…better for her now…”

Helen shook her head, and Penelope could see the gesture was more to remove the sight from her own mind than to extend hope that Clytemnestra was happy in her marriage. “There is nothing we can do regardless. Menelaus says that his brother has always been…anxious to get his own way.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows. “And Lord Menelaus? Is he also…”

“No. Menelaus was kind - and quick. It was a bit painful, but then it was over. So. And I didn’t fight, like Clytemnestra did.”

“She fought him?” The words came out as a whisper. Clytemnestra was possibly the most strong-willed of the three girls, but to try and fight someone like Agamemnon…Penelope was shocked. There simply was no contest between the two. Agamemnon was physically so much stronger than she was. Penelope hid her face in her hands. 

“Penelope, there is nothing we can do.” Helen was firm, although the repetition made Penelope wonder how many times Helen had told herself this very thing since Clytemnestra’s marriage.

Penelope went to Helen and embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” she said softly. “I hope Lord Menelaus takes good care of you.”

Helen sighed. “It will be what it will be,” she said, with a hint of her typical confidence. They finished their meal, trying to talk about the small changes in their lives: Helen’s new rooms in Tyndareus’s palace, Penelope’s joy in going home to see her new sister and brothers. When they finished their meal, the two girls exchanged kisses on each other’s cheeks and Helen accompanied Penelope in walking out to the wagons.

Of course, Odysseus was there. He was having the slaves rearrange the wagons so that everything would fit, while Icarius was leading two horses attached to a carriage towards them. 

“I guess this is goodbye,” Penelope said, turning to her friend.

“Only for a bit,” Helen amended. “I’m certain we’ll see each other again soon.” She surveyed the activity, noting the extra person in their party. “Penelope,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “Is there something going on here?” She looked pointedly at Odysseus, who was talking animatedly with Icarius.

“He is my suitor,” she admitted, biting her lip. 

Helen’s eyes went wide and she gave her another hug. “Maybe you’ll be next!”

Penelope didn’t know what to say, so she just shrugged.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” 

“Difficult, you’ve been busy…and my father just told me a few days ago…”

“I’ll forgive you,” she declared. “As long as you come visit soon!”

“I’ll try,” Penelope promised. However, if she did end up married, that would be a difficult promise to keep.

Another hug and she stepped into the carriage with her father. It was a standing carriage for two that would be uncomfortable if they were traveling very far, but their palace was not a long ride. Odysseus and Perious rode in another standing carriage, while Thoas was bundled carefully into one of the wagons in hopes that his arm wouldn’t cause him too much pain. Their carriage started off before the others were even ready. Penelope smiled: she was finally going home.

As her own palace came into view, she noticed how small and shabby it seemed in comparison to Tyndareus’s palace. The walls were painted, but there were places on the exterior wall that were peeling. The trees were unkempt and trailing to the ground in places. The shrubs looked wild and weeds poked up everywhere. Was this how it had looked when she left? It couldn’t have gotten so bad in so little time. Upon reflection, she realized that she had been gone several moons. Perhaps it was not a “little” time at all.

The paint had definitely been in need of touching up before, although with the rainy season just starting, there was no point in painting until spring. The weeds she could have slaves pulling this afternoon. She started planning as they rolled through the estate gates.

Her father had different plans. As he helped her down from the carriage, he said sternly, “Sparrow, I need to know if you have made a decision.”

She looked at him, shocked that this was his first thought when returning home. She was also amazed that he was really asking her to make the decision. She wanted more time. She had only just returned home after all. “After three days, two walks?”

“He has waited for moons. He has responsibilities at home.”

“Do you want me to go so badly?” 

He sighed. “In truth, I am hoping you will say no. I have tried - and will try again should you decide to marry him - to keep him here. But I fear that won’t happen. If you are not decided, you will need to decide soon.”

The dream she had received the night before Helen’s wedding had been quite clear: she and Odysseus needed each other. Even with all her reservations, she could not shake the certainty she had received, and if she neglected to heed the dream, she knew that there would be severe repercussions from the gods. 

She was decided. She was loathe to leave so soon, but she would not dally and waste anyone’s time. “Father, I was thinking…” she bit her lip. “Would you be willing to race him for me?”

The idea of a contest had come to her on the ride over. Her father was a brilliant foot racer - but so was Odysseus. It would truly be a match of skill, one that both of them could be proud of running. The look her father gave her was one of exasperation. “Is this so that you won’t have to decide?”

“I have actually decided,” she said softly. “You are right, father.” She looked him directly in the eye. “He is probably the best man you will ever find, especially for me.”

His expression warred between pride and sadness. Pride won out. “I knew you would agree! Let us start planning the wedding then -”

She stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. “The race, father. I still would like the race.”

“Are you asking me to throw a race?” he asked in mock distress.

“No, father.” She smiled too. “If you win, you can still give him my hand if you wish. I just think you’d both enjoy the race. The boys will love it -”

She was almost knocked off her feet before finishing her sentence as a red-headed young boy barrelled into her torso. “Penelope!” he exclaimed, the last of her name lost as his face pressed into her skirts. “I missed you so much!”

She laughed and picked up her youngest brother, Aletes, and swung him around. 

“You’re back! You’re back!” he crowed. His tunic was spattered with some unknown substance that was somewhere between brown and black, his hair was standing up on one side and didn’t look like he had washed it in several days, if not moons, and his freckles were running together from an excess of sunshine.

“Have you even been indoors since I’ve been gone?” she chided him affectionately.

“No!” he said proudly. “And look!” he opened his mouth wide and pointed to two new missing teeth. “I lost two teeth! Semus says they’ll grow back, but Damasippus says they’ll be gone forever.” He looked unconcerned about which was actually true. He started pulling her towards the palace. “I have new bugs to show you, come on!”

Just then, another carriage rolled into the gates, effectively stopping Aletes. “Oh, Lord Odysseus is back?” he asked, with no sign of surprise. He looked at his sister and confided, “He said he wasn’t sure if we’d see him again. But I guess he got his wish!”

“Aletes.” She put a hand on his head to stop him from bouncing around and pulling on her. “Go take a bath or I won’t even look at your bugs.” She tried to sound stern, but all she wanted to do was follow him, plop on the floor of his room, and see the additions to his collection. 

He grumbled but gave her another quick hug and slumped off with a wave at Odysseus and his oldest brothers, who were filling the yard as the wagons started to trundle in. Horses were handed off to slaves and the boys started to work with the slaves to unpack the wagons under Icarius’s direction.

Penelope turned to her father. “Has Lord Odysseus a room set up for him?”

Her father nodded. She turned to her nearest slave, Actoris, a slight woman with straight dark hair silvered with age, and asked her to find Nysa. Actoris bowed her head and softly told Penelope that Nysa, the older slave that ran the household, was having trouble walking and had not been able to do much lately.

Penelope furrowed her brow in worry. Nysa had trained her and had the knowledge of the most skilled housekeepers. No wonder the estate looked unkempt; without Nysa or herself keeping everyone in line, there were bound to be chores left untended. “Has my father already chosen someone to take over her responsibilities?” Actoris shook her head, so Penelope asked another question. “Is Droseis still sneaking out with the stablehand?” 

Actoris shook her head. “No, my lady. He was apparently sneaking out with several ladies from town and Droseis finally saw reason. When she saw him with one of the other ladies.” Actoris kept her expression placid but her eyes were lively. She had been warning Droseis without effect for moons. 

“Please find Droseis. She will assume Nysa’s duties. Then make sure the bedrooms are freshened up.” Actoris raised her eyebrows and Penelope nodded. “Even the boys’ rooms. I’m certain they haven’t been touched since I left if Nysa is not able to attend to them.”

Actoris left and Penelope beckoned a few house boys over. “Please let the gardeners know that I will expect them tomorrow morning at the palace gates,” she ordered. She gave them instructions for the evening meal, which the slaves should already be cooking - though she suspected they were not - then took one of the male slaves and joined her father, Odysseus, and her brothers at the wagons where they were still supervising unloading.

“Welcome to our home, Lord Odysseus,” she welcomed him.

He grinned at her, and abandoned the wagons to her family.

Penelope motioned to the boy. “Otus will show you to your room and make sure you have everything you need. We typically eat together as a family in the evenings unless we are feasting; I hope that will meet with your approval. Oh, you are probably used to the schedule…” She had forgotten that he had spent more time here than she had lately.

At his nod, she curtsied, and smiled at him. “I will see you at dinner then.”

She turned and walked into the palace, assessing the state of each room as she walked towards her own bedroom to freshen up for dinner. The courtyard could use sweeping; the individual dining tables had been left along one side of the room instead of being stacked; the chairs were haphazardly strewn across the room. As she met slaves, she redirected them and soon the courtyard was busy being set to rights. Droseis, a round faced blonde cherub of a girl, arrived as she was leaving the courtyard. She let her know that she had a new position and sent her on her way. Nysa would be able to instruct Droseis, even if she wasn’t up to seeing that the tasks were done.

Her room was not quite ready when she arrived, but she sent Actoris to get bath water for her anyway; they could finish up while she washed. While she waited for her bath, she sank into her bed, glad they hadn’t refreshed the linens quite yet. She was dirty from the ride and wouldn’t want to create extra work by laying on clean linens. As they were not clean, she laid her head down, relishing the feeling of being back in her own bed.

Actoris had to wake her once the bath was ready. Penelope stretched, a touch annoyed that she had fallen asleep so easily when there was so much to do. She asked one of her ladies to check on the meal preparations, and gave herself over to the chill water - there was no reason to waste the fires on a warm bath for her in her own home, especially when the evening meal was a higher priority.

Besides, she thought, the extra chill might make her more alert.

Finally scrubbed, washed, hair plaited, and with a clean tunic and skirt belted around her waist and a cloak about her shoulders, she walked from her rooms into the open courtyard. Chairs and small tables were set up in a loose arrangement so that everyone would be able to see and talk with one another during the meal. She nodded in approval at the setup.

A fire burned merrily in the center of the room, where a spit had been arranged for cooking. Icarius’s old housekeeper, Nysa, stood at the fire. She was a tall, strong woman with dark, wrinkled skin and long braided hair that was tied back and falling almost to her waist. She was busy preparing the meat for the meal and didn’t look up as Penelope entered.

Penelope looked around quickly to make sure her family was unseen, and quickly embraced the woman. Nysa patted her cheeks familiarly, and said quietly, “I’m glad you are home, my lady.”

“I heard you are not feeling well,” she prompted. “Why are you preparing dinner?” Nysa was usually behind the scenes, sending slaves flying in all directions, not doing menial tasks herself.

The old woman sighed. “These legs just don’t work like they used to,” she grumbled. “I either have to stand still or shuffle.” She shook her head in disgust. “I am good for little these days, but I can still prepare meat just fine.”

“I’ve only been gone a few moons,” Penelope insisted. “You were just fine -”

“Little one, you have been doing my work for me for years. When you left, they finally realized it. Oh, don’t you worry,” she added at Penelope’s distraught look. “I don’t mind slowing down, not even a little. Lord Icarius will keep me comfortable and give me honors when I pass. It was coming,” she said, in answer to the tears that threatened to fall from Penelope’s eyes. “It was coming anyway, sweet one. Don’t you worry.” Nysa nodded towards the chairs. “Off you go, you’ve things to do.” 

“I’ve promoted Droseis to housekeeper,” Penelope sniffed a little and wiped away tears before they could fall.

Nysa nodded, pleased. “You heard that she has moved on from that disloyal boy.” They looked at each other with smirks. “Now she will do very well.”

Nysa had trained Penelope over many long years. The older slave had been purchased as a girl by Penelope’s grandfather and given to Icarius when he ascended the throne in Sparta. She was usually a taciturn woman but both kings had recognized in her a quick intelligence that they put to use running their estate.

She hadn’t been pleasant to study under initially, but Penelope and she eventually became very close. 

Penelope reluctantly moved to verify that all was in order for the meal. Satisfied, she stood with her ladies to wait for the men to arrive. She was a bit anxious; dinner with her brothers could be trying, especially when they dined as a family. For some reason, the boys thought this gave them permission to say whatever would come into their mind - and it wasn’t always appropriate. Actually, she thought wryly, it was rarely appropriate. It was bad enough when they were alone, but with a guest they were now comfortable with, keeping them reined in could be difficult.

Aletes was the first to arrive, bouncing into the courtyard with one of his favorite dogs at his heels. He was clean, but his hair was still poking in all directions. “Penelope!” he yelled, “What are we eating?”

She rolled her eyes at him and replied, “Food, beetle boy. Please keep the dog from the food, or we’ll have someone take her elsewhere.”

He made a face at her and took a seat. Since everyone dined at individual tables, there was no assigned order. He took the chair closest to the fire, which was probably the best choice for him since he had forgotten a cloak. The dog curled up at his feet, knowing the best position to obtain treats during meals. 

The four older boys came in next, arguing over a tactic their weapons master had obviously described for them recently. They hardly noticed Aletes or Penelope but pulled their chairs together and continued their conversation. Since they were determined to ignore her, she went and gave each of them a short hug. They allowed the embrace but did not pause in the least.

Last came Icarius and Odysseus, looking companionable. Her father was at least a head taller than Odysseus, but they both had an air of command about them. Slave boys handed them both a double-handed cup of wine, and they splashed a bit into the hearth for Hestia, and then onto the floor to the many other gods. They then joined the boys.

She joined them, taking the last seat between her father and Aletes. She motioned to the slaves to begin serving, and the boys wrapped up their conversation.

“Praise to the gods for this lovely meal,” Icarius announced, and the boys started eating as quickly as possible. Penelope sometimes thought that their stomachs must pain them terribly if they needed to fill them so fast. “Penelope,” he asked, taking her mind off the boys feeding frenzy, “Have you seen my newest little one?”

Penelope gasped in horror. “How could I have forgotten? Oh father, I’m so sorry, I haven’t even gone into the nursery to see her!”

He chuckled, taking another sip of wine before picking up a piece of bread and loading it with meat and vegetables. “I doubt she’ll notice that you didn’t come see her right away.”

“But I so wanted to see her,” she said sadly. “I will go directly after we are done here.”

“She’s cute,” offered Aletes.

“She’s a baby, she looks smashed,” Damasippus said in between bites. The other boys guffawed.

“Babies are ugly,” Semus chimed in.

“Maybe that was just you,” Damasippus added, and everyone laughed. “I, personally, was a very handsome baby. Right, Pen?”

She nodded seriously. “Only a little smashed.”

Semus reached over and pushed Damasippus’s shoulder. Damasippus just laughed as he smashed another piece of meat into his already full mouth.

“Are you going to join us for training tomorrow, Penelope?” asked Perious.

“Why wouldn’t she?” asked Aletes.

“I would like to,” she murmured, then looked to her father. “If you agree, father.”

He nodded while Semus piped, “Why wouldn’t he?”

“We have a guest,” Tomas pointed out quietly. 

Penelope looked at him carefully. He did not look pleased. She wanted to ask him what was bothering him, make sure he wasn’t still upset about the possibility of her marrying, but Perious caught her eye and shook his head. 

“When are you headed back to Ithaca?” Damasippus asked Odysseus.

“Damasippus!” Penelope remonstrated as her father added, “We are happy to have you stay with us as long as you wish, Lord Odysseus.”

Odysseus was sitting back, eating slowly and watching the verbal parrying with barely-concealed amusement. “Thank you, Lord Icarius.” He turned to Damasippus and answered him seriously, “As soon as possible, I’m afraid. I’ve been gone far too long. And I would hardly be a good king if I allowed someone else to take care of my kingdom.”

Icarius nodded in agreement. “It is wise to keep close to your kingdom. It is difficult to know who to trust.” 

“Luckily, my father is taking care of the kingdom while I am gone. Since it was his only a few years ago, I am sure he will take good care of it. But he is getting older and would love to spend all day in his orchards. I’m certain he is counting the days until I return.”

“So why aren’t you going?” asked Damasippus. He received stern looks again from both Icarius and Penelope and waved them off. “I mean, of course you can stay as long as you want…”

Odysseus chuckled. “I have to finish my business here first.” He sent a brief but meaningful look at Penelope.

Thoas shot a look towards her that was both angry and resigned.

Aletes asked innocently, “What business is that?”

Icarius jumped in, “I apologize for my forthright sons, Lord Odysseus. But having brought the topic of business to the front, there is something I would say to you.”

The boys stopped mid-chew. Icarius usually allowed Penelope to referee the boys during dinner, listening good-naturedly to their banter. It was rare for him to talk business or bring up serious topics while they ate; he often said that business contributed to indigestion.

“I have decided,” he took a sip of wine, enjoying having everyone’s eyes on him for a moment. Penelope alone looked down at her dining table, certain she knew what he was about to say. He cleared his throat and started again. “I have decided that there will be a race between Lord Odysseus and myself.”

The boys crowed with excitement, but Icarius held up his hand for silence. “If you win,” he looked at Odysseus seriously, “you may have Penelope’s hand.”

Penelope peeked at Odysseus, who was now grinning broadly. She glanced at her brothers as well. Thoas was glaring at his wine. Perious was thoughtfully loading up another piece of bread with meat. Damisippus and Semus were looking to one another for clarification, while Aletes just looked confused.

“Wait a minute,” Aletes said slowly, looking at Penelope with dismay. “You’re going to get married ?”

She could feel heat rising up her neck and into her face, and was grateful for the flickering lights of the fires and torches for keeping her at least a little in shadow.

“Only,” Icarius clarified, “if he wins the race. Should we race tomorrow?”

“Father!” Penelope interjected swiftly, aware that Odysseus was about to agree. “Perhaps we should use tomorrow to clear and level the track - “ she looked at Aletes, who was feeding the dog a piece of bread. “Or is it ready for a race?”

Aletes was the one to color now, and with his fair skin, even the shadows couldn’t hide the bright red of his face. “Um…I might have been using it for making mud puddles…what? Mud brings in the most interesting creatures!”

She pursed her lips. “I’m sure it does, Aletes.” 

Icarius smiled. “The day afterwards, then.”

The men agreed while Penelope turned her attention to Aletes again. “Aletes? You also need to clear your projects from the playing yard before we start training tomorrow morning.”

He groaned. “It’s not just me! Semus and Damasippus left their weapons outdoors before they left for the wedding -”

Penelope knew that Odysseus was watching her in triumph. He knew she and Icarius had seen him run during the contests for Helen. He also knew this meant they were to be married - it was only a matter of running the race now. 

She tried to focus on the matter at hand and turned angrily to Semus and Damasippus. “You left your weapons outdoors?” They cowered and avoided her eyes. “Those will be taken care of tonight.”

They both nodded, cowed. Semus whined, “You could always tell the slaves they’re allowed to clean up after us. Thoas says Uncle Tyndareus’s slaves cleaned up after them - why do you make us do the work? Father, it’s not fair!” his voice strengthened as his argument continued. “That’s why we have slaves!”

Penelope looked to her father, but he deferred to her with a look.

“Semus. Everyone has responsibilities. You need to learn yours while you are young - and that includes putting away your things. This is just another type of training. I could allow the slaves to clear away your things, but what good would that do you? What good would it do for our kingdom to have a lazy prince? Take care of it.”

She took a bite, but continued to stare down her brother, who at last relented and dropped his gaze. 

Icarius added, “Your sister has spoken, boys.” He looked at the three youngest. “It seems you three have work to do this evening. Finish up.”

Damasippus snickered at Semus. Semus launched himself at his brother, and they started wrestling, knocking over one of their tables and upsetting wine everywhere. Penelope looked at her father pleadingly, and he got up and stalked to his sons.

“Out!” he stormed, grabbing them by fistfuls of their hair and pulling them apart. He pushed them away, and they glared at each other but ran out without continuing to fight. They would wait until they were out of sight to continue. If they were thinking clearly, they would wait until they were out of earshot as well.

Penelope signaled to a nearby slave to clean up the mess. Her hands were shaking in embarrassment. Brothers were impossible. She reached out to her own wine but accidentally knocked it over as well.

Aletes snickered. “Are you going to clean that up?” he asked snidely.

She grimaced at her younger brother. “Ordinarily, yes,” she replied. “But not with a guest.” She allowed the slaves to clear the mess, seething at her brothers for fighting and at herself for her clumsiness.

All of a sudden, she heard fighting resume in the hallway just out of the courtyard. Her brothers were not thinking clearly, apparently. This time, she was going to end it. She stalked from the courtyard, and found Semus and Damasippus brawling. She yanked one arm and then another, pulling the two of them apart. 

“You are embarrassing all of us!” she hissed. “You are better than this!” She pushed Damasippus away first, as he was the youngest and would hopefully be grateful for the reprieve. “Go,” she snapped.

He went to push Semus again, but Penelope pulled him behind her. “Go,” she repeated.

He left, limping a little. She pulled Semus in front of her again. He looked like he was ready to throw a punch at her, but she stopped him with a look. “Perhaps you should start in the playing yard, hm?” She sent him off in the opposite direction.

She took a moment to compose herself and straighten her tunic. Turning, she realized that she was not alone.

Odysseus stood behind her. He shrugged apologetically. “I thought you might need some help, princess.” he explained. “But you obviously had it well in hand.”

She felt a surge of pride. Yes, she knew how to handle her brothers. But she still couldn’t keep them in line. She sighed. “I’m so sorry, my lord. What a mess.”

He laughed. “Honestly, it makes me wish I had brothers.”

Penelope retired to the nursery after dinner. Her new sister was screaming and the nurse looked exhausted and frustrated. Penelope took the baby and excused the nurse to get some food and a moment’s peace. She had walked the floor with many of her brothers and loved the challenge of soothing a new baby. At least for a few minutes.

She tried bouncing and walking, and when that didn’t work, she changed the little one and swaddled her firmly in a soft blanket. Throughout the entire process, the little one just cried. She started walking the floor again, and started singing softly. The baby might not be able to hear her, but she would feel the vibrations from her voice and hopefully calm a bit.

After several minutes, Iphithime’s wail turned to a soft cry, and then to a moan and hiccup, and finally to a sweet silence. Penelope continued to walk and sing, singing the songs she loved the best more than once, then trying out newer songs that Helen and Clytemnestra had taught her.

The door opened to the nursery and she turned to smile at the nurse, but instead found her father. He didn’t often come to the nursery, but she was glad to see him. “I finally have her quiet,” she said softly, keeping her tone smooth and low.

He nodded and went to sit. “She is beautiful, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Oh yes. You are such a beautiful girl,” she cooed to the baby. Looking up at her father, she shook her head and said, “Those boys were awful tonight.”

Her father chuckled. “No more so than usual. You must be sensitive since you have a guest.”

She shrugged slightly. “Perhaps,” she allowed.

“Penelope, I am aware of how much you do here,” he started. “And I do really want you to stay.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I would be happy to keep you for your entire life. But…we will be fine when you leave. Please don’t let thoughts of this family worry you - I can see you look at the boys and wonder what will happen to them.”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes and nodded. “I love you all so much,” she admitted. “How can I leave?”

Her father took a deep breath and released it. “You have your own life to live, Sparrow. We will be fine.”

Her thoughts turned to the massive amount of treasure and linens they had amassed for Helen and Clytemnestra. “I have not been preparing for a home of my own, father…”

He gave her a kind look. “As I and Lord Odysseus both know. I am not going to accept a bride price for you - he offered,” he assured her, “but I don’t want to sell you. He refused a dowry as well, saying he didn’t want someone to pay him to take a wife - that you were the only prize he needed.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Strange man. But one that will care for you, I think.”

She walked in silence for a moment, unsure of what to think. Brides were usually bought or sold; being married without a price or a dowry seemed sentimental and strange. She wasn’t sure she liked it; a small bite of jealousy nibbled at her as she remembered all the work she put into her cousins’ weddings.

The more she thought about it, though, the more it pleased her. She wouldn’t need to gather many things to go to her new household. She knew Lord Odysseus was wealthy and could easily provide her with what she would need. And possibly more than that. She was also not as worried about the latest fashions, as Helen was, or how much jewelry she could wear, like Clytemnestra. She just needed something to do and someone to look after - both of which she would have as a queen.

“You’ll be okay? The boys will be okay?” She kissed her little sister and nuzzled the top of her head. “The baby?”

Icarius stood and crossed to her, mouth in a straight line and eyes tender. He took her head in his hands and placed a kiss on her forehead. “We will be fine,” he repeated. He kissed the baby’s forehead as well, and left.

Early morning was perhaps the best part of any day, Penelope thought. She was up before Dawn peeked over the mountains, and woke her ladies to help her dress. She braided her long hair into a single plait and they left the palace and walked to the gates. Her ladies were not as excited to see the early light, but kept their grousing to a minimum.

The gardeners were there, as instructed. They were also grouchy, but she reminded them how little they had done in her absence, and they quieted and let her give them their orders. She had wanted them to work on the entrance to the estate, but now she needed them to focus on the race track.

After she had explained the necessary work, she returned to the palace grounds and made her way to the playing yard as the sun peeked over the mountains. 

Their palace may not be as fine or have as many decorations as Tyndareus’s palace, but the view was far superior. Penelope could see across the valley floor east to her cousins’ estate, and west to the mountains. Their palace was snugged up against the northern mountains, where her cousins lived in the middle of the populace, still a distance from the eastern mountains. The playing yard was situated to see west and south, where orchards and farmland dotted the valley in front of the far distant hills. 

She watched the sun as it revealed itself and gathered glowing orange clouds in front of the bright blue sky. It was near the end of autumn, but the day was only cool instead of cold. She relaxed as the chill warmed in the sunshine of early morning.

Perious was the first to join her, yawning as he exited the palace in his tunic. His hair was tied back in a tail to keep it out of his eyes, and he nodded good morning to her. “I’m first?” he asked.

“Yes. Good morning, Perious.”

As she was speaking, Odysseus joined them, wearing just a training skirt. She smiled at him, saying, “You decided to join us!” She tried to ignore the fact that he was almost completely naked. She had seen him this way before, but seeing him from a balcony and having him only a few cubits away were two entirely different experiences.

He nodded, and covered his own yawn as the sun fully emerged from behind the mountain. Next came Semus and Aletes, who roomed together, both in tunics. She pointed at them and said “One.” They shrugged.

They had to wait a few more minutes until Thoas appeared. Penelope said, “Two. Unless your arm is jostled too much when you run?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he assured her gruffly.

Damasippus was last, and as Penelope called out “Three!” he groaned.

Odysseus raised his eyebrows at her, but it was Perious who said, “Anyone who is later than the sun has to run extra laps - the number of laps increases as we wait for the latecomers. We’re…not as good at remembering to count off without Penelope here.”

Odysseus just nodded. None of them were given to much talking this early in the morning, Penelope knew. Except for her; she loved to talk in the morning. That was one of the reasons she usually led the training.

This morning, though, she turned to Perious and said, “Would you mind leading training this morning?” His eyebrows went up, but he agreed quickly - all of the boys loved having a turn in charge. “Who has been leading while I’ve been gone?”

Perious looked pointedly at Odysseus, and Penelope raised her eyebrows. “Well, you should have learned something then.” Odysseus gave her a lopsided grin.

Perious waved everyone over, and everyone stood either beside or behind him. He looked at Odysseus and asked deferentially, “Unless you would like to lead us again, Lord Odysseus?”

Odysseus just shook his head and waved at him to continue. Penelope stood behind her brothers, and followed suit as they started to stretch. They started with the neck and shoulders, moved to the arms and then to the torso. Then legs and feet. She silently corrected her brothers with a well-placed hand or elbow as they followed Perious’s actions. 

Once that was complete, he called out the forms in order: “One! Two! Three!” and they all went through the motions of combat. Penelope thought this was the most lovely of dances. While Helen preferred music, she preferred the chorus of birds in the early morning and the smooth movements of war. 

Again, Penelope moved through the boys silently as needed to lift a chin, push out a foot to widen a stance, or use a knee to push in a rear end. She did not, of course, touch Odysseus or even correct him. He was far superior to the boys in the forms - and she knew he knew it.

They finished the forms and took a short break to stretch any muscles that were tightened by the forms. Perious called them back to order and asked Penelope to call out combinations, which she did. This portion of training involved combining the forms, or individual combat moves, into a pattern. Some forms wouldn’t flow easily into others, so calling out forms was an art, or at least Penelope considered it as such.

Again she watched. After a few combinations, she stopped them and had Semus repeat a few of the combinations. She stopped him midway through a movement, had him repeat it, and then stopped him again. 

She walked close to him and pushed his hip with a small amount of force. He toppled over to the hoots of his brothers. She helped him back up and they repeated the movement. She pointed out that his foot was too close to his center, making him off-balance. He corrected it, and then she showed him that she couldn’t push him off balance with the correction.

After several combinations, she had them pair up and grab training sticks. Thoas had been lucky when he fell from that tree, Penelope thought. He had injured his nondominant hand and was still able to spar - and feed himself - all the necessary tasks that would embarrass him greatly if he had to ask for assistance. Since she was without a partner, she had them spar on without her. She still corrected her brothers now and again, but primarily she just walked around them, nodding in approval or humming to show that there was something amiss. She stayed far from Odysseus, trying to avert her eyes as well. Could he not have come in a tunic? 

Then they piled their sticks back against the palace and she shooed them all on a run.

Aletes looked at her in surprise. “You’re not running with us?”

“Not today,” she replied. “I’m out of shape after two moons of lazing around at Uncle Tyndareus’s palace. Be careful of puddles!”

“Hey!” protested Aletes. “I cleaned them up…mostly…” his voice trailed off as he set off around the track.

Satisfied with her answer, all of them ran off. She sat on a nearby bench to enjoy the sunlight on her face and breathe in the air of home. They came back around and Perious dropped out. Odysseus kept running with the rest. Perious dropped to her side and smiled at her. 

“You did really well, Perious,” she complimented him. “You’ve been practicing.”

He nodded, and watched as the others passed out of sight. “A bit of a showoff, isn’t he?”

She hummed agreement, but didn’t say anything.

“I like him,” he said softly, slowly looking up at her. “Just want you to know.”

She nudged his side. “Me too,” she added. 

“Always thought you’d be around.” He looked up into the sky. “I’ll miss you.”

They locked eyes. They had been together the longest of all the siblings, and were often very close. They hadn’t been for the last year or so, as they grew in different directions, but the feeling of connection was still very strong.

“I’ll miss you too, Perious.”

“What changed your mind?”

She hummed a bit, but as she saw the runners turn a corner and start back towards them, she realized her time with Perious was limited. “I just…I feel this is the will of the goddess.” She looked at him, trying to convey her meaning, knowing that her words were lacking. She was certain that her dream had been direction from the goddess, but she didn’t want to go into details with her brother. “He…is where I belong.” She smiled a little. “I will admit, brother…I am terrified.”

Perious nodded. “Figured. You hate change.” He nudged her this time. “I’d hug you, but…” he gestured to himself. 

“Sweaty and disgusting.” she noted.

“Not as bad as you,” he said.

Chapter Text

At least Perious was supportive of the marriage. Penelope spent some of the morning helping Aletes rescue bugs from the track leveling process. She was unsurprised to see Odysseus coming to join them, now attired in a belted tunic and sandals - and bathed. Penelope and Aletes were both still filthy. She had put off bathing until after the bug collection was finished, but now felt the blood rush into her face at how completely unprepared she was for receiving their guest.

“Ah,” he said as he came close, “I heard there was some serious business happening today. Do you mind if I help?”

Aletes gave him a narrow look. “Do you know much about bugs?”

“Better with lizards, I’m afraid, but I’m happy to learn.” He sat on the opposite side of Aletes, giving Penelope a grin.

“You’re already clean, though. You’ll get in trouble getting your tunic dirty,” Aletes informed him.

“Lord Odysseus may do as he pleases,” Penelope corrected her brother softly. “You are not so lucky.”

“Yet,” Aletes said, confident. “When I grow up, I’m going to do whatever I want!”

Penelope grimaced. She was beginning to see that growing up meant doing less of what you wanted to do, not more. She kept her eyes down, turning over small rocks and twigs to see if she could find any creatures hiding. “You know, Aletes, we would probably have more luck inside this time of year,” she said.

“Huh? Why would the bugs be inside? The slaves clean them all out and there aren’t any more to find.” He leaned over to Odysseus and confided, “I look whenever it rains. Father doesn’t like me to collect bugs in the rain but I do it anyway.”

“Because,” Penelope answered, “They are cold this time of year, just like we are. They are looking for shelter.” She looked around and pointed to a pile of leaves that the slaves had gathered when cleaning the track. “Those leaves would be the perfect place for them to hide -“ Aletes was almost on his feet when she pulled him back down, “- but since those are freshly gathered, it will take a few days for the bugs to find it and turn it into a home.”

Aletes thought for a moment. “Maybe we should be looking in older leaf piles, then!” He jumped back up and pulled Penelope to her feet. Odysseus stood as well. They followed Aletes as he raced to the walls of the estate, which was lined with trees that had recently lost their leaves in preparation for winter. Those leaves had been left where they fell, and he joyfully started heaving armfuls to the side. 

“Gently, Aletes,” Penelope called, “You will scare them away before you have a chance to find them!” She was acutely aware that she was mud-spattered as Odysseus walked next to her. 

“You know quite a bit about bugs,” he noted.

“They can be quite beautiful. And it keeps Aletes occupied.”

“Do you like spiders too?”

She couldn’t help but shudder. “Only when I see them first.”

They were close enough to help, and Penelope went to her knees in a leafy area that Aletes had not disturbed. Odysseus knelt as well. “I admit, I’m not fond of spiders. My mother, though, is terrified of them - and so I am usually the one she calls to rescue her.”

“Not the slaves?” she asked, as she carefully gathered leaves one by one and piled them on her lap, looking carefully at each side before moving on. 

“She prefers to have me rescue her so she can tell me how scared she was at the same time.” He chuckled to himself, and she smiled reflexively. She could see him calmly waiting for his mother’s rant over spiders to finish. 

Aletes was impatiently throwing the leaves in the air, and Odysseus joined him in a game to throw leaves at one another. She chuckled softly to herself, impressed that her suitor was spending time with her brother as well as herself. She pulled another leaf, and was pleased to see a long black beetle with long antennae, almost horns. It was shiny and wasn’t in a hurry to move off the leaf.

“Aletes,” she called softly, hoping not to disturb the beetle.

“Did you find something?” With all the stealth of a boar, he crashed beside her and sighed in amazement. “How did you find it?” 

She handed the leaf to him, and he reverently cupped the beetle along with the leaf in both hands. “By patiently turning over each leaf,” she laughed. 

“Lord Odysseus, do you see it?” Aletes turned his face to Odysseus, who was indeed looking at it and making impressed noises. “I want to name it. How about Blackie?”

“Original,” Odysseus said, keeping a straight face.

“Do you think so, really?” Aletes stood carefully. “I have to introduce him to the others!” He closed his hands over the beetle and ran as though he was being chased.

Penelope stood up, dusting her hands on her skirt. She realized quickly, though, that it was not going to help much, and ended up just clasping them together. “I should go clean up,” she said, suddenly shy. 

“I think you look lovely,” he said.

She met his gaze, annoyed. “Really, you don’t need to flatter me. I’m a mess and I know it.” She started to stalk away but he easily kept pace with her.

“I’m not trying to flatter you, Princess. I assure you, I am saying nothing but the truth.”

She rolled her eyes and kept walking. 

“Would you prefer I let you train with your brothers without me?”

She stopped, confused at the sudden turn of conversation. “You are welcome to train with us -”

“And yet, you did not run with the boys today.” He took a breath. “If I am in the way, I can train separately. Or later. The boys have told me how much you enjoy running.” 

Her hands fluttered, mirroring the feeling in her abdomen. “I do love to run, my lord,” she admitted. “I don’t believe it would be…proper…to run with a man who I am not related to, and who is only wearing a skirt…” She was sure her face was red as a sunset.

He nodded, serious. “I noticed the boys wore tunics. Don’t they find it restricts their movements?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been training with them for over a moon, and you haven’t asked them about the tunics?”

“I did, but their answer didn’t really make sense.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Something about keeping the sun off them, but everyone knows that sun is healthy.”

She began to walk again, more slowly this time. “For you, my lord.” She took in his sun-darkened skin, swarthy and dark. “But when Semus goes outdoors - or Aletes - they burn. Badly. They often wear long sleeves as well. They hate - so much - that they cannot achieve your coloring,” she gestured to his tanned arms. “The boys they used to train with made fun of their lady-like skin, so fair.” She scowled. “I had them wear tunics. And even asked the older boys to do so, so they wouldn’t feel singled out or ashamed. And then we were all wearing full clothing - and we just got used to it.” She bit her lip, knowing that there were other, less altruistic reasons that she had encouraged her brothers to wear tunics. With all of them in tunics, she was able to prolong training with the boys. For a while, anyway.

“Ah.” He was quiet.

“Please don’t tease them,” she begged. “Please.”

He scoffed. “Why would I do such a thing? There is nothing shameful in wearing a tunic, or in having fair skin.” He took one of her hands and she startled. He held on to it for just a moment, gauging her reaction.

His hand was rough, callused. Much like her father’s and brothers’ hands. She watched his hand on hers, frightened by how much she would like to keep holding his hand. Then she remembered how dirty she was, and pulled away. She clasped her hands in front of her again, flustered.

“If I wear a tunic tomorrow, would you run with us?” he offered. 

She nodded, wanting to return to conversation and rubbing her hand where his had touched her. “You’re going to train before the race?” she asked, then wanted to take the words back. If she didn’t think about the race, about the prize at stake, perhaps it wouldn’t come to pass. She looked back at her hands and took a deep breath. 

“Oh yes. I find that running beforehand helps me move more quickly, not less. Don’t you?”

She blinked at him. Even her brothers didn’t ask her much about training techniques, barely acknowledging her even when she corrected them during training. “Yes, my lord.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “I’ll wear a tunic tomorrow.” They were approaching the door to the women’s rooms. He winked at her and bowed. “Until later, Princess.”

She went inside, closing the door softly behind her. The man was odd, making changes to his own routine to accommodate her in a decidedly unladylike occupation. Even her own father wouldn’t have worn a tunic to make her more comfortable.

The next day, Penelope asked her lady Actoris to bind her breasts tightly. She was not going to miss out on running with her brothers two days in a row, especially since Odysseus had said he would wear more clothing. The extra preparation made her a bit late, and Perious happily crowed “Two!” as she exited the palace. She just grinned, falling into formation. 

Odysseus, wearing a tunic today as promised, had already started calling the movements, and she followed as best she could. The boys had obviously gone through his routine before, but some of it was new to her. She welcomed the challenge and was grateful for the corrections that flew her direction - mostly from Semus, but also occasionally from Odysseus. She kept turning her right knee in too far and it was pulling her off balance.

The boys asked her to call combinations and she did so, though she pulled a practice sword for herself and also ran through the motions. When they were ready for sparring, Odysseus asked her to join him and Aletes, sure that he could take them both on at once. She agreed. With Aletes distracting him with some wildly imaginative moves, Penelope managed to get under his guard twice, and he had her show him how she had accomplished the move. Unfortunately, she told him, it would only work with multiple combatants; otherwise, he’d have easily seen what she was doing.

“You do realize that I would have dispatched one of you -” he pointed at Aletes, who frowned, “- and then yourself -” he bowed toward her, “not ever giving you the chance in real combat.”

“You have a good point, my lord,” she noted. “It does take quite a lot of concentration not to harm your opponents.” She reached out and ruffled Aletes’s hair. “Sometimes patience as well.”

“Stop,” Aletes whined. “Let’s run and get ready for the race.” He ran off to start the laps, and the rest of the boys followed.

Penelope set out at her own pace, not working to match Perious as he tried to finish quickly, or slowing to run with Aletes, who was attempting to walk every time the others pulled out of sight. As they neared the first turn, though, she found Odysseus pacing himself to her. She just grinned at him before focusing again on the run. Breathe, push through the pain, breathe. One foot and then another, allow the wind to cool her neck, breathe. The rush as her body settled into the rhythm and remembered how to move. Another turn and a few of the boys peeled off, finished for the morning. She and Odysseus kept running, an extra lap and then another one. Finally she stopped, more because of how conscious she was of Odysseus running next to her than because she wanted to stop running.

“That’s all?” he asked, shaking back his hair.

“Don’t you want to rest before taking on my father?” she asked. She was still moving, walking the track this time, reluctant to give up the sense of freedom that running gave her. 

“Not necessarily,” he said, “If you want to keep running.”

Raising her eyebrows, she started to run again. He laughed and caught up with her easily.

She only made it another two times around the track before slowing to walk again. She stretched and sent slaves to find them some water. “I imagine father will be out soon,” she mused.

“When he’s ready, I’m ready,” Odysseus said.

“Show off,” she muttered.

“Always,” he agreed. “And this is one day I don’t plan on losing.”

He was standing in front of the sun, and she squinted at him. “The gods are quick to punish hubris, my lord.”

“It is only hubris if the pride is not justified,” he quickly responded. 

The slaves returned with water and a message: Icarius would be down shortly for the race. Odysseus bowed to Penelope and took his leave, saying he would return momentarily.

Penelope motioned to one of the slaves who had been working on the track, and walked with him around the track one more time, pointing out an area that was still uneven and another that needed the undergrowth pulled back or pruned. He ran to get others and set about fixing them as she walked slowly back towards the palace. 

If she went inside to get ready for the day, she would prolong the start of the race. They would wait for her, she was certain. The blood in her veins felt bubbly and she rubbed her arms, hoping the feeling would lessen. Maybe the race was a bad idea. Stretching out the time beforehand was also a bad idea; she was already feeling unsteady. Better to get it over with. She rubbed her face too, sure that she was smearing the dust and dirt into uneven tracks along her face. 

She found the water the servant had brought and quickly used it to clean her hands and her face. The cool water also seemed to quiet the bubbles in her veins, but only momentarily.

Luckily, it wasn't long until her father came outside with the boys. Her father was in just his running skirt, and when Odysseus joined him, he was also in a running skirt. She was used to seeing her father this way, but she thanked the gods that Odysseus had worn a tunic for training in the morning. She tried to convince herself that she would have still participated, but she knew that she would have begged off. 

She watched as her brothers lined up stone slabs in a line to show the beginning and end of the track. The men would run the entire track six times, and would have to jump the stones each time. Penelope always worried that someone would trip, which is why they didn’t have the stones on the track for daily use. The dust had settled from their earlier running, and Penelope did a final walk to approve the work done on the track. 

Thoas was standing off to the side, holding his broken arm and watching the activity on the track. Penelope joined him. “It’s been awhile since Father last raced, hasn’t it?” she asked him. She wanted to apologize for thinking about marriage, for leaving them, but didn’t know where to start.

He nodded, lips pressed in a thin line. 

She bit her lip. “Are you so angry with me?”

His eyebrows lowered and he pondered the question. The weak winter sun glinted off his light brown hair as it fell over his face. He shrugged. “I don’t know, Penelope.” He drew in the dirt at his feet with his toe, then smoothed it back out. “At least he’s kind to all of us,” he said, looking out to where Odysseus was helping Aletes level the last of the stones. “If I have to have a brother-in-law…” He shrugged again. “I just didn’t think you’d ever go away.”

“The race isn’t over yet,” she said.

His eyes shone with unshed tears as he looked at her, his mouth tucked up at the side. “I think the race doesn’t even matter.”

She couldn’t say anything to that. Her father could still win and decide she wasn’t going to marry. However, she didn’t believe that would happen. 

Icarius and Odysseus lined up, ready to start the race. Damasippus begged to be allowed to start them and call the winner, and both men agreed. Icarius handed two straws to Damasippus and showed him how to hold them so that the ends couldn’t be seen, then had him turn around and readjust them. The men pulled straws and Icarius drew the short straw: he would be on the outside of the track.

Perious came and stood on Penelope’s other side, opposite Thoas, and was joined by Aletes and Semus. She felt bolstered by her brothers’ support and wanted to hug every one of them.

“Ready?” Damasippus called, loudly enough for the participants and the spectators, and possibly the entire palace. “And…go!” 

Odysseus sprinted off at high speed, but Icarius waved to everyone and set out at a good pace. 

“What is he doing?” squealed Aletes, bouncing on his toes.

Perious put a hand on his shoulder to calm him a bit. “Setting his pace. Father always does this - then when the other racers are tired, he speeds up. Watch, it is a strategy that has worked for him many times.”

Penelope nodded to herself. She had seen him win many races this way. Install false confidence in the other contestants, then lightly race across the finish line to their confusion and dismay. She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking.

At the end of the first lap, Icarius was behind, but not so far that he couldn’t make up the distance. Odysseus was completely focused, ignoring the watching group. Icarius again dimpled at them as he passed and sped up just a tiny bit. “See, he’s still confident,” Perious pointed out to Aletes.

With each successive lap, Icarius closed the gap as Odysseus tired. Penelope thought she was going to be sick as the boys cheered their father again on lap four, the two men almost side by side. She laced her hand into Perious’s and held on tightly. He shot her a side glance. “Worried?”

“About the fate of my entire life? A bit…” she muttered. 

Perious squeezed her hand. “Someone told me it was the will of the goddess…” He was serious, and she kissed his cheek to thank him for not teasing her.

On the fifth lap, Icarius was even with Odysseus. On the sixth, the runners still even, Icarius winked as he ran past, and then sped in front of Odysseus, taking the inside of the track. Odysseus sped up as well, moving to the outside, but Penelope wondered if he could keep up until the end of the race. Her father might win - and she might stay home.

At the thought, she bit her lip again. She realized that she really had made her decision - she was going to leave. With Odysseus. To an island kingdom she had never seen before. A tear ran down her face and she swallowed hard.

The boys started cheering as the runners came back into sight, headed for the finish. Perious placed his arm around her shoulders and she almost started sobbing before realizing that he wasn’t comforting her. The boys were pushing her onto the track. All of them, except Damasippus who was still carefully watching the approach of the runners.

They corralled her into the center of the track a few cubits beyond the finish line just as the runners took the last turn, and held her in place. She could probably fight her way free, but it would take longer than the race. Still, she kicked Semus in the shin and used a knee to bump Thoas’s hurt arm when he rushed in to take Semus’s place holding her. It was not an honorable thing to do, and he grimaced in pain. She tried to yank her arm away from Perious, but he held her tightly - and the other three were now holding onto her other arm. 

Odysseus and Icarius were so close they were bumping elbows. Their feet pounded unevenly. Penelope thought her father could easily win - his stride was longer, his height greater. Then she saw the undergrowth - the one that the slaves had just pulled back and pruned. It was right in her father’s path. He saw it, too, but too late. A few branches smacked him on his shin, causing him to slow just enough that Odysseus jumped over the finish line.

“Lord Odysseus!” called Damasippus, and her brothers scattered, leaving her alone paces away from Odysseus, who was still going full speed. 

His eyes were alight and he grabbed her by the waist, taking her with him. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, surprised at the sudden warmth that could not be attributed just to his exertion. When he had slowed enough, he raised her high and twirled her in a circle. As he put her back down, he noticed the tears running down her face and carefully wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Congratulations, my lord,” she said, her voice breaking. 

“Are you sad?” He looked concerned and frustrated. 

She shook her head and her hands fluttered by her side. “Overwhelmed,” she said. She heard Aletes break into sobs, and she curtsied quickly. “With your permission, my lord…”

He wiped away one more tear and nodded, then she was off to Aletes side, pulling him into her arms and collapsing with him on the ground. 

Penelope looked over Aletes’s head to see her father surveying the undergrowth that he had tripped on. He could see the fresh cuts, knew that they had run past that same spot five times without incident. Icarius met her eyes. “Interesting,” he said. She was the only one paying attention - the older boys had gone to congratulate Odysseus with forced cheer. The boys then returned to the palace.

“We are a terrible audience, it appears,” Icarius noted to Odysseus as he came to shake Icarius’s hand.

Odysseus responded, “I can hardly expect anyone to be thrilled to lose the treasure I have won. I will happily content myself with my prize.”

Penelope wished she could see the expression on his face, but she had dropped her face into Aletes’s hair and he had entwined his arms around her neck, making it difficult for her to move. Once Aletes was finally reduced to quiet sobs, both Icarius and Odysseus had left the playing yard. Presumably, she thought, to arrange the wedding date and make the betrothal official.

She hugged Aletes close and asked him if she could see his bugs again. 

Icarius and Odysseus were closeted together the remainder of the day. Penelope wished this was a meeting she could eavesdrop on - all of the decisions would affect her intimately. To keep her mind off it, she spent the day in the nursery playing with her baby sister and cuddling her while she slept. As the day progressed, she found that the easy rhythm of the baby’s schedule was not enough to keep her mind occupied. She left little Iphthime in the nurse’s capable hands and wandered from the room. 

She walked through the palace, her ladies following. She checked each room and mentioned small details to passing servants - there was a spider web in the corner of the throne room; there was a hallway that needed sweeping; there was an ewer that needed filling. 

She stopped in the storeroom and reviewed the full shelves appreciatively. Winter was coming, but her family would be well fed. There would be plenty to share with those in need, as well. She noticed a bag of barley spilling out at the end of a row and carefully tied up the bag and instructed a servant to clean the area thoroughly to discourage rodents. 

Finished with the palace, she walked outdoors to check on the outer buildings. The closest buildings held additional rooms for visiting dignitaries. These she checked thoroughly; if there was to be a wedding, they would need to be ready. Maybe Helen and Menelaus would be able to attend, she thought with hope. Behind these were additional quarters for the slaves that didn’t sleep in the palace at the foot of their masters or near a fire. These were the high-ranking slaves, such as the steward and the housekeeper. She noticed that Nysa’s belongings were no longer in the housekeeper quarters, but Droseis had not started moving her things in quite yet. She would have to make sure Droseis knew she had permission to use them.

They also had quarters for the guards and warriors of the household, set a bit closer to the outer wall so they could easily hear any disturbances. The slave and military quarters only needed tending outdoors; Penelope knew guests would not be wandering indoors here.

She had reviewed most of the living areas within the estate boundaries as the sun began to set, so she retired indoors for dinner. She would still need to check the gardens, as well as the paths and plants around the outer walls, but she couldn’t do any of that in the dark.

Dinner was much quieter than any of their previous meals. The boys were snickering about their stunt at the end of the race. Icarius talked with Odysseus in low tones throughout the meal. From what Penelope could hear, Icarius spent much of the time trying to convince him - again - to stay in Sparta with them, for at least a year. Odysseus countered every argument. He was needed in his own kingdom and his queen would also need to be there to meet and support the people.

Icarius couldn’t argue with him on those points. He turned his attention to all of them. “Can anyone tell me what happened with the branches on the track this morning?” He looked at each of them in turn and managed to catch Aletes sneaking the dog a piece of his meal. “Aletes!”

“Um…” Aletes looked up with a guilty face. “There was the lady…”

“Penelope, did you see anyone tampering with the track?” Icarius addressed her for confirmation.

“No, father, I was being harrassed by my brothers.” She focused on her food.

“We’ll come to that in a moment,” he threatened, and the boys shuffled a little. “Aletes, more information please.” 

Aletes stuck a piece of bread in his mouth and talked around it. “There was a lady. She was super tall and she put her hands on that bush or whatever it was - “

“Aletes, please eat and then talk,” Penelope begged. Semus tossed a piece of his bread so that it hit Aletes in the face and Aletes sprung to his feet.

“Sit,” Icarius thundered. “Aletes.”

Aletes sat, kicking the bread the Semus had thrown to the dog and throwing him a dirty look. “The lady made it grow.” He shrugged. “Then we were pushing Penelope. You should have seen the look on your face!” He addressed this last to Penelope.

“No, thank you,” she said.

“I expected you would fight harder,” confessed Damasippus, to a chorus of agreements.

“Not enough time - Lord Odysseus and Father would have run into all of us had I started to fight you all. And, quite frankly, I doubt I’d be able to take all of you now.”

Icarius smiled at her. “I am pleased to hear you are finally learning wisdom, Penelope. You are skilled, but even skill does not always mean that you will walk away from a fight.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps a goddess intervened in the race. Regardless, the results stand.”

“You’re going to believe Aletes?” Semus objected.

“Yes,” Penelope chimed in. She stared at each of them in turn. Aletes gave her a small smile. She could sense Odysseus looking curiously at her, and also met his gaze defiantly. “Aletes wouldn’t make something like that up.”

Icarius continued. “On another note, boys, I am disappointed in you. Your sister does not deserve such treatment, and each of you will need to apologize. In addition, you will be delivering invitations to the wedding tomorrow.”

The boys shuffled their feet again. Odysseus was studiously eating, Penelope noticed. 

“You deserve worse,” Icarius continued, wagging a finger at them, “but seeing as how we have a wedding in three days -”

Penelope had a bite in her mouth and she bit her tongue accidentally, making her eyes water. She brought her hand to her mouth, trying not to make a scene, but she sensed that she had everyone’s attention.

“ - we will need all of you to spread the word and to help get the palace ready. It will also be an opportunity to remember your subjects - their names, their needs, their wants. Understood?”

The boys agreed. Perious and Thoas just nodded, Aletes and Damasippus voiced their agreement, but Semus just scowled until Icarius stared him down. Then he nodded as well.

Penelope looked at her father in dismay. Three days! She had only just returned from Uncle Tyndareus’s palace and she would be home just over a quarter moon cycle. So soon!

She looked at her meal, only half eaten. She didn’t want any more and the bites she had eaten easily earlier sat like a stone in her stomach. This was her choice, she reminded herself. Her father was only allowing her to marry because she had told him she would; but with the decision made, she could not change her mind now. Nor did she want to. But more time with her family would have been nice.

Her father finally dismissed them, and the children all rose. The boys bowed silently as Penelope curtsied and they all turned to leave. Penelope did not meet any of their eyes, determined to make it to her rooms before crying herself to sleep.

Odysseus, however, caught up with her as they reached the edge of the courtyard. “Princess Penelope?” he asked, catching her by the elbow.

“Yes, my lord?” she asked, hoping that her voice did not betray her and keeping her eyes firmly on the ground between her skirt and his sandals.

“Are you displeased?” he held out his hand, perfectly visible in her line of sight.

Reflexively, she placed her hand in his, and he closed his hand over hers. “No, my lord,” she answered softly. “I am just…surprised and a bit…overwhelmed at…Three days!” she looked up at him and a traitorous tear fell. “You are right,” she continued, and looked back down at their hands. He was gently smoothing a small circle into the back of her hand with his thumb. “Your…our…duty is to Ithaca. We must leave.”

He took a deep breath. “I wish that we could stay longer. I’ve been too long away…and I am anxious for you to meet my parents. And our people.”

She looked up at him again, unable to see his expression with the firelight behind him. She nodded and started to take her hand back. “Good night, my lord.”

He held onto her fingertips. “Would you take a walk with me, Penelope?”

She returned her hand into his, though she yearned for the solitude of her own room. “Of course, my lord.”

“Odysseus,” he corrected her. She nodded, but kept silent.

They walked out to the playing yard, and took the path used for running. They left the torchlight behind them, following the path into the night. The evening was turning cold, and she shivered slightly. Odysseus stopped and unfastened his cloak, pulling it around her shoulders and refastening it.

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured.

“Penelope,” he started, then stopped, although there seemed to be more that he wished to say. She waited. “You were upset at the end of the race. Do you not wish to marry me?”

“I wasn’t upset, my lord.” She turned, starting them walking again. “Or rather, I’m not upset that we are to be wed.” She thought for a moment. “I assume that you have been thinking of marrying for some time?” She hugged her arms around her waist underneath his cloak, grateful for the extra warmth. “I have not. This -” she pulled out a hand and gestured between the two of them. Odysseus took advantage of the opportunity, taking her hand again and tucking it back into the crook of his arm. “- is new for me. And I wouldn’t say that I’m especially fond of change. I’m happy here.” She looked out towards the palace, which was glowing by torchlight through the trees that grew in the center of the track. “This is just a very different future than I had anticipated.”

“You do wish to marry me, then?” His voice was hopeful.

“Yes, my lord.” It came out as a sigh, barely loud enough to hear. 

He stopped and faced her. “Penelope.” He ran a finger over the side of her jaw. “May I kiss you?”

“We are betrothed. I am your property now. You may do as you wish.” She couldn’t seem to look up. Her emotions were in a whirl: the unfamiliar half-terror, half-excitement of being alone with a man she did not know well - now her man -, the sorrow at losing her home and her family, the wistful thought of not being able to see her sister grow into a young woman.

“I know the law. I am asking…for your permission.” At this, her eyes widened in surprise and she met his gaze. He was in earnest. “I do not intend to take anything you do not wish to give.”

She wished for light, so she could see more than just the set of his jaw, the serious turn of his mouth, a glint of light as the distant torchlight touched his eyes. “Yes.” 

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Just a moment, just a touch, and yet she felt her emotions settle and her muscles relax. He pulled back a bit, and she whispered, “What was that?”

His mouth quirked into that adorable half grin. “A kiss,” he responded. He was trying not to laugh.

“No…I mean, yes…I mean…can you do it again?”

“With pleasure.”

This time, he ran his hand to the back of her head, causing her to shiver again. He seemed to know this shiver was not from the cold, and again placed his lips on hers, softly, then with more pressure, deepening the kiss.

She placed her hands on his tunic, and he pulled away. She realized he must have thought she was pushing him away. She took fistfuls of his tunic and pulled him closer, and he responded with another kiss, breaking off only to kiss her jawline and down her neck.

“Do you feel it too?” she asked.

He responded with a groan. She did push him back this time, trying to search his face in the darkness. He just watched her, his hands moving slowly to her shoulders and then down her back.

“What? What are you feeling?” he asked. “Tell me.”

Her hands released his tunic and she fluttered them, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. She took a deep breath. “When you…kissed me…all day, I have been full of sorrow at the thought of leaving my home…”

“Penelope...”

She continued over him, “But when you kissed me, all I could feel was calm. Peace. Do you feel that, too?”

“I have felt it ever since I won the race this morning,” he admitted. “Although I was worried when you were crying…” His thumb traced the path it had followed that morning to wipe away her tears. “I don’t feel that it is quite fair to compare. You will be losing so much - your home, your family. I only stand to gain.” He pushed a few strands back away from her face. 

Tentatively, she raised her hand to his face. She was able, finally, to lift those wayward locks away from his face and curl her fingers in his hair. “Thank you.”

“For the kiss?” He was grinning, that perfect half-smile that made her smile too.

“For asking permission.”

Chapter Text

Penelope didn’t think anyone was following her. She was supposed to have a slave with her at all times, but with her wedding starting tomorrow, she wanted to steal away. Alone, just for a moment.

She opened the door to the weapons room and closed it behind her.

“‘Morning, Penelope,” came Semus’s tired voice. 

The unexpected greeting sent a wave of panic through her, and she could hear her heart thump loudly. A long tradition of brothers popping out of hiding, though, had her standing still until she could get her breathing under control. She turned slowly. “Good morning, Semus.”

Semus was sitting at the workbench, which occupied the middle of the room. It was a solid table with thick legs, with enough strength to withstand several men piling weapons on it or working on those weapons simultaneously. Today, it was just Seamus and two short swords that he had ‘finished with’ and left outdoors. Judging by the look of them, it would take him some time. He pouted and widened his eyes, his best whipped dog impression. “Father says these have to be finished before the wedding.” He wiped his white-blond hair out of his eyes. “I am going to be here all day.”

“Good thing training was cancelled for today. Gives you the time you need.” She gave him a less-than-sympathetic smile and left him to his work. This was almost as good as being alone; Semus was not talkative when he was working, especially when he was tasked with something unpleasant.

She surveyed the room. Shelves filled one wall, laden with boxes containing different types of weapons and ammunition such as slings, ax handles, extra spearheads, arrowheads, and arrow fletching. Scabbards were gathered in tall pots along another wall, as were arrows, javelins, and heavier spears, some with heads and some without. Shields were standing in three-sided boxes, so they could easily be rolled out when needed.

On the last wall hung swords, bows, ax heads, and quivers, some with arrows, some without. She knew she wanted to take bows with her, and perhaps a quiver full of arrows as well. She was drawn to the center of the wall, where her father’s sword hung in pride of place. It was longer than those that Semus were working on and much more ornate. The grip was gold-plated and worked into tiny bunches of grass and the guard curved up and away on the top and bottom, towards the edges of the blade. The guard was also carved, vines twisting and seeming to dance in the early morning light. The sword was carved with a prayer to Athena: “Praise to the Goddess, Bring Us Wisdom and Strength in Battle as We Fight to Right Our Wrongs.”

Icarius had used this sword often and well, and it was full of nicks and blemishes that would never polish out. The edge was still keen, though, and the blade was still sound. 

Her father had told her to take what she wanted from the armory, and she had left this task to the last minute as a reward for finishing her other, more tedious packing. She wished fleetingly that she had the strength to lift the sword, that she had been born a boy. This sword would have been hers, as the firstborn. She traced her fingertips over the prayer. 

She passed over the daggers, which were also hung with the swords. She had her own strapped to her thigh and another besides that was already packed. 

That left just bows and arrows. 

“Good morning!” Odysseus’s voice seemed to fill the space all at once, and Penelope jumped. 

Semus barked a laugh and she scowled at him. “I can’t believe you got her! He scared you!” Semus abandoned his work and offered a hand to Odysseus to shake. “Well done.”

Odysseus was beaming. “Sorry to frighten you, Penelope,” he said brightly, clearly not very sorry at all. “I was wondering what you were doing today.”

She tried to wrap her mangled pride around her shoulders and turned to face him. “Oh? Um…I’m trying to decide which bow I should take with me,” waving to the wall where they hung, waiting. 

“You shoot?” he asked, eyebrows arching. “My mother also loves archery.”

“Really?” He hadn’t spoken much of his family or of himself personally since she had known him. She suddenly realized that Odysseus had spent most of the time they had been together observing her and only answering direct questions. She felt she didn’t know him at all.

He nodded and walked to join her, assessing her choices. “Which are you considering?”

She pointed out two of the smaller bows, commenting on the differences between them: one was made for shorter distances and was good for smaller prey or target practice, but she liked the one for farther distances when shooting birds. 

He looked at her with a gleam in his eye. “Birds? Would you be interested in going gaming with me this morning?”

“She’ll only want to hunt quail,” Semus snorted.

“Quail is delicious,” she retorted. Turning back to Odysseus, she added, “My lord, you came in here with a purpose; I wouldn’t want to distract you if you had something else planned…” she trailed off, but his grin continued to grow.

“I came just to ask for your company this morning. This would be much more entertaining than what I had planned, though.” 

“Which was?” she prompted.

“Walking.” He shrugged. “I’m not quite sure what we would both enjoy, to be honest. But shooting sounds diverting.” 

Shooting sounded far better than spending yet another day getting ready for the wedding. She had her clothing ready, the packing was almost finished, and getting out of the palace without her ladies sounded freeing. “It does. I’d love to go.”

He looked over the available bows again, this time with a discerning eye. He took down a few, looked them over carefully, and finally selected one. “Will your father mind if I borrow this today? I don’t travel with my bow - it was a gift and I’m quite sentimental about it. If I lost it, I’d be furious.”

“Of course,” she said. She recognized the one he had chosen: it was made for her grandfather, who had been an accomplished archer. The draw strength on it was too high for any of the men in her family, but she supposed Odysseus would know his own strength. It was a bit much for quail, but she was happy if he wanted to hunt higher while she went for the easier nesting birds.

She chose the larger of her two favorite bows. They strung their bows and Penelope gathered two quivers full of arrows, handing one to him. To Odysseus’s surprise, she dumped out her quiver on the ground, and motioned for him to do the same. “The boys are terrible about putting them back in good order,” she explained.

They sorted through the arrows, setting aside those that weren’t straight or that had heads or fletching not attached correctly. When they had assembled a set of serviceable arrows, Penelope took the broken ones and set them next to Semus.

“Hey!” he protested. “I have enough here to keep me busy!”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” and with that, she flounced away. She was still a bit peeved that he had laughed when Odysseus had scared her. 

“I hate you.” It was little more than a murmur, but Semus intended her to hear. 

Now she grinned. “I love you, too!” 

Odysseus laughed and they left Semus for the bright, cold day outside. She led Odysseus to the pen where they kept the hounds and selected three of her favorites . They gamboled happily around their feet as they walked. 

“Do you want to send someone for your ladies?” he asked, rubbing the ears of a hound. Penelope shook her head emphatically. Odysseus raised an eyebrow at her, and she thought twice about not having them. 

“Would you prefer me to have my ladies, my lord? My brothers and I usually hunt without them because they can be quite squeamish.”

“No, I think this will do nicely,” he said, patting another of the dogs as it came up to sniff him. 

Even though it was appropriate for them to be alone now that they were betrothed, the arrangement still felt a bit scandalous. However, Penelope knew how much her ladies hated hunting with her, how grateful they would be to stay in the palace, and she was thoroughly sick of being followed about and teased about wedding plans. 

Penelope asked a slave to find them a game bag and some food in case they found good hunting. Once they were outfitted, she led them to a field near the estate where wild grasses grew along the side. Quail loved to nest in the tall grasses here, since the grass provided both shelter and food. 

They started walking away from the palace and she felt a frisson of fear travel up her spine. Odysseus had always been kind and generous, but he was much stronger and taller than she. He wouldn’t have any trouble overpowering her. She shook herself. He was to be her husband - he would have plenty of opportunity to overpower her if that was his intention.

They didn’t speak much as they crossed the field, which had been ploughed for the winter, and they were studiously quiet as they neared the grasses. She kept the hounds close until they were within shooting distance. She checked with Odysseus and found he was already nocking an arrow. She did the same, and whistled to set the dogs running.

The first patch didn’t yield any birds, so they continued on. Odysseus looked to the sky and commented, “We may not get anything this late.” 

She agreed with a hum. Usually she hunted quail at the break of day, when Dawn was first peeking over the horizon. “But we aren’t stuck in the palace, either.” She shot him a grin, which he matched. “My lord, could I ask you to tell me about your parents?” She had felt personal questions to be impertinent when she wasn’t even considering marriage, but now - a day from the start of their wedding - wished he had spent more time talking about himself and the life she would be expected to live.

His eyes lit up. “Of course! Hmm, where to start?” He thought for a moment, then began. “My father is Laertes. He sailed with Jason and the Argonauts - did you know?”

She shook her head. Everyone knew about Jason, one of the famous heroes from the previous generation: he found a magical Golden Fleece and married a witch. Jason’s exploits were so commonly sung by traveling bards, she had trouble thinking of him as a real person. “Truly?” 

“Laertes was part of the crew when retrieving the Golden Fleece and also helped hunt the Calydonian boar - the boar without Jason. He is a skilled hunter. What he really loves, though, is his orchard.” He rolled his eyes. “He grows anything he can - apples, figs, grapes. I could name each tree if I needed to…but I doubt you want an accounting.”

She giggled and shook her head. “I would love to see that orchard. A well-tended orchard is a beautiful place.” She thought of their vineyards, which stretched over several field lengths and kept their slaves busy from pruning in late spring into the harvest season and beyond, as they pressed the grapes and made them into wine. They also had orchards, which she loved to visit when they were in bloom. The scents and sight of the blossoms were intoxicating - far more so than the wine that her father watered down almost to nothing for their dinners.

“Father abdicated the throne a few years ago,” he said, squinting into the distance to where they were able to now see another patch of grass coming into view. “He wanted to spend his days tending plants, now that he knew I would take care of the kingdom. He prefers plants to ruling,” he added wryly. 

“How about you? What do you prefer?” she asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” he mused. “I love it all: planting, harvesting, working with the people, building useful items from wood and iron, fighting, running, raids, sailing…” They were close enough to the grass to keep quiet now, so he let his words drift off into silence. 

Once again, they nocked their arrows and Penelope sent the hounds ahead. The fastest of the dogs bounded into the grass and a flock of quail flew out frantically. Penelope and Odysseus both loosed their arrows and struck a quail each. Odysseus quickly reloaded and managed to hit another two, but Penelope was satisfied with the one. She signaled the dogs to retrieve the birds, and they spent a few moments removing the arrows from the fallen birds. One of the birds was not yet dead, and Penelope quickly snapped its neck to keep it from suffering.

Odysseus put the birds inside the game bag, which he had hung from his belt. “Do you clean your own birds?” he asked.

“Not usually. That is one task I am happy to hand off.” She pursed her lips. “I know how…but it’s not my favorite way to spend my time. You?”

He shrugged. “Same. Although my father taught me that if you kill it, you have an obligation to the animal - or bird - to finish it. So,” he said, shaking his hair out of his eyes, “I do a lot of skinning.”

They continued to walk until they met a stream. The dogs started drinking immediately, parched. Penelope and Odysseus cleaned their hands and the used arrows and took a drink as well. “What about your mother?” she asked.

“Her name is Anticleia. She served Artemis as a girl, hunting and becoming very skilled at archery.” He hopped over the stream, then a fence that stood between them and the next field, and helped her over while the dogs squirmed underneath. “She used to correct everything I did with a bow: Your elbow is too low, your stance is wrong, Odysseus you aren’t taking a breath before releasing your arrow!”

Penelope smiled. There was such warmth in his voice when he talked about his mother. She felt a pang of envy that he not only knew his mother, but had fond memories of her. 

“I can’t wait for her to meet you,” he added.

They approached the base of the hills behind her home, where she knew they would find another grassy area as the forest began. These grasses were almost as tall as wheat and extended in a long border fronting the forest. This time, the dogs found pheasants. Odysseus brought down two, while Penelope again contented herself with one. He pointed out another escaping and Penelope reloaded and shot again. The bird was just slightly out of range, and she missed. 

She called the dogs and went to gather her lost arrow.

“Should we go back?” she asked as she returned.

He shrugged. “We could keep going…” He was on the ground, carefully removing the last of his arrows from the pheasants. He squinted up at her. “It is a new experience shooting with a woman,” he admitted. “Do you want to rest? I’m used to just continuing until the birds or my luck runs out.”

He pulled rope from the game bag and she helped him string the pheasants together. “I’d like to stay out,” she said. “Even if we don’t find anything else…I’m happy to continue if you are.” 

She reached out a hand and he grasped it and pulled himself to his feet. He didn’t actually place much weight on her hand, but he also didn’t point out that her help was not needed. Her brothers often made sure she knew that she was ornamental at best, and she appreciated that he just accepted her help, needed or not.

“We should have brought the horses,” she mentioned, as they walked companionably to another field farther away from the estate.

“It’s easier to talk when we’re walking.”

“True, but the horses could have carried the birds for us. Not that you don’t make a very handsome pack animal,” she teased.

He laughed in surprise. “It is my greatest wish to be the most handsome pack animal, but only for you, Penelope mine.” He caught her hand and kissed it and she scrunched her nose. 

“Ugh, my hands cannot possibly be clean.”

“Worth it,” he responded.

She could feel a blush rising up her neck and she looked away. It was already past midday. “My lord, would you mind resting a bit?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

She led him into the hills to a small clearing where a dead log lay across one side of the clearing. He sat, not on the log as she expected, but in the middle of the clearing. He tilted his head back into the sun and the light caught his burnished hair, making it look metallic. The dogs found shady spots and curled up, happy to nap for a moment.

The slaves had packed them some fruit, cheese, and bread, along with some watered wine. Simple fare for hunting, she thought with approval. She sat next to Odysseus, breaking the cheese into two uneven parts and handing the larger of the two to him.

He took the cheese, tilting his head back into the sunshine. His face was peaceful. “Are you still upset?”

She blinked and thought for a moment before realizing he was talking about their conversation on the night of the race. “Overwhelmed,” she clarified and thought again for a moment, taking a small bite of cheese. He took a bite as well, being careful not to look at her. Still, she felt he was observing her closely. 

“It’s like I have so many emotions all at the same time that have gotten tangled into a ball - I’m not quite sure how to unpick it,” she said in a rush.

“Having second thoughts?” He took another bite, large enough to put most of the remaining cheese in his mouth. She was impressed.

“About marriage…yes.” She could feel him still. “About you…no. You?” She hoped for a moment that he would say yes, that he would run. But that thought left her feeling so empty that she had to busy herself breaking their bread in pieces. She handed him a piece. He still hadn’t responded, or looked at her. He took a deep breath.

“When I left Ithaca, I had an idea in mind about the kind of wife I wanted.” He stared into the trees and took a small bite of bread. She could feel impatience well inside her as he took time to think. “I had friends, family, more to occupy my days than I had time, a mother who ran my household just fine…what I needed was someone to look beautiful on my arm as Queen and someone to produce at least a hundred children.”

She gasped and he gave her a lopsided grin. “I exaggerate, I assure you. Twenty would be plenty.” She reached a foot out and pushed against his knee and he caught her ankle. She raised her eyebrows and he continued, “You cannot attack and expect not to be made captive.” And yet, he let her go.

Tucking her foot beneath her, she scooted just a hair farther away from him.

“So that was what I had in mind when I met Helen. Did you know that all the suitors got to meet her as we arrived?”

She shook her head. Her family had shown up almost half a moon later than most of the suitors.

“Helen was, I suppose, all of those things. And yet, she seemed like a shallow victory if I were to win her. I had no desire to spend more time in her company, and I liked the idea of her much more than the person herself. And I started rethinking what I actually wanted.” He finished his bread and she looked to see that she had only taken a bite or two. She handed him an apple and started in on her own bread.

“Then I met you.” He gestured to where she sat. “Beautiful -”

“Not like Helen,” she opposed.

He met her gaze and repeated, “Beautiful. And interesting. Not just making small talk or trying to appear to your advantage. So I started paying attention. Eat, Penelope.” He nodded to the bread that once again lay forgotten in her hands. She obediently took a bite. “You have the ability to run a household, keep track of trading, and your family adores you. They don’t just like you. They adore you.”

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes as she again thought of leaving her family. 

“And I realized something. Maybe I could have a beautiful woman who was not just a piece of jewelry to be discarded at the end of events. A mother to my children who actually would raise them and love them. A friend who I could talk to about…” he spread his hands in front of him, “...anything. Not an ornament. Someone I could love.” He shrugged. “No, I’m not having second thoughts.” He slowly smiled at her, his eyes warming. “Nervous, yes. But no, I would not leave here without you, I think. Even if your father had contested the race.”

She had finally finished her bread. She took an apple for herself and offered him the wine. He took it, took a drink and returned it to her.

“You know, Penelope mine, if kissing helps calm you, I’m right here.”

This time, she did blush. Thoroughly. She could tell he wasn’t teasing, but offering. She leaned in, just a little, and he moved to meet her with a quick kiss. Again, she felt her worries relax and she cupped his cheek to keep him in place. “Still works,” she said with a small smile.

Odysseus kissed her again, pushing her backwards until she was about to fall. He caught her quickly and laid her back on the grass, still kissing her. Then, inexplicably, he stilled. 

“Am I not very good at this?” she asked, worried she had done something wrong.

“New to something and bad at something are two entirely different things. And you seem to be a quick study.” He stood, holding out his hand. “I think I heard another pheasant. We should see if we can track it.”

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. The dogs had looked up at their movements, but they didn’t seem to hear anything. He leaned in and gave her another quick kiss, this time on her cheek. “Come.” He tied the game bag to his belt again and set off. Bemused, she followed.

Out in the open again, Odysseus stopped for her to catch up with him. He was blushing, which darkened his already dark skin to a lovely russet color. “Before I went to find you this morning, your father reminded me that we are not wed yet. Turn.”

She turned her back to him and he brushed off her back and pulled grass from her hair. His hand lingered just a moment on her hair. “I don’t want to give him any reason to dismiss me.”

When they returned to the palace, they were hungry, smudged with mud, dirt, blood, and both had birds strung from their belts as well as a full game bag. Penelope felt like her day was worthwhile: they had provided several birds for the following days’ feasts, and she had spent several hours with her betrothed. 

She helped him clean the birds.

Hunting had a benefit other than getting to know her intended better: she was exhausted and slept very well that night, even with the wedding looming at the break of day. 

The slaves woke her early, bathing her and dressing her in her favorite bright yellow flounced skirt, a turquoise tunic with yellow borders, and draping a yellow cape over her shoulders. They brought out her carved jewelry chest for her to select a few pieces for the day. Her father had given the chest to her when she was old enough to start wearing jewelry, and had filled it piece by piece with silky pieces of silver, carved pieces of jade, and golden necklaces. She chose a bracelet that was molded to look like rippling water over pebbles, which reminded her of her mother. 

Finally, a white frothy veil was tied around her head. Both Clytemnestra and Helen had used darker colored veils that were almost opaque, which left them all but blind and required others to lead them around. She had tasked a slave with creating the new lighter veil over the past few days as soon as she knew she was to be married. It was as she had hoped: she could see well while still being hidden from view. 

The walk to the room dedicated as their temple was not the grand procession of Helen’s wedding or the smaller yet companionable gathering of Clytemnestra’s wedding. She could have invited the girls from noble families in the city, but she hadn’t felt comfortable with them as playmates. They were completely unknown at this point, and she had told her father she would rather just be surrounded by her attendants. 

And so she was followed by slaves that had been with her most of her life. Nysa, the dark woman who had trained her as a housekeeper and taught her how to be effective while still being kind. Actoris, whose soft voice had calmed her nightmares. Autonoe and Kynna, who had been near the same age as she, raised alongside her as playmates until her brothers came into the family.

A brazier had been lit and a priestess stood waiting to conduct the ceremony. They gathered round the flames and listened as the priestess intoned a prayer and a blessing. When the priestess beckoned to her, Penelope pulled out her dagger and cut a small lock of hair from the back of her head. She added it to the fire, along with the last of her precious dolls. 

She went through the motions of the day in a haze, which was amplified by the gauzy veil she was required to wear all day. She was grateful her wedding was so late in the year - not only had Clytemnestra’s veil been opaque, leaving her nearly blind, but her wedding had been in late summer. It must have been stifling. Even with the weather being colder, she found herself trying to step back from any sources of fire, as they made her uncomfortably hot in the many layers of garments she was wearing.

Brides went through so much to look beautiful on their wedding day, she thought wryly, only to be so covered up that anyone could be substituted for the actual bride. Would anyone know if she had put a slave girl in her dress and stayed in bed?

This thought made her smile. She gauged which of her ladies was near enough to her in height and weight to pass for herself, before she realized that she was easily the tallest of them. She sighed and tried to pay attention as they moved from praying to feasting in the women’s rooms and then back again to praying.

By the end of the day, she was bored and exhausted, and longing only to remove the veil and sleep.

The second day she awoke rested, but with a budding headache. She believed it was due to too much prayer - or at least too much time on a cold hard floor praying - and too little movement. 

The actual marriage ceremony wasn’t until the middle of the day, and so the morning was spent again with washing, dressing, and more praying. She wore a bright red tunic and straight skirt, both decorated with flowers along the hems. Shapeless in comparison to the flounced skirt from yesterday, but elegant. Or at least she hoped so. A bright turquoise cloak covered her shoulders and again, the white veil graced her head. When Autonoe tied it around her newly braided hair, she grimaced. 

For jewelry, she added toe rings and an anklet, thinking fondly of Helen and wishing she had been able to come for at least this day. 

Today she could comfort herself knowing that Odysseus had to go through the same process she was going through - the first day was just for women. She wasn’t sure exactly what the men did, but she was certain it had to be more engaging than praying and feasting and more praying. While she enjoyed taking time to pray, finding connection and strength in conversing with the divine, a full day of it was a bit much in her opinion.

Perhaps it was the same for the men, but with wine that was less watered down.

Today the noble women joined her for the midday feast. She sat next to two women who swore they had helped Icarius’s mother, Gorgophone, deliver both Icarius and Tyndareus. Lady Zita and Lady Roxane were both certainly old enough. Penelope thought they might have been old enough to help with Gorgophone’s birth. Luckily, they did not require her input as they talked about birthing pains, the flush of the first waters, the crowning of the infant’s head, or even the ripping of the mother’s flesh. She stopped eating somewhere around “waters” and thought she might lose what little she had eaten when they started talking about the infant surfacing.

She tried to focus on other conversations, but the girls on the other side of Lady Zita were comparing jewelry, and those next to Lady Roxane were dissecting what everyone was wearing. Neither conversation was stimulating enough to override the gory details of childbirth.

Penelope was relieved when Actoris whispered that it was time for the marriage ceremony. She stood and waited as everyone found their place in the procession, then sighed in relief as her father appeared at the courtyard door to escort her to the temple.

Odysseus was standing in front of the altar, waiting for her. His eyes were shining and he was dressed in a startlingly white tunic covered with a dark purple cloak, which fastened at his right shoulder with a golden brooch. His hair was brushed out of his eyes and fastened with a band about his brows, the symbol of his kingship. His feet were well-oiled and he wore clean leather sandals that laced halfway up his calves. He was breathtaking, she thought. 

All of a sudden, she was amazed at her good fortune and proud of the man she was going to marry. Even though he couldn’t see her face, she smiled at him. She held out her hand, and he grasped it tightly. He was shaking a little, and she squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers right back.

Her brothers filed in silently. Aletes had been crying again, but the others were dry-eyed and somber. Perious even managed a smile.

They placed more sacrifices on the altar. She placed her girdle - the belt she had worn since she had started her courses - on the altar. Odysseus placed a piece of linen, perhaps his winding blanket as a baby, perhaps a handkerchief…she couldn’t tell. Then they knelt together and prayed. 

After praying for what felt like the entirety of the previous day, she was spent. She whispered prayers to Zeus, Hera, Artemis, and Athena that were little more than rote prayers. She could hear Odysseus whisper his prayers next to her, low and seemingly very devout. Her prayers turned to gratitude again and became more meaningful as she thanked the gods for a handsome and strong husband who also understood the need to worship and bow to the gods. The word “husband” seemed to stick in her mouth, so she cleared her throat and started her prayer again. 

When they had finished their prayers, Odysseus stood and helped her to her feet. He wasn’t shaking anymore, but he still held tightly to her hand as they walked to Icarius’s throne room, following Penelope’s father and brothers. King Icarius took his throne and the princes made a line behind him, shoulder to shoulder. 

The nobility filed in behind them, and she could see the elderly ladies she had sat by at the meal wave at her. She pretended not to see.

Icarius welcomed everyone and then outlined Penelope’s duties as a wife. “Daughter, as a wife you must be obedient, kind, and provide heirs for your husband. Your husband will be your guide and your protector and you must look unto him in all things.”

Penelope bit her lip and was glad her father and Odysseus could not see. Perhaps she would die in childbirth and their marriage would be short-lived. She bit harder and could taste blood.

“King Odysseus of Ithaca,” her father intoned, his deep voice filling the room, “Do you take Princess Penelope of Sparta as your wife?”

“I take her.” Odysseus’s voice was not quite as deep as her father’s, but seemed to resonate within her heart. 

She took a deep breath as cheers erupted in the throne room and her father took her other hand and gave it to Odysseus, who hadn’t relinquished the hand she had offered him earlier. He took both her hands and kissed them, then turned to the assembled group and raised her arm by the wrist.

In sight of everyone, he changed his grip purposefully, sliding his hand into hers. She could see several disapproving nods, but when she glanced back at her father and brothers, she could see Perious smiling, a tear running down his face unchecked. 

Odysseus led her out of the throne room, across the palace and into the city, where her father’s people congregated for the procession of the newlyweds. Odysseus leaned over to her and whispered, “I forgot to tell you I was going to do that.”

“You raised a few eyebrows, my lord.”

He smiled the wide, happy smile she was coming to see as the sun coming out from a bank of clouds. “I don’t care,” he said flippantly. “You are more to me than just a vessel for children.” He repeated the idea from the ceremony with distaste. “Don’t misunderstand me, I do want children -”

“As do I, my lord, though probably not twenty…” she added.

He grinned and continued. “I intend for you to be my queen, Penelope mine, not just my wife.”

And with that he turned his attention to the onlookers, waving with abandon. She joined him, careful not to lift her veil. She was glad she hadn’t found a substitute to go through this for her. She wouldn’t have missed the look on his face when he called her his queen for any comfort a private room could offer.

Nerves found her again when the feasting started. Thankfully, Ladies Zita and Roxane were no longer her companions. Instead she sat with girls more her own age, who encouraged her to eat so she would have strength for the night ahead. She could hear the men on the other side of the room loudly pushing drinks on Odysseus and Icarius. Somehow the same drink would make Odysseus virile and yet help Icarius forget his daughter was in her marriage bed. 

Music played as they ate, and with the crowd, the teasing, and the noise, Penelope felt slightly nauseous. She sipped at her watered wine and felt the headache from earlier continue to build. While she was still grateful for the veil, since it stopped everyone from seeing her almost constant embarrassment and allowed her to be silent, it was also constricting her head, adding to her discomfort. She could see why Helen needed to nap on her wedding day. 

The food was finally cleared away, and the dancing began. With the pounding of dancing feet, the noise of the courtyard continued to build. Her head started pounding and she felt like she was going to faint. She moved her chair against a wall so she could sit with her head tipped back against the cool tile, but she still didn’t feel the headache lessen. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on breathing.

She could see the party tipping towards abandon and wished she could slip away. Lady Zita had sought her out and sat holding her hand and whispering the most awful advice. “Never tell him no, princess. Your body can always heal, but your marriage may not withstand a defiant wife.” She wondered if she was going to vomit. That would make a memorable wedding day.

The sun had gone down at least an hour ago and she wondered when they would dismiss her and Odysseus to their room. Her father had prepared a chamber in the women’s rooms for them so they could be on the first floor and the party could continue unabated outside their door all night. She sighed heavily. Perhaps the first day of pampering the bride was to make up for the torture of the second day.

Finally, Odysseus came for her, helping her stand and taking her wrist to raise it again and twine their fingers together. This time, a cheer followed. She thought she heard at least one of her brothers lead the applause, but she was starting to see spots in her vision and only hoped she could make the short walk to their room. Then she started trembling. Her night could possibly not be anywhere near close to ending.

Odysseus must have felt her tremble, for he looked at her with concern, and then scooped her up into his arms. She held on tightly, trying to keep the nausea down, and allowed herself to rest her head on his chest. He continued to verbally spar with the crowd until they reached the door to their room and she focused on the sound of his voice, the vibrations of his chest under her traitorous head. As they reached their room, Odysseus made a production of opening the door, telling everyone to stay out, and shut it loudly with his foot as he swung her inside.

The room was blissfully almost dark, lit with just a few candles instead of the bright torches of the courtyard and hallways outside. The noise of the party was muted and she felt a small amount of relief until Odysseus set her on her feet. She wobbled a little, and he quickly embraced her to stop her from falling.

“Penelope?” he whispered, taking one hand and whipping off the veil. Only then did she realize that he hadn’t done so in front of the crowd, as was traditional.

Without the band holding the veil to her head, she let out a sigh of relief, almost collapsing again. “Thank you,” she said. “That veil was killing me.”

“Come, sit…” he led her to a chair next to a small table by the wall, sitting next to her. “Would it help if I took these out?” he asked, keeping his voice low and touching her braids softly.

“I can…” she said, starting on a braid close to her face. She was surprised as she felt him gently start unraveling braids, his fingers moving much more quickly than hers.

“I’m sorry I lost track of time,” he said, “I didn’t realize you weren’t feeling well.”

“How could you know?” she asked tonelessly. “Aren’t head bands used as torture devices?”

He chuckled and started on another braid. With each one, she felt a release of pressure. She was glad she hadn’t eaten dinner; she was sure it would have ended up on Odysseus’s beautiful purple cloak. “Is it your head, then?”

She nodded and immediately regretted it. Her hand went to her forehead instead of the next braid, and she  found herself once again in Odysseus’s arms.

He laid her on the bed, rolling her so that she was face down and there was enough room for him to sit next to her. He continued unbraiding. “Better?”

“So much…I’m so sorry…” her eyes filled with tears. “What a miserable way to meet your wife on your first night as a husband…”

He laughed softly again. “I already told you, I’m not planning anything this evening. Although I will probably ask you for a kiss…” he drifted off, and then stopped her as she tried to turn her head. “Not now, woman. I’m busy.” Actually, he was almost finished. Her long hair was finally unbound and he gently twined his hands through it and rubbed her head. “Is this okay?”

“Yes…thank you…” her voice sounded muffled.

“Better if I just leave you alone?” he asked.

“No!” she pushed herself up and immediately wished she had stayed where she was. She grabbed her head with one hand and her stomach with the other, and sat as still as possible while the nausea subsided. 

Odysseus just waited. When she looked up at him, finally in control of her stomach, he gently touched her cheek. “I’m not going to leave the room,” he said seriously. “I don’t think I’d be able to.” He glanced at the door and grimaced. “If I could get them to be silent, I would, but I think it would be a wasted effort.”

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” she insisted and lay down again, unable to do much more.

Odysseus eyed her carefully and nodded. He rose, and took off his cloak and sandals. She closed her eyes, listening to him undress before he returned to take off her sandals and cloak. He chuckled as he removed her toe rings and anklet, rubbing her feet before putting them back on the bed. “Did you want nightclothes? Would you like to undress yourself?”

She opened her eyes, a bit surprised that he was still in his tunic, though it was unbelted. She held up a hand and he helped her to her feet. She was a little steadier. “Whatever you will, my lord.”

He sighed heavily and took her into his embrace. He kissed the top of her head. “Listen. I want more than anything to be with you tonight. But more than even that, I do not want you to fear me or our marriage bed. I want you to ask me to your bed. Until that time, I will sleep on the floor if you wish it.” He kept her head against his chest, not allowing her to look up at him while he talked soothingly against her hair. “It will take every grain of self control I have, so please don’t try and talk me out of it. You might succeed.” He pushed her hair away from her face, allowing her to look up at last. “Do you want help?” 

She shook her head just briefly, and then moved away from him, steadying herself against a chair. She untied her belt and skirt, letting them fall to the floor and allowing her tunic to fall easily to her knees. “I think that will be fine for tonight,” she said.

He helped remove her cloak, rolling his eyes, then took her hand again and led her to the bed. He tucked her in securely, then went around the room and blew out the candles. Finally, she heard him shuck off his tunic and sit on the other side of the bed. “Did you want me to be on the floor?” he asked.

She rolled to her back, but her eyes had not adjusted to the darkness and she couldn’t see anything. “Of course not,” she whispered. “There is no reason for you to be uncomfortable. Please just lay down, my lord.”

He lay down in silence for a moment, being careful not to bounce the bed more than necessary. “You may call me Odysseus, you know.” 

“I’m getting to it,” she assured him.

“Would it help if I continued to rub your head?” he asked.

“Only if you want to.” 

“Does it make it worse if I talk?” He rolled her back on her side, away from him, and then gathered her hair gently into a tail. He placed the tail over her shoulder and again started to rub her head gently.

She considered this. His low voice was almost hypnotic, and quite preferable to just listening to the raucous nonsense outside their room. “No. Tell me a story?”

“Hmm…” he started a story about him as a young boy going to his grandfather’s house. The words started to blur together and she found herself slipping into a deep sleep. She didn’t fight it.

When she woke in the morning, a jolt of alarm went through her at being in an unfamiliar bed with a man’s arm around her shoulders and also at her hip. The previous day came back to her piece by piece, and she relaxed a little. This was her husband. This was a room in her father’s home. She was safe. 

She felt her head, which was still a bit sore, but was not currently pounding or even pulsing with pain. Odysseus was still breathing softly at her back, but she could tell he was awake as well. She decided to let him rest, sure that he would speak when he wanted to.

She looked at his arm in the morning light where it lay across her shoulders. She didn’t know if she had ever studied a man’s arm before; a baby, certainly, her young brothers, yes. She trailed her hand down his forearm, tracing muscles as they left his elbow until they reached his wrist, letting the small hairs depress and bounce back after she passed.

His breath began to quicken, and then he was out of bed, pulling his tunic over his head. “I am definitely sleeping on the floor tonight,” he muttered. She watched him with wide eyes as he went to the door. “Shall I tell your maids you are ready for them?” he asked, not looking at her.

“Wait!” she said, drawing her dagger from underneath her tunic.

“You slept with your blade?” he asked, astonishment mixed with a bit of anger.

“I wasn’t feeling my best…” she drew the blade across her forearm to make a shallow cut and let the blood drip into the center of the bed.

“...forgot…” he muttered, and she wasn’t sure if he was talking about how ill she had felt the night before or the fact that their sheets were still a blinding white.

Once she had finished with the bed, she took the blade over to their chamber pot and used an ewer to wash the blade and her arm over it. The palace did have rooms specifically for relieving oneself and plumbing to move the waste away from the dwelling, but chamber pots were still useful for the middle of the night. She would have also found it useful last night if she had ended up emptying her stomach. She said a short prayer thanking Hera that she hadn’t vomited on Odysseus on their wedding night.

Using the band that held her veil in place the day before, she started to bind the wound awkwardly. Odysseus was there in a moment, helping her snug it to her arm. “I was going to do that,” he said softly, taking her hands in his and looking at her with concern but also respect. “What happens between us stays between us,” he said with gravity. He kissed her hands, which were enveloped in his like a secret and then folded them gently into her chest. “What is between us, stays safe between us,” he promised, adding a kiss to her forehead.

He went back to the door, but hesitated again. He motioned for her to move behind the door so that the crowd - which presumably was still just outside their door, although it was quiet now - wouldn’t see her when he opened it.  He shook his hair back, glanced at her to make sure she was ready, and opened the door with a flourish.

As expected, the crowd erupted. There were obviously still several of the men that were awake and ready to continue drinking and jesting. Odysseus moved out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him.

Her ladies came and helped her dress. She was careful to ask for the cloths for her courses, thinking it was best to go above and beyond in proving her virginity. Though it was still intact, everyone would expect to see evidence that it was not - and if there was no evidence, it would be assumed that she had been sullied before her wedding. Again, she thought about the second day of marriage and how it was designed to humiliate and torture the bride as much as possible. Possibly the morning of the third day was a continuation of that torture.

Luckily for her, Odysseus did not seem interested in torturing her. 

Actoris started braiding her hair, and she pleaded, “Please don’t make them quite so tight today, Actoris.”

“But my lady, you should be the most beautiful and fashionable at your own wedding. Loose braids are just not done.”

“I insist. After all, my hair will be hidden by my veil all day.”

“Very well, my lady.” Actoris didn’t sound pleased, but was obedient.  

The veil was placed on her head, folded back today so that her face was visible to greet her guests. Since the band holding it in place was now being used as a makeshift bandage, Actoris used a red band instead to secure the white veil.

Today she was in a gown that was created by fastening two large rectangles of fabric at the shoulders and down each arm with bone clips. Then it was wrapped loosely and belted at the waist. It was a stunning purple with white and yellow vines designed across the borders, and she topped it off with a cloak in yellow and red. She was quite colorful, she thought. 

Her ladies commented on how rested she looked and she smiled at them. “My lord is kind and did not keep me up long. We were both very tired.” They made appreciative murmurs as they tied on her sandals.

One more day, she thought, as she walked through the corridors to reach the courtyard. Odysseus was already sitting in one of the audience chambers off the courtyard, and she joined him with a smile that he returned easily. A table had been placed nearby with raisins, sliced apples, cheeses, breads, and some smoked pork with watered wine. Odysseus took a flat piece of bread and added a bit of everything to hand to her and did the same for himself. She thanked him and gratefully tossed some raisins in her mouth. Now that her head wasn’t throbbing, her stomach was growling. She definitely wasn’t showing her best self to her husband. 

Her husband. She tried not to choke. Odysseus raised his eyebrows and handed her some wine. “Are you all right?”

It took her a moment but she was soon able to assure him. “Fine, I’m fine.”

They had to put their food down almost immediately as the first well-wishers of the day entered. Penelope knew they were from Sparta, but had no idea of their names. Fortunately, Odysseus didn’t seem to need much encouragement, leading off each interaction with a “Thank you for coming! I am Odysseus of Ithaca, and this is my bride Penelope. May I ask your name?”

Perhaps brides were really supposed to be just an ornament. She didn’t need to do much more than smile. Although she wished that she could chew on her food while she smiled.

At one point, Odysseus leaned over and whispered, “Do you think anyone actually enjoys weddings?”

She giggled. “You too, hm?” 

He rolled his eyes, but turned in welcome as another couple entered the chamber. 

“Oh, Penelope. Weren’t you saying just a half moon ago that you would never wed?”

Penelope’s eyes grew moist and she flew out of her seat to embrace Helen, who was standing with Menelaus. He was wearing a long-suffering look as he went to clap his hand on Odysseus’s shoulder. Penelope returned to her seat, and thanked them both warmly for coming. Menelaus accepted the thanks as though Odysseus had offered it, ignoring Penelope completely, then walked off in search of wine. Helen completely ignored him, and Penelope hoped it was in retribution. 

“Lord Odysseus,” Helen smiled, “you were successful where the rest of us were not. How did you manage to convince Penelope to wed?”

Odysseus responded, his voice uneven, “Dedication.”

Penelope looked at him, concerned. Had the wine been watered a bit less than usual today? She had not seen him drink much, but the day had already been wearying. 

“Well. Congratulations. I am glad to see her married. I think you have chosen well, Lord Odysseus.” 

“I agree.” 

Helen curtsied and gave Penelope another quick embrace before letting another set of guests to speak with the bridal couple. The next guests were a large woman with her boisterous husband, who wanted to talk with Odysseus at length about the joys of traveling at sea. When they finally took their leave, she breathed a sigh of relief and leaned close to Odysseus.

“Are you well, my lord?” she whispered, placing her hand lightly on his arm.

He covered her hand with his and took a deep breath as well. He shook his head, looking a bit like a horse trying to get rid of a fly. “Menelaus can have her,” he muttered.

“Helen?” 

“Yes. I don’t think she is actually a child of Zeus - probably Aphrodite, if I had my guess. When she talks to me, I just…I hate how I feel.” Again, he shook his head, running his fingers through his hair and leaving it looking a bit haphazard.

Penelope reached over and smoothed it for him. “She does seem to have a strange effect on people. She says women don’t usually like her…”

“And men can’t stay away,” he noted. Then he looked at her, curiously. “You don’t seem to be affected.”

“Neither does Menelaus,” she commented. “There. Your hair is behaving again. Helen thinks I’m not affected because my mother is a naiad.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, she just seems like any other person to me. Why do you think Menelaus…”

Odysseus’s eyes narrowed. “I have suspicions about Menelaus, but I’d rather not share them. At any rate, he is welcome to her. The only good thing that came out of that contest was you.” 

By the time the evening meal was served, they were both very hungry. She happily sat next to Helen, looking forward to an evening of conversation she would actually enjoy. Penelope told her about the race and the betrothal. Helen made appreciative noises at the correct times, but when Penelope finished, she remarked, “And you didn’t think to mention more about him the last time I saw you?”

“I told you he was my suitor. That was all there was to tell…then.”

“I’ll bet there was more to it than that.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “But I appreciate that you allowed me to be the center of attention at my own wedding.” 

“Helen, I really didn’t have much more to share -”

“Now that I believe.” She kissed Penelope’s cheek. “I’m really just upset that you’ll be too far to visit often.” 

Penelope could only shrug. 

Helen leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Looks like someone is ready for a second go.” Her musical laugh filled the air and several people turned to gawk. Penelope followed her gaze to see that Odysseus was already standing at the head table and heading her direction. “It is early. Good first night?”

Penelope blushed, but was rescued by Odysseus offering her his hand. Have enough to eat?” he asked.

She nodded and said her goodbyes to Helen. 

Odysseus tossed off his cloak and started untying his sandals with a groan. “I will be so happy to go home tomorrow.”

She tilted her head at him. “You have an accent,” she noted. He had sounded like a Spartan since she first spoke with him. 

He responded flatly, “No. You do.”

Confused, she said, “I don’t think so.”

Eyebrows raised, he glanced at her. “I do speak a different dialect.”

“But you have always sounded…”

“Like a Spartan?” His smile turned bitter. “If you don’t sound the same as the person you speak with, they assume that you are not intelligent. Have you noticed?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t suppose you would have, being in Sparta your entire life. And a woman - I assume you are used to men not believing you have any intelligence to speak of, especially since you are beautiful.” He tossed his sandals into a corner of their room and began untying his belt.

She could feel her cheeks pink at the compliment. She was accustomed to being overlooked in that manner, but didn’t mind using it to her advantage.  

Odysseus continued, “I am an excellent mimic, and find it serves me well when away from home.”

Penelope took off her veil and slowly sat to take out her braids. “Really.” She thought about it for a moment. “Just my own opinion, my lord, but I think your accent is quite…diverting.”

His smile reached his eyes. “Diverting?”

“Attractive?” She swallowed as his expression turned amused, and sought to turn the subject. “Are we leaving first thing tomorrow morning?” She had only seen her brothers at the evening meal that day - and only from across the courtyard. None of them had come to talk with her, and she had not been at liberty to seek them out.

He stretched and allowed the turn in conversation. “As soon as we are ready. I expect it will take some time to get everything in order. Did you know that Perious is coming with us to the boat?”

“He is?” she looked up at him in surprise. She had expected her father to send guards to take the wagons and horses back to Sparta after they arrived at the ocean, but she had not expected any of her brothers to accompany them.

“Oh, yes. He and Thoas weren’t happy that you only had a few women coming with us, so they wanted to take you as far as they could. Your father told Thoas he had to stay home because of his broken arm. He was furious.” His eyes crinkled a little at the corners.

“How long does it take to get to Ithaca?” she asked, pulling out another braid and unwinding it slowly.

“Riding hard, two days on land. With wagons? Probably four or five days to the sea, then time to load, and possibly a or two day at sea. Depends on the wind and tides. We’ll be there within a quarter moon span.” He walked behind her and started helping her with her braids. “You haven’t asked much about Ithaca,” he said carefully. “Aren’t you curious about your new home?”

She shrugged. “Yes…and no.” She watched her fingers pull apart the strands of braids. “When I think of it, it just seems like an unknowable place. But I know that it will become the most familiar place in my whole life…and so I am content to wait and let it unfold.”

They finished up her hair. He ran his fingers through it and she relaxed into his touch. Then he unfastened her cloak and helped her remove her sandals. He held out his hand - always an invitation, never a command - and she took it.

He pulled her to her feet and tucked her into his arms. “You will love it. In many ways, I think it is an unknowable place. I’m certain there are caves and wild places I’ve yet to explore, even though it is a small island. Then there is the ocean, which is always a mystery, lapping at the base of the rocks and calling to you wherever you are on the island.”

The thought of the ocean calling to her made her shiver a little. She had never spent much time in untamed waters, even being a daughter of a water nymph. She had only heard stories of the ocean, that unknowable, deep and terribly wide river that embraced every land. Helen had found it comforting. Perhaps she would as well.

“Do you know what I was thinking all day?” he asked her, his hands still running through her hair.

“Mmm, no. What?” she asked, nuzzling into his chest. So short of a time to know someone, and yet she felt so safe and comfortable right here. She could feel the strength of his back through his tunic and, as she had done that morning with his arm, followed the sinewy patterns from one end to the other. 

“I’ve been thinking of the kiss I meant to ask you for last night…”

She tilted her head away from his chest and looked up at him. His eyes seemed to have hidden depths, and she thought how fitting it was that everything in her life seemed dark and unfathomable. 

He removed one hand from her hair, brushing it back over her shoulder and watching as it cascaded down her back. He turned his attention to her again, looking not into her eyes but at her mouth. He placed his lips on hers, tentatively, then pulled back and gauged her reaction.

She just blinked at him, wondering if that was all he wanted. She suddenly found it was not all she wanted, and raised herself on her toes to kiss him back.

She wasn’t quite prepared for the strength of the next kiss. Whatever control he had been exercising over himself, it seemed to break like a flooded stream breaking through a dam. 

“I think,” she whispered into his ear as he kissed her jawline and up into her hair, “that I am falling in love with you.”

He pulled her more tightly against him. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “It’s lovely here. And since I’m already here, if you fall…I’ll catch you.” He took a deep breath and pulled away from her.

He met her eyes with a grin. “I’m sleeping on the floor tonight, my love.” He grabbed a blanket and wrapped himself in it, and lay on the far side of the bed so she couldn’t see him. She felt suddenly lonely, but wasn’t sure she was ready to invite him to her bed quite yet.

She dowsed the lights and finished undressing, crawling into bed without clothing. She whispered, “Odysseus?”

He was silent a moment. “Do you realize that is the first time you’ve actually said my name, without a “Lord” attached to it?”

She blinked. “I can say it again, if you’d like…” A laugh floated up from the other side of the bed. “Odysseus, can you tell me the story about your grandfather and the treasure again? I think I fell asleep and missed it last night…”

He continued laughing, but managed to control himself again and started the story. She listened to the smooth cadence of his voice as he told her again how his grandfather, his mother’s father, had told her to send the young boy to his home to retrieve a treasure meant for him. 

Odysseus had visited his grandfather only to find that the men were going hunting - and of course Odysseus wanted to join them. He was still fairly young, perhaps twelve, but they allowed him to join them. They tracked a boar to its den, and Odysseus was the first to spear him - and unfortunately got speared right back. The boar took a chunk of his leg, but the other hunters were able to finish him before anyone else got hurt. Odysseus took several days to recover at his grandfather’s, then made the trip back home riding a donkey. It took several moons until his leg started to feel useful again, and almost half a year until it returned to normal. He still, he explained, had a large scar from the encounter, which he would show her in due time.

“You were so young to be hunting boar!” she exclaimed softly. Semus was about that age, and she couldn’t imagine him trying to best a beast like that: tusks, hooves, strength…the advantages the boar had over a young boy were many.

“I hear that a lot,” he confessed. “Your turn…tell me a story.”

She supposed that was fair, and she thought carefully. “What kind of a story?” she asked, unable to think of one immediately.

“Hmm…a love story.”

“Really?” she checked. “You’re not more interested in adventure stories?”

“I just got married. Indulge me.”

It was her turn to laugh. “The only love story I know is my parents’.” He was quiet, listening. “My father went hunting with his best friend one day…do you have a best friend?”

“Yes, but he is not part of this story. Go on…”

“They were stalking a large buck. The number of points on this buck increases every time my father tells the story.” She rolled on her back, tapping her finger on her chest as she remembered. “He had a good vantage point, so he took a shot. The arrow went straight through the heart and the brave animal keeled next to a small stream.” She looked toward the side of the bed where Odysseus lay. “I think that is also not true, since the next part of the story says that the buck was still alive. But, I haven’t personally shot deer, so…”

“You add a lot of opinions to your stories.” She could tell he was trying not to laugh again.

“Shh. He and his friend went to get the buck, but a woman was kneeling next to it. The buck was still alive and gasping for air. See, I think the arrow pierced a lung.” There was no response. “Anyway, my father says she was like the sun, radiant with golden waves for hair and eyes like amber. The woman, not the buck. She was weeping over the poor animal, and begged them to end its life. My father took a dagger and sliced its throat, and the buck breathed its last.

“The woman looked at Icarius with gratitude and begged him to stay. His friend took the buck…now this is where it gets a bit muddy again, since the buck must have weighed too much for one man alone to carry.” Again, Odysseus did not respond, but she could hear him shifting in his blankets. “So my father stayed to comfort the woman, who was a water nymph of the stream. He fell deeply in love with her, and would visit her as often as he could. It seems very fast for someone to fall in love, doesn’t it? Still, he insists it was so.

“One day, she told him she was in love with him too. He begged her to live with him in his palace, but to live in a human dwelling would cause her immeasurable pain - she needed the water. She begged him to live with her, but he had no heir and couldn’t leave his kingdom. This is also not true, because he had several brothers or could have given the entire of Sparta to Tyndareus.”

Odysseus made a noise of disgust. “You are terrible at telling stories.”

“Hush. This is how I tell stories. So they were destined to live apart, visiting as often as my father could get away. One day, Icarius went to the stream, but she did not come when he called. He continued to go, several times each moon span, for moons. He wept as he wondered if she was hiding from him, if she had found another lover. 

“After several moons, he began to despair. He still went to the stream, but only at the full moon. He would call for her, then kneel by the stream with tears running into the water for hours. It is very romantic, yes?” She sighed. “He returned each moon for almost a year. Near the end of that year, she finally appeared to him. This time, she held a baby.”

She waited. When Odysseus didn’t say anything, she remarked, “This is where the boys always say, ‘It was you!’ and I say, ‘Yes, yes, listen to the story.’” 

She sat up and rearranged the blankets so she was warmer. “Then, my mother told Icarius that he can raise the children she gives him on one condition.” She paused and scooted to look over the side of the bed. “Now, since you are my husband, I can tell you this. But it is a family secret. I may need to swear you to secrecy.”

“And I may need to teach you how to tell a story without so many interruptions,” he groused. “I swear on the throne of Zeus that I will not divulge your family secret.”

“Acceptable. Thank you.” She sat back up. “The condition is thus: he must not marry. He and she are bound by their love and the love they have for their children. He may continue to visit her, but the children may not know their mother at the stream, for they would only yearn to join her. And how can a human join a water nymph? We would drown. And how could she visit us at the palace? She would be in pain the whole time. Perhaps even to death, father says, although she is an immortal. So thus it is: my father continues to visit her, and when she disappears he visits only at every full moon until she arrives with another child. Icarius assures us that this will continue as long as he is able to walk to the stream, and he provides us with the love of both parents, as she has blessed him with this ability: to show us her love as well through his actions.”

She sighed. “Isn’t that a beautiful story?”

“Yes, but I’m telling the stories tomorrow night.” He turned over again, obviously uncomfortable.

“Odysseus, just come up on the bed.” She scooted as far from his side as she could, and lay still and covered. He took her up on the offer almost immediately. “Good night…” she whispered.

“Good night, my love,” he responded. He was silent for a moment, then added, “I would have continued to visit you, too. Just so you know.”

Chapter Text

Odysseus was gone the next morning as soon as he realized that Penelope was not wearing anything but a blanket. 

“I swear on Zeus’s throne, I am not trying to tease you - I just don’t have any nightclothes to wear!” 

“Convince me once you have clothes on,” he said as he left their room. 

Penelope flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe there was something she just didn’t understand about men in the mornings. There was a quiet knock at the door, and Actoris was allowed inside before Penelope could even invite her in. “Actoris,” she said with relief, “I hope you brought clothes with you.” The slave did have a pile of linens in her hands.

“Yes, my lady.” She gave Penelope a soft smile. “Your father instructed us not to leave you anything to sleep in. He was certain you would be warm enough.” 

Penelope blushed and rolled her eyes. “How kind.”

Once dressed, she and Actoris made their way to the palace entrance. There they found the full wagons, her brothers and Odysseus, at least twenty guards, and many more slaves. 

The men were bristling with weapons, and the sight left her momentarily stunned. Yes, she loved weapons and training with her brothers. Even so, she had rarely seen men dressed and ready to actually use those weapons. It was sobering, and she wondered what she was getting herself into.

She had spent her life in Sparta, occasionally visiting her uncle’s palace, but always staying in the city. She had heard of the troubles of the road from visitors, but was always more concerned with the details of hospitality than the stories the visitors brought with them. They were interesting, certainly, but they felt like fiction, or at least something that happened to other people.  Not her. Not her family.

The large sword strapped to Odysseus’s back looked like it had been used well and often. Her brother Perious also wore a sword, and she saw that one of her bows had been set with its quiver for her in the wagons, easy to reach from where she and her ladies would sit. She had her dagger with her as well, but knew she would probably be less than worthless if they were set upon by bandits: she would be a liability, as would her women. 

Perious jogged over to her, a metal breastplate over his tunic as well as the sword on his back. “We’re about ready to go,” he told her with excitement. “They’re getting the last of the trunks and then we’ll be off!”

She thanked him and he was off again. With a few moments to spare, she decided she wanted to see her baby sister again, so she and Actoris made their way to the nursery. The baby was nursing, but the wet nurse detached the babe and handed her to Penelope. 

Iphthime snuggled into her chest, still looking for something to eat. Penelope giggled and gave the baby her thumb. “The next time I see you,” she whispered, “you will probably be running around the palace. You won’t even know me.” Perhaps this was not the best idea, she sighed, as tears filled her eyes. Perious arrived then, telling them it was time to go, and she kissed the baby and handed her back to the wet nurse. Iphthime happily resumed eating.

The outer courtyard was even more full upon her return. Icarius stood to one side with Damasippus and Semus, one boy tucked into each arm. Penelope grinned. Her father was probably holding them in place to say goodbye. She looked for Thoas and Aletes, and saw them on a bench across the yard, barely visible through the mass of guards. 

She made her way to her father and curtsied low in front of him.

“Penelope, you are such a pigeon, ducking your head when you’re a Queen now!” Damasippus exclaimed.

“Showing respect is never inappropriate,” Icarius said, releasing the boys so they could hug their sister.

“May the gods bless you,” Semus said, not making eye contact as he hugged her quickly.

“You as well. Keep away from Helios.” She ruffled his light hair and kissed him on the cheek. He gave her a quick smile and was gone. 

Damasippus put a quick arm around her, ready to bolt after Semus, but Penelope trapped him in a hard embrace. “Don’t believe everything Semus tells you,” she warned.

“I’d never,” he agreed, pulling away from her. He gave her a quick bow, making sure their father saw, and dashed off after Semus.

Icarius took his daughter by her shoulders and peered into her face. “You are always welcome here, sparrow. With or without your husband.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked him.”

“Even good men have their faults.” He hugged her tightly. “You were mine first.” He kissed her forehead and pushed her gently away. “Make sure you say goodbye to Thoas and Aletes. They think they’re hiding, but…”

“They’re just waiting for me,” she acknowledged. She kissed her father lightly on his cheek. “I love you, father. I will miss you.”

He nodded but did not speak. 

She left him and wound her way through the last minute preparations to find Thoas and Aletes, still huddled on their bench.

They were glum but at least Aletes wasn’t crying. Penelope sat next to her red-headed brother and he allowed her to pull him onto her lap.

“Thoas says you’re never coming back,” he whined, burying his face into her shoulder.

“When do we listen to brothers?” she asked, pulling back to see his face.

He gave her a half-hearted grin. “Never,” they said together. She hugged him tight. 

“Being a girl is stupid, it means you have to go away,” he mumbled.

“I agree, being a girl is stupid.”

Thoas scooted closer and put his arm around her. He didn’t say anything and she leaned over to kiss his hair. 

“I’m sorry about your arm,” she said.

Thoas shrugged. 

Aletes put his head up quickly and both Penelope and Thoas turned to see Odysseus joining them. “Odysseus, you better keep her safe. That was our job and we won’t be able to because she’ll be too far away.” Aletes lip wobbled a little.

Odysseus knelt in front of Aletes. “I vow to keep her safe. If I don’t, I know there will be four brothers coming after me.”

Aletes nodded, but added, “You could probably take us.”

“I doubt it. I would be so destroyed at the loss of your sister, it would be easy for you four to win.” He radiated sincerity.

Aletes jumped out of Penelope’s lap and gave Odysseus a firm hug, which he returned. Penelope watched his face soften at the unexpected affection. Maybe she wouldn’t be the only one missing her dear family.

Thoas stood and also gave Odysseus a brief side hug, then gathered Aletes. Odysseus bowed to them, then held out his hand to Penelope. “My lady?”

She took his hand.

Her ladies met her at the wagon with a veil and a ribbon to keep it in place. Penelope sighed. She would need to find another way of attaching it to her head other than just tying it as tightly as possible; she was not interested in another headache. She accepted it and asked her ladies to spend some time devising another way to wear it, since a veil was required for married women of her status.

She and her three ladies were settled into a wagon where they could ride in relative comfort, while the men and guards rode horses. She looked enviously at the men. Her ladies would probably be more comfortable in the wagon, but she would have preferred to be astride her own mare.

The horses and wagons would return to her father along with many of the guards once they were safely on the ship to Ithaca. Odysseus had an entire crew waiting at the shore. Penelope wondered what his crew had been doing the entire time Odyssus had been about his business of securing a wife. 

“My lady?” Actoris, Autonoe, and Kynna were already seated, and Actoris scooted over to make room for her in the middle where she wouldn’t be as buffeted by the wagon.

“Thank you, Actoris.” she said. Odysseus lifted her into the wagon by her waist and kissed her hand before letting her go sit with her ladies.

Actoris, Autonoe, and Kynna were accompanying her. Actoris was an older woman who had practically raised her, while Autonoe and Kynna were her age, slaves that her father had purchased when she was just a baby. They had been her first choice when her father allowed her to take three of her existing slaves to Ithaca; Odysseus had resisted taking too many. She now saw why: more women would mean more weight in the wagons and more non-fighting members of their party.

The wagons rolled out of the outer walls of the estate, and Penelope watched her home recede. She noticed the slaves had weeded the outside of the estate; she hadn’t even had time to check, but it looked beautiful. She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. 

The guards stayed close, each wagon having at least four guards at any given time. They rolled through the city, bouncing on the cobbled streets. When she and her father traveled through the city, they tried to see as many people as they could; today, there were no waving children and she was hiding in a veil, unable to smile at anyone. The guards were not on parade but were watching, surveying the tiny city houses that clustered around the road to make sure they wouldn’t be ambushed or attacked.

Penelope decided she didn’t like traveling defensively. These were her people, but the very way they were riding through the streets made them feel like strangers, possibly even foes.

Reaching the edge of the city was a relief. The cobbles gave way to a packed dirt road which was much easier on the wagon wheels, but kicked up far more dust. For once, Penelope was grateful for the veil. The guards seemed to relax just a fraction, since they could see well over the scrub all the way to the base of the mountains. It would be difficult for anyone to surprise them here.

The mountains towered to their left and in front of them. These were the same mountains that had watched over her as she grew from an infant, that guarded over Sparta and kept her valley safe. “Do you think there will be mountains on the islands?” she asked, speaking to no one in particular.

Autonoe answered, “The guards from Ithaca said the island is a mountain. So if Sparta is a valley surrounded on three sides with mountains,” she cupped a long, dark hand and pointed to her palm to indicate Sparta, “Ithaca is a mountain in the sea.” She fisted her hand instead. 

So she was moving from a land that cradled her to a land with no mercy, no softness in it at all, surrounded by the endless sea. She sighed and kept her eyes focused on the mountains. She could watch them for most of the way to the sea, she thought. 

Penelope’s three ladies were excited to see more of the surrounding countryside, having served in Sparta for many years. They chatted quietly and pointed out animals as they darted under the scrub brush. Mostly they saw rabbits and lizards, but occasionally the road would wind close enough to the base of the mountains for them to see a deer as it darted back under the cover of the larger trees that graced the mountainside.

Their party would have to travel around the mountains as much as possible - the mountains were impassable with wagons and only barely passable without. It would take two days to get far enough north to meet with a safe passage through the mountains, and then they would descend through a cascade of hills and valleys until they reached rocky shores.

When her ladies tired of watching for animals, they turned their attention to the guards. They pointed out the four that belonged to Odysseus and compared them to the guards from Sparta. Autonoe and Kynna professed to be enamored of one specific guard from Ithaca: his name was Timnes, they said, and was married. Autonoe pursed her lips at this. “Surely Lord Odysseus could have brought guards that were not married so that we could get to know them better.” 

Kynna laughed. “You wouldn’t talk to them even if they were not married.” Autonoe was a romantic but was also quite shy. 

Actoris shook her head. “It is better this way, so you girls can keep focused on your duties.” Kynna and Autonoe groaned. They were good girls and did what they were asked, but liked to dream. Especially about men. “Lady Penelope, would you like to play a game?” Actoris pulled out a box and some bones to play a throwing game. After a few tries, though, they decided it wasn’t working well; the bouncing of the wagon would change their throws for them, making keeping score difficult. 

“What will you miss about Sparta?” Kynna asked Actoris, the oldest of the four. 

Actoris thought. “I’m not sure. I loved our household, but we are taking our head of house with us. I imagine being a slave is much the same in one place as another. I will miss the boys.” 

“I think it will be a good long while before I miss them,” Autonoe said. “They managed to dip all my tools in honey while Lady Penelope was gone. It took a long time to clean. A little less teasing won’t be a problem.”

Kynna snorted. “They only did that because you were tripping them as they came around corners. Damasippus skinned his knee badly that last time. You’re lucky you weren’t whipped.”

Penelope let their chatter fade into the background as she watched the guards circling around the wagon. Odysseus was leading one of them ahead to scout, then they would return and circle, then go out again to scout. Each guard had a pattern to follow, a job to perform. She felt a bit like a piece of baggage; only there to load and unload at specific points along the route.

The first evening, she realized that stopping for the night did not mean the women would be able to walk about. It was too dangerous to stray from the camp, so she and her ladies were escorted to a scouted area to relieve themselves and then escorted back to their tents. Her ladies were able to help with dinner, but Penelope was simply left to her own devices. And without spinning, weaving, archery, or even target practice with her dagger, she was thoroughly bored as well as exhausted from riding in the wagon all day.

Perious came to sit with her at the evening meal. “Who knew travel could be so tedious, hm?” he asked as he plopped down beside her. “I’m sure we’ll all be sore tomorrow, since none of us have been on horseback this long in a while.” He massaged his legs. “You could help, you know,” he narrowed his eyes in Penelope’s direction and put a leg on her lap.

She shook her head and pushed his leg off. “No, thank you. I’m just glad to be sitting still.”

The guards were setting up the tents, piling the interiors with the blankets and furs the women had been sitting on all day. 

“After everyone eats, the guards will practice sparring for entertainment,” he offered. “Maybe your lady can play the lute for us.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay awake, honestly.” She yawned.

“Rough day, having to ride in the wagon?” he laughed.

She wanted to make a face at him, so moved the veil out of the way. By the time it was situated, though, the moment had passed and she settled for asking him for his wineskin. Odysseus was still in constant movement, smiling at her from across the fire before setting off on his horse again to set up the night watches.

They sat around the fire, watching sparring matches and then listening to Autonoe the lute. Autonoe was a funny girl, all angles and awkwardness until she picked up her lute. Then she would melt into her music, her sweet voice accompanying the strings. Penelope never tired of watching her transform from a gawky slave into a seasoned performer.

Penelope stayed awake through the matches, but her eyes started drooping whenever Autonoe played a slower tune. As her head started to bob, Perious offered to take her to the tent so she could sleep, and she gratefully agreed.

She didn’t bother to take her hair down or even to undress. They would be filthy the entire trip, she supposed, so what was the point? She crawled under a fur and gratefully stretched out her limbs, finding sleep easily.

Odysseus didn’t come into the tent until night was truly fallen, and Penelope barely stirred at his arrival. When she woke up, she realized she had missed him entirely, as she could hear him talking to the guards outside the tent, reminding them to relieve the night watches. She felt a twinge of loneliness and was glad that Perious had been able to come with them.

By the third day, they had reached a pass through the mountains where the mountain range paused for a break before continuing northward. They had been steadily climbing since they left Sparta, and now they were high enough that they could see glimpses of the ocean whenever they crested a hill. Whenever the deep blue sliver came into sight, the members of their party from Sparta would gasp and try to see more of it. The men from Ithaca were also glad to see it, smiling at the bit of blue like they had seen an old friend again.

Each day of travel seemed to compound the weariness behind Penelope’s eyes and add another layer of dust to her skin. The wagon felt constraining, the tent a cell, and she had very little time to even say a few words to her husband. As they started off into the trees that dotted the pass, she laid her bow to one side. Shooting from the wagon would be difficult, and she might even accidentally hurt her ladies unless she was standing. And who could stand when the wagon was moving? There was just no point in even having it.

The roads became less packed and more rutted the farther they moved into the mountains, slowing their progress and making any movement a jolt. When Odysseus passed them that morning, Penelope hailed him and asked if they could walk. He apologized, but protecting them would be far more difficult if they were out of the wagon.

She frowned as he rode away again. 

They stopped that evening at a river, and Penelope and her ladies knelt at a small beach to wash their hands and faces. The water was freezing, leaving them shivering but cleaner. Odysseus joined the women, taking mouthfuls of water and washing his face, shaking the water droplets that clung to his growing beard. She stepped back and dried her own face on her cloak, massaging her tired eyes with the soft cloth. When she drew it away from her face, Odysseus was still there but the ladies had returned to their wagon and were helping unload the blankets and furs.

“Haven’t seen you much,” she commented.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, giving her a sideways grin and closing the distance between them.

An idea formed in her mind. “Oh yes, my lord. I’ve been dying to hunt…or walk…or really do anything, actually…but you’ve been busy.” She looked up at him from behind her lashes. She had never actually tried to flirt before, and wasn’t sure if it was actually effective. He was still smiling, though.

“I’m sorry I’ve left you so much alone,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. 

“Oh,” she quickly replied, “That wasn’t what I meant. I wasn’t trying to complain, my lord…” she tried to backtrack, but then just decided to tell him her intentions. “I was just trying to flirt with you. I’m terrible at it, I suppose.”

He embraced her then and gave her a quick kiss. “Was that flirting? Hm, you might need to practice. Come, let’s rest.”

He led her to where the guards were starting a fire. “Actually, my lord…” Flirting hadn’t worked. Maybe a challenge would be better. She glanced at him with mischief in her eyes. “Why don’t we go for a quick run?”

He furrowed his brow and thought, then cast his eyes around the campsite and into the surrounding area. The river and road were to one side, and they had stopped in a sizeable clearing. The forest curled loosely around the clearing. They should be able to see any attack long before it happened. He nodded slowly. “I would love a run…” He scrubbed his hair back from his face then looked at her and nodded.

A run! She beamed at him. “Perhaps we should walk out and then run back? To get our legs moving again?” She started walking and he quickly took her hand to stop her. 

Seriously, he said, “You must stay with me.”

“Of course!” she stepped back beside him and smiled at him expectantly. He rolled his eyes and gave a few orders to the guards about placing lookouts, then took her hand. He chose the point where the forest was farthest from the campside and they started walking.

They were quiet but Penelope noted how comfortable she felt. Was that awkward walk when Thoas fell from the tree just a half moon span ago? Or was she just so bored from traveling that anything different was a relief?

Odysseus was studying the sky. “If I’m not mistaken, we’ll see rain tomorrow,” he said. “Could make getting down the mountain slippery, so we should leave as early as possible.”

“My ladies and I will be ready, my lord,” she said quickly.

He laughed a little. “You are hardly the issue,” he said. “You and your ladies have been the easiest part of this entire trip.”

Her cheeks warmed with the compliment. “We don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You are the reason I am here. Without you, there would have been no point to this journey.” He squeezed her hand and looked again to the sky. Clouds were still far off, but she knew that could change quickly.

They reached the edge of the forest too quickly for Penelope’s liking. Odysseus must have felt the same, because as he looked into the forest, he asked, “Should we explore a little? We still have an hour or so until sundown.”

In answer, she pushed forward into the forest, finding a small game trail to follow. They only went far enough to be completely out of sight, then Odysseus tugged her back to him.

She went into his arms happily and he kissed her.

“It is so much easier to kiss you here,” he murmured.

Confused, she placed a hand on his face to still his kissing, enjoying the roughness that two days of growth added to his cheek. “What do you mean?”

He groaned. “When the other choice is with you in my bed, naked? Much easier to control myself…” He went back to kissing her. They were lost in each other for several long moments.

Suddenly, he stilled, just a hair's breadth away from her. She opened her eyes and saw that he was listening, and she heard it as well: the sound of fighting back at the camp. He met her eyes with alarm.

He grabbed her hand and motioned for her to move silently. They quickly went back to the edge of the forest, stooping low to stay behind the foliage. The camp was in chaos: they could see the women fleeing to hide under the wagons, their guards attacking ragged men with battered swords that were holding up just fine under the attack.

“Where did they come from?” Odysseus asked under his breath. All the activity was centered in the camp. “They haven’t set fire to anything…they must be hoping to salvage everything…” He looked at Penelope. “I have to help.”

She nodded quickly. “I’ll be fine.” She pointed at the area where the forest came closest to the camp and he nodded agreement. They silently wound their way to the edge of the forest, and she stopped at a rock outcropping, pointing first at it then at herself. She backed up against it and sat in a crouch, ready to run if needed.

He kissed her roughly. “I’ll be back for you.” And then he was gone, pulling his sword as he ran and drawing attention with a mighty roar. She was able to see very little from her vantage point, and she listened with fear choking her - not for herself, but for Odysseus, Perious, her ladies, the guards that she knew and the ones that she would get to know.

Where had they come from? She echoed Odysseus’s question in her mind and crept closer to the edge of the forest, trying to see anything that would make sense of this attack. She and Odysseus had moved far enough to the side that she could now see the river, which was mostly hidden by the camp from their previous vantage point. There was a large raft moored at the bank, with one man guarding it. They had used the swift current to move into position quickly, she realized. Their party must have passed by the attackers’ camp at some point…but she couldn’t think of when. Perhaps their camp had been set back on the other side of the river, away from the main road and any scouts.

She took a deep breath, wondering if she could help at all, or if she would just be in the way. 

The decision was made for her as she was lifted off her feet, a knife at her throat. She squeaked reflexively, cursing herself for giving up the rocks at her back. Assess , she told herself. She quickly looked about to see if there was just the one man behind her, or if there were more. 

He thought she was struggling and tightened his hold. There seemed to be just the one man, and she took another, shallower breath - his knife was too close, too sharp for a deep breath. She allowed herself to shudder, not suppressing her fear. If he thought she was afraid - and she was - he might let his guard down a little. He had his right hand with a knife at her throat, left arm around her waist, and she only needed a little wiggle room.

“Just you and me, love,” the man whispered. “Won’t we have fun.”

She took another shuddering breath and dropped away from the knife, dead weight in his arms, pretending to faint. The suddenness of her movement surprised him, and he dropped her. She had hoped he would also drop the knife, but at least now they were on an equal footing.

She still had her feet under her and she spun, pulling her dagger, then rushed into him with her chin tucked. Her dagger went in right under his sternum, and she dragged it down with all her weight, pushing them both back into a tree. Her middle was immediately covered in hot blood and she jumped back as he sliced her upper arm with his own knife.

Her own gasps sounded loudly in her ears as she backed away, watching him bleed out. The man tried to lurch toward her, gabbling in shock, but only managed to tip himself over, driving the dagger more deeply into his abdomen. She wrapped her arms around herself, stemming the instinct to help, to make it better. 

She didn’t know how long she stood there, just watching him, before she realized she needed to move and get back to cover. It must have been quite some time, because she turned right into another set of arms. She struggled wildly, all rational thought deserting her.

“Hush, it’s just me,” Odysseus was there. She clutched at him with a small cry. He made a sound of satisfaction at the man on the ground. “It’s over,” he said, pulling her tightly to his side. “They must have been desperate to attack us - they weren’t prepared to deal with trained men.”

He started to lead her away but she resisted. “My dagger,” she gasped.

Nodding, he took one of her hands and returned to the man. Odysseus stepped on the man’s knife hand, knife still tightly grasped, pushed him over, and yanked Penelope’s dagger from his stomach. Black spots clouded her vision and she reminded herself to breathe. Odysseus took a second to wipe the blade on the bandit’s clothes, handed her the dagger, and then led Penelope out of the forest. 

“Perious?” she gasped out, eyes wildly searching their group for him. There was too much movement around the campfire and faces refused to come into focus for her.

“Fine, just scratched,” he said.

At that, she suddenly felt the pain in her own arm. She covered it with her hand and pressed down, surprised at how much her wound had bled. She stumbled alongside Odysseus, her hand in his, until they were in camp.

Bodies lay everywhere. Odysseus was right: there were hardly enough of them to have tried to take a full camp of armed guards. She saw perhaps two dozen felled men, all in rags, but all armed. Perhaps escaped slaves, Penelope thought, who had managed to steal arms but were unskilled at using them.

Perious and a guard came into sight, dragging one of the slaves - or bandits, whoever they were - back to the raft. She sighed in relief to see him whole. Her ladies, too, made an appearance as soon as they saw her, exclaiming over her injury and the blood and gore on her clothing. Odysseus released her to her ladies, and she hugged them tightly, apologizing for the blood all over her clothing. She wasn’t sure who needed the embrace more. She was shaking, and she could feel them trembling as well. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of their guards limp up to the fire. She took a deep breath and pulled herself straight, dashing away tears of fright. “Get my bandages, needles, and thread,” she instructed her ladies, and moved to join the guard at the fire.

“You first, my lady,” Actoris insisted, dragging her with them. Once they had cleaned and bandaged her wound, and redressed her in dry clothes, they followed her back to the guard standing by the fire. He had been joined by a few others as well.

The first guard had a deep gash on the front of his thigh, but didn’t seem to be losing too much blood. She asked one of  the other able-bodied men to get her a barrel of wine and a cup. He gave her a narrow look, but went to do her bidding. 

“I could have done that,” Autonoe whispered.

Penelope shook her head. “A cup and some wine, yes, but I may need an entire barrel before we are through.”

She asked for a bandage and wrapped it around the guard’s leg as securely as she could. He grunted at the pressure and she took his hand and pulled him to the ground to rest. He didn’t resist but simply acknowledged her with a “my lady.”

Her ladies laid out her needles and additional bandages, starting to help the others who were wounded. She told Autonoe to find the man getting wine and ask him to hurry, then ask anyone else who was hurt to get to the fire. They were losing the light quickly, and she wanted to be able to see the wounds as well as possible.

She was happy to have Kynna with her. The slave had studied under the local healer and had taught Penelope everything she could remember. They had worked together whenever her brothers had needed tending and were often called to help with their own guards after sparring practices.

The wine showed up after two more guards joined them. She quickly assessed a shallow gash on an arm and a head wound that was gushing blood. She had the man with the head wound hold a bandage over it and Kynna moved automatically to hold it as well, just in case he lost consciousness. 

She checked the bandage on the first man, noting with satisfaction that the blood was starting to clot. She had Actoris supply her with wine and she splashed the wound with the unwatered alcohol. He bucked with surprise and pain, but she had Autonoe sit on his knee to keep his leg steady. She started to stitch the first man just as Perious joined her group. She didn’t look up but asked, “Perious?”

“Just a scratch,” he said. “But probably one that needs stitched.”

She grimaced but continued stitching.

Perious only needed a couple of stitches, so he was one of the last she got to. No one had died, and everyone would be able to continue the journey. When she got to her brother, she could tell he was seething with anger. She focused on his wound, which was only a small cut - though deep - in his upper arm. 

“Good job,” he said under his breath, keeping his comment between them.

She looked up at him with caution. It wouldn’t do for any of the guards to know that she was armed or that she had killed a man.

He continued, “You seem to have mastered disemboweling.”

“Did you expect me to fight fair?” she asked, also under her breath. It was considered to be a dishonorable way to fight - but then, so was most close fighting with a dagger. “He had a knife at my throat.”

Perious gasped, but she couldn’t tell if it was at her words or the needle she had just thrust into his arm. “Please don’t ever fight fair when your life is on the line.” he added with a deep breath.

“There.” She tied off his stitch and quickly bandaged him. She would have to make new bandages when she got to Ithaca, she thought. She should have packed more. She got up and ran her needle through the fire, dropping it into her basket with her other supplies and handing the entire basket back to Kynna.

She kissed her brother on the forehead, surprised that he was still angry. It wasn’t like Perious to hold on to anger. She sat next to him, opposite his injured arm, and leaned into him. 

“So…” she started. “First real skirmish. How was it?”

He clenched his jaw before saying, “Penelope, this isn’t a joke.”

She pulled away from him, examining him more closely. “I didn’t say it was.” She studied him as he dropped his eyes. He had probably killed his first man today, she thought. It was a terrible milestone. She draped her arm around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. “It’s the worst feeling, isn’t it?” she asked. “Watching someone die from what you’ve done?”

He looked up at her with tears in his eyes, his anger dissipated. He leaned into her. “I hate you.”

She nodded and held him tighter. “I know.”

Penelope sat with Perious at the fire until it was clear that Odysseus was not going to be back for a while. Some of the guards were stationed around the camp, but several had left with Odysseus to pole the raft back upstream and find the camp. Once they had, they would kill remaining survivors and burn the camp. 

She still didn’t see any traces of fire upriver, but Perious convinced her they would be fine: if they had sent their fighting force here and it was slaughtered, who would be left at the bandit’s camp? She left him with another kiss to his forehead and then retired to her bed.

She had to admit she was no longer bored.

Odysseus did not let her sleep through the night, but woke her as soon as he crawled into the furs and blankets. He roughly pulled her into his chest and pressed his face against her hair, tears running down his face. She rubbed his back, wondering why he was so upset, and why now? 

“Did something else happen?” she asked, trying to blink away sleep.

He shook his head. “I left you alone,” he said. “I left you.”

“You had to,” she whispered in confusion. She stroked his hair, letting the loose curls wrap around her hand. 

Again, he shook his head, this time more violently. “They would have been fine. But you were almost killed.”

“Hey.” She pulled back a bit, trying to see his face. The tent was too dark to make out his features, so she pulled him back into her. “I’m okay. It turned out fine. You would have found me, you would have saved me.” She said this last with conviction, because she knew it to be true. What she didn’t know is how much damage the bandit would have done to her before Odysseus had returned. She pushed that thought from her mind. “If you would have stayed with me, you would be torn about anyone who was injured back at the camp. There was never going to be a right choice, a choice where you could be everywhere at once.” His sobs quieted and he loosened his grip enough for her to breathe easily again. “I’m fine. We’re fine.” She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of his hair running through her hands. “Would you like a story?”

“Please.”

“Do you know the story of Pelops and Hippodamia?”

“That’s a grisly story.”

“Mmm, I’m glad you know it. You can keep me on track. So Hippodamia was of an age to be married but her father didn’t want her to marry. Sounds familiar.”

“My mother has a slave named Hippodamia, I think.”

“Hm, I look forward to meeting her. Anyway, Hippodamia’s father didn’t want her to marry because an oracle told him that his son-in-law would kill him. Probably a good reason to keep your daughter from marrying. So he told suitors that they had to win a race - another similarity - to win the hand of his daughter. If they lost, though…they would lose their heads. So they lost their head over this beautiful woman. Literally. What I want to know is this: were the suitors’ lives so much less important than Hippodamia’s father? Why did he have the right to kill them for an unsuccessful suit?”

“Penelope…they agreed to it.”

“Well, then, let’s assume that they died because they were not very smart or because they had a very high opinion of themselves as chariot racers. This guy named Pelops comes along and decides to race, even though he is faced - hah! - with the faces of these suitors who have died before him, since they are mounted on columns along the palace wall. One wonders what Hippodamia thought of all this.”

“Actually, one doesn’t. She may not have even been told what her father was doing. She didn’t really need to know.”

“Or perhaps she loved her father so much that she didn’t want anyone to come along and kill him either. So Pelops agrees to race, but he’s a bit worried about losing his head. To make things go better for him, he decides to use trickery. He meets with the charioteer of the King - did I say that Hippodamia’s father was a King? He was - and they came up with a plan. If the charioteer could throw the race, then he could couple with Hippodamia on the wedding night and have half of the kingdom. A terrible bargain.”

“Agreed.” Odysseus’s voice was sounding almost normal again, and Penelope nuzzled his neck, letting the stiff hair of his beard tickle her face.

“The charioteer replaced the linchpins attaching the wheels to the chariot with beeswax. I’m surprised it held up at all, but they were able to race quite a distance. Then - ahhh! - the King’s chariot came apart during the race. The resulting crash killed the King. So I don’t think the son-in-law actually killed the king. I think the king’s refusal to marry his daughter to a worthy suitor, regardless of this race nonsense, killed him?”

“Ugh, Penelope, the story? I’m falling asleep…”

“Pelops was now left with a victorious charioteer who was ready to rape his betrothed and claim half of the kingdom. He killed the charioteer and married his darling Hippodamia. To purify himself of the death of his father-in-law, he instituted chariot races as part of funeral rites and as thanksgiving to the Gods.”

“I like the version of the story where Poseidon gives him winged horses for racing,” Odysseus mused.

“Ah, I forgot that part. Do you want me to start over?”

“Penelope, it has been a long day.”

“True. Anyway, the moral of this story is that you cannot fight the gods or Fate - all you can do is make the best decision you can. You made a good decision, Odysseus. The king in the story made a terrible decision - and confirmed his fate.” 

“I’m going to sleep.”

She tilted her head up and kissed him. “Okay. Sleep.”

Odysseus had them moving shortly after Dawn had reappeared, coloring the morning brilliantly. Rain was certain, and the remaining terrain they needed to cover was descending over hills and rocks until they would meet the beach. They needed to cover as much ground as possible while that ground was still dry.

Penelope bounced along in the wagon most of the morning, trying to keep her wound from hitting the side boards. She had thought that killing the bandit would haunt her. But the memory that wouldn’t leave her, staying fresh and constant, was Odysseus sobbing that he had left her. 

It started raining at the end of the morning, and the women put furs over themselves to keep the worst of the rain out. When the wagon started slipping, though, Penelope decided she was done with the wagons. They stopped shortly for a midday meal, and she informed Odysseus that she was riding with either him or Perious for the remainder of the day. She was not going to be in the wagon if it decided to tip.

He agreed, but he looked less than pleased that she wasn’t asking but commanding. After lunch, he put her in front of Perious, and told her ladies they would ride with assigned guards. Perious obviously thought it was hilarious that she had to be carted about like a child, taunting in a low voice, “Oooh, you hate this.”

“Keep it to yourself, dog.” She kept her voice low and hoped she sounded ominous.

“Queen Penelope has to ride with her brother…don’t you want your own horse?”

She really did hate her brother. She pinched his thigh and he grunted with pain. She could tell he wanted to retaliate, but it would be difficult while surrounded by a phalanx of guards - someone would see. 

Of course she would rather have her own horse. She had been riding most of her life and could handle a horse better than Perious. Even if Odysseus had known that fact, though, there was a strong possibility he would have still made her ride with Perious. She didn’t expect to be free to her own devices any time soon after the previous day’s adventure.

After a moment, she said, “You must be feeling better.” If he was teasing her, he wasn’t upset. 

“Why, thank you, sister. I do feel much better this morning. After all, I didn’t leave my wife unattended and almost leave her to die.” The anger was back.

“Was this why you were angry last night? He didn’t have a choice - he had to go join the fight.”  

“Did he? Did he really? We were fine.”

“I don’t think he knew that,  you idiot.”

“Sister of a pig.”

“Are you calling yourself a pig?”

He knocked his forehead against the back of her head, but not hard. “I hope he was sorry.”

She pressed her lips together. Would this be a betrayal of trust? She decided to keep it simple. “He was.” 

Perious took a deep breath. “Good. Was he amazed at your hidden talent?”

“I’ve pulled a knife on him before, you know,” she said.

“Oh, yes, Thoas said.” He was quiet for a moment. “Strange, that he still has his bowels intact.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. He couldn’t see her face so she added, “Idiot.”

“You are always such an endearing, sweet companion.” He started whistling, making sure his mouth was near her ear so she would be annoyed.

Perhaps the slippery wagon would have been better.

Chapter Text

They had all gone to sleep cold and wet and hungry, with just a bit of cheese and bread for their evening meal eaten huddled in their tents. Her ladies complained of shivering all night, and the men didn’t seem to have fared much better. Only the promise that they were almost at the end of their land journey kept their spirits up.

Penelope had shivered most of the night as well, finally warming enough to sleep only when Odysseus curled next to her. He was gone before the morning, though, and she woke cold and miserable once again.

With the rain still coming down steadily, if not heavily, they bundled up in their oiled cloaks and readied for another day. Penelope hoped that they would be able to have a fire for at least the midday meal. A hot soup would be welcome, but even a fire to warm their hands would be a luxury.

“We should reach the shore today,” Perious said as she swung onto the horse for another day of riding.

“Anything to get out of the rain,” she said.

Perious put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Probably more for warmth than to be affectionate, Penelope thought, but she kept her mouth shut. With everyone feeling miserable, it wouldn’t take much to sour attitudes and possibly even start a fight.

Odysseus rode by and nodded at them both, then called for them all to advance. His face was carefully blank and she wondered if he was angry with her because she had been high-handed about asking to ride the previous day. She sighed.

Autonoe was the only one who looked happy. She was riding with Timnes today and Penelope could see her grinning and shooting smug looks toward Kynna, who was riding with a much older guard. She could also hear Actoris giving them pointed reminders about decorum. Penelope wasn’t worried; Autonoe would imagine a full romance but probably wouldn’t say more than two words to her escort. 

They reached a small town at dusk and their small party was greeted by two of the elders from the town. One was a wizened old man who used a cane and the other was a thin, smiling man who grasped at Odysseus’s hands and bowed repeatedly.

The older man rasped, “Welcome to our town, Lord Odysseus. You are welcome to share my cottage this evening, if you wish. My wife and I would be honored to host you and your new wife.”

Odysseus bowed to them as well. “We thank you indeed for your kind hospitality. We have brought gifts to thank you for sheltering my crew, which I hope you will share with your neighbors and friends.”

The old man’s crinkled face screwed up into a painful-looking smile. He didn’t seem to have much practice smiling. “You are always welcome here, my lord.”

“I must decline your kind offer to spend the night in your cottage, however. My wife and I are newly married and would not like to disturb anyone, so we will stay in our tent.”

Penelope felt her face heat under her veil. Not only were his words embarrassing, they were untrue. He hadn’t spent hardly any time at all with her since they had left Sparta. She was grateful that he wasn’t pressuring her to consummate their marriage, but wished for more time with him.  

“As you wish, my lord. Allow us to prepare a bath for your ladies, at least.”

“We would be grateful.” Odysseus called her ladies and sent them with the older man to prepare a bath. Penelope had never wished for a warm bath so badly in her life. She could still feel flecks of that bandit’s blood on her skin and her hair felt matted from the rain and filth of the past few days.

Odysseus took her hand and walked with her to oversee the camp behind the town while her bath was being prepared. His ship’s crew were staying in a small grouping of tents, and their guards had added their tents to the area as well. The rain had finally paused, and all the men seemed to be busy caring for livestock, building altars, and making cooking fires.

Penelope asked, “Has your crew been here the entire time you were in Sparta?” 

“No, I had them return to Ithaca after we landed in summer. They were needed for the harvest. I sent a messenger back after Helen’s wedding for them to return, so they may have been here a few days, but not as long as half a moon span.” He gave her a wry grin. “Men without occupation can cause a lot of damage.”

“True, my lord.” She watched a small group of men put the finishing touches on an altar and start building another. She counted seven already constructed. “So many altars. How many sacrifices are we making this evening?” 

“Twelve.” 

She blinked at him. “So many? All twelve?”

“We can’t leave anyone out,” he smiled. “We have made it safely to the shore, but there are thanks to give and prayers for safe passage to Ithaca. Twelve.”

Penelope had rarely seen anyone sacrifice to more than three gods at a time: usually sacrifices went to Hestia first, Zeus second, a specific god or goddess depending on the need third, and then to Hestia once again. Sacrifices to all twelve was staggering. She couldn’t decide if it was excessive, was to show gratitude or charity for the town, or showed great piety. 

Her ladies returned for her and Odysseus called two guards to accompany them to the cottage for a bath. She recognized Timnes, the guard that Autonoe had been making eyes at all day: he was a tall man with dark skin and a sharp gaze that seemed to miss nothing. He wasn’t wearing a helmet now, and his straight dark hair fell into his eyes and around his neck. She wondered if he had come from the eastern countries like Autonoe had. The other guard she had seen often in the past few days, but still didn’t have a name to go with his face. He was slightly shorter than TImnes and had a glint of mischievousness in his hazel eyes. His hair was cut very short, which made her wonder if he had been dealing with lice recently and had shaved his head. It was growing back a spiky light brown. She turned to ask Odysseus to introduce them, but a small group of guards from Sparta arrived to ask for orders at the same time. She curtsied to Odysseus in farewell, and left with the guards.

The small cottage where she would bathe had only two rooms: a main room with a hearth and a smaller room for sleeping, separated only by a thick curtain. A small bath had been dragged into the private space and filled with hot water from the hearth. The guards ensured the cottage was empty and then stood outside, allowing the ladies and Penelope the entire cottage to see to their needs. 

Actoris and Kynna helped her undress, and then she stepped into the bath. The bath water was too hot and she pulled her foot back out for a moment. “Oh my lady, I am so sorry,” apologized Autonoe, who was scattering flower petals on the top of the water. She dipped her finger into the bath. “It should cool very soon.” 

Penelope stepped into the tub again, saying, “I love that it is so hot, Autonoe, I feel like I haven’t been warm in days.” She sat, wincing at the heat but luxuriating in it all the same. She laid back on the sloped edge, letting Actoris undo her braids, then wincing again as Kynna pulled a comb through the tangles that still managed to accumulate during travel. By the time they were finished, the water had cooled just enough that she could dip her entire head under water, where she stayed until she needed to breathe. There was some truth, she thought, in her mother not wanting her children too near water; the call of it was almost too much to resist even when it was a small tub’s worth. She and her ladies scrubbed her body, removing the last vestiges of dirt and blood, some of it hers, some of it belonging to the guards, and some from the bandit. Since they hadn’t had time to clean the linens she had worn during the attack, she would probably have to dye them a dark color to cover the stain. Or perhaps they could be turned into rags and she could never lay eyes on them again.

When she was finished and dressed, the ladies each took a turn in the bath while Penelope’s hair was braided again and twisted about her head. A veil was placed on her head, but today she was able to fold it back so that her face could be seen - and so she could eat and converse easily. Finally clean and presentable, all four women left the tiny cottage. They emerged to see that the townspeople were gathering near the temporary camp, readying for sacrifices and general feasting.

The men from the crew were leading cows to stand beside the altar, and she decided that Odysseus was definitely being kind by sacrificing to all twelve gods. He could have required the feasting to be at the town’s expense, but none of the sacrifices were coming from the town. The many sacrifices would feed these people well, probably for many days. 

She was led to the head table, where the older man and the obsequious thin man were already seated. She nodded at them both, but stood with her ladies until she saw Odysseus walking towards them. 

He had also had access to a bath and clean clothes - and a razor. His hair had been getting longer, and he had chopped it at his shoulders and scraped the emerging beard from his cheeks. He looked so much younger when clean shaven, she thought. And handsome. He gave her an appreciative look as well with a bright smile. It was so good to be clean.

The evening meal was a grand event. Odysseus officiated, slitting the throat of each cow and dedicating each to a specific god or goddess. The townspeople joined with the guards and crew from the ship to butcher and ready the meat for the fire. The fat was burned and offered with many prayers, then meat and wine were shared with the townspeople.

Penelope and Odysseus presided over music and dancing, and she found that she genuinely enjoyed mixing with the people and celebrating. At home, she had been hostess for many events, but only with the nobility of Sparta. She liked the openness of these people, who were glad of a night of feasting, and probably glad to see the sailors leave, but who were also just happy to spend time with one another.

Odysseus, as usual, disappeared after dinner. Tonight he would set watches with the guards and the sailors, and have the sailors start making ready for their voyage the next day. 

Penelope retired to her tent. She was glad that the journey was almost over, but she found herself worrying about going to her unknown kingdom - which would be her homeland - the next day. Perhaps she should have asked more questions about Ithaca. She curled up in a blanket and waited for sleep to overtake her.

Odysseus arrived before sleep did. He announced himself with a soft “It’s just me,” and dropped his gear and took off his sandals just inside the tent door. Then he curled up beside her in his own blanket and pulled her close beside him. 

“Do you have energy for a story?” Penelope asked him, wanting to ease the anxiety in her heart and be lulled to sleep.

“Mmm,” he agreed. “Anything specific?”

“Tell me about Ithaca,” she whispered.

“Ah, my favorite. You know the way to my heart, Penelope mine.” He took a deep breath and began. “A long time ago, a widow and her son settled in Ithaca. The widow was skilled at making fishing nets, and her son Corax was a skilled hunter. He would often return from hunting with enough game to feed many families, and they were generous and shared all they had. Mother and son were well loved on the island. That mother loved her son Corax more than her own life. Every day she would send him out with a small piece of netting, to remind him that he belonged to her and must return to her. One day, he left to hunt before she awoke, and she missed giving him her token. She worried all day, unable to settle and work on her nets or even hold a conversation with her dearest friend. Corax did not return that day. Nor the next. The islanders searched for days, finally finding his body at the base of a cliff. He had slipped and fell from a large black rock into the sea, where he lost his life. His mother’s grief tore her apart; she gouged her cheeks and tore her hair. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and she stopped eating. The islanders prayed that she would have relief. The gods heard their prayers, took pity on her and turned her into a fountain, where her tears continue to this day, providing water for the townspeople and the palace.”

“How sad,” Penelope said sleepily. “Is it a beautiful fountain?”

“Very. I think it is fitting that her son provided for so many, and in death, his mother provides life-giving water. My mother loves that story - eternal glory for a mother’s love. I’ll have to take you to see Corax’s rock, too.”

“When you’re ready to throw me off it?”

He laughed. “Oh I doubt I’ll ever be interested in throwing you off.”

“Here’s hoping…Thank you for the story, Odysseus.” She paused for a moment as his laughter subsided, then added, “And I’m sorry I didn’t ask for permission to ride the horses.”

He didn’t say anything. The silence stretched, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. She closed her eyes and hoped he would just forgive her. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought it up.

The next morning, Dawn put on bright clothes and welcomed a sunny, cold day. A perfect day, the sailors said cheerily, for setting sail to the islands. Penelope sipped watered-down wine for breakfast, too nervous for even a nibble of bread. Within a day or two, depending on the wind, she would see her new home. 

Penelope and her ladies were just in the way as Odysseus worked with the men to load the boat. She took them to the shoreline and walked along the sea, that great river that seemed to have no other side to it. They stopped and removed their sandals as soon as they realized that sand would continue pouring into them regardless of their best efforts. The ladies pointed out driftwood and seaweed that had come up on the shore, gathering shells that littered the beach. Penelope walked with them, admiring their finds, but really just watching the waves kiss the sand, then retreat. Crash on the sand, retreat. Lap at the sand, retreat. A constant dance that drew her in and repelled her at the same time.

Penelope wasn’t sure she liked the sea.

She walked toward the edge of the water, surprised when the next wave came in a bit farther than the last. The water sprayed her clothes and her hem was soaked with brine. The water played around her feet, making her feel like she was moving even though she was standing still on the sand, and she watched as the water drained away from her and back into the sea. It came back and she said “Hello,” as this wave gently swirled around her ankles. It was so changeable, from moment to moment.

Perious ran to her side, pulling her away from the water. “Penelope,” he said over and over until she could focus on him again. “You are worrying me, stay away from the water.” 

He gave her a hard hug, and she smiled at him faintly. She still felt a bit hypnotized by the waves. “Are you going back to Sparta now?” 

“Yes. Penelope,” he warned as she turned back to the sea. “Stay away from the water.” She blinked and turned inland. “I’ll miss you. I think.” 

She was suddenly grateful for the teasing and the extra time to just be with him. She gave him another hug, tears threatening. She knew he would just tease her if she started to cry, so she blinked the tears back before realizing that tears were also glistening on his lashes.

“Don’t forget how much I hate you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she managed. She walked with him to the Sparta horses and guards, trailed by her ladies. He mounted and they waved to each other, and he rode out of sight, the guards and empty wagons following. She swallowed a new flush of tears as Odysseus bounded toward her, excited to be off. 

“You’ll see him again,” Odysseus assured her, leading her and her ladies onto the longboat. It was a tall black boat with oars along each side and a tall mast in the middle waiting for its sail. The crew sat on benches along each side, each man with his own oar, and a raised deck perched at the front and back of the boat. Odysseus led the women to the front of the boat, calling it the prow, before leaving them to speak with the helmsman at the back of the boat, which he called the stern. 

She took a deep breath and determined to move forward instead of weeping over what she had lost. She motioned to her ladies and walked to the railing. She looked forward as the sailors rowed from their safe bay into the ocean. The small drop of water that rolled down her cheek must have been from the spray.

The men began to pull harder at the oars, allowing the tide to pull them out to sea. Did the sea ever stop, she wondered. How long would they have to sail to reach the other side of the sea? She watched the endless colors swirling in the water: blue, yes, but also browns and golds and greens. If she looked closely, she could see shapes that would every so often coalesce into a fish or a piece of seaweed. And the smell! She had barely noticed it the night before with the cooking meat, the smells of travel and town life, but now it was almost overpowering. Salty and briny, she could also smell fish with every breath. The ship itself was pungent with the smells left over from the livestock they had consumed the night before and the odor of too many people working to move a large vessel. For this, the prow was excellent, as it provided an untinged breath of air, fresh from the salt and spray.

The movement of the ship, first comforting, soon became too much. She found herself leaning over the railing and losing what was left of her dinner into the sea. She wanted to cry at the irony of being a water nymph’s daughter, almost lured into the sea itself, but now seasick. Her ladies were faring much better, only looking slightly green. 

“Problems?” asked a cheerful male voice that she immediately identified as Odysseus. She stood and shook her head, but wished she had just remained bending over the railing, since she went straight back to that position almost immediately. Dry heaving over the ocean in front of a new husband. Truly her most charming moment.

He placed a hand on her back and used his other hand to pull her veil and braids back. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone to be miserable?

“Even the most hardened sailors sometimes get seasick,” he said, loud enough for her to hear over the waves and calls of the oarsmen.

Another male voice she didn’t recognize answered back loudly, “True, my lord! ‘Course, that’s usually when we’re being tossed from sea to sky and back again!”

“Helpful,” she moaned from her current position, unwilling to move.

Odysseus laughed at her comment. Or his man’s comment. The pressure of his hand on her spine seemed to help a little, so she wasn’t sure she cared who the laughter was aimed towards. 

“Are you sure you’re an Achaean?” he asked. This part of the world, after all, was known for its seafaring people. Of course, she had been born in the one place on the entire Peloponnese where the ocean was not visible.

He leaned over her and placed his arm over her stomach, then pulled her against him. He kept one hand tightly on her stomach and placed the other on her cheek, resting her head on the hollow between his chest and his neck, facing outward. “Sometimes it helps to watch the horizon,” he said into her ear. 

Men. Annoying and teasing in one moment, and then just the kindest words would come out of their mouths…Penelope was a little surprised to find that her husband was much like her brothers in that respect. She sniffled a little. What a remarkable queen she would make, vomiting all the way to her new home. She bit her lip and told herself to stop. She perhaps couldn’t overcome her stomach, but she could - and would - quash her self pity.

Odysseus held her like that for the remainder of the morning, being quiet or singing along with the men as they rowed out into the open ocean. Listening to the men sing was soothing - the harmonies were simple but true. She supposed they would get a lot of practice out on the sea.

Once they were far enough away from the land and headed away from the wind, the crew set up and unfurled the sail, allowing them to take a break from rowing.

When it was time for the midday meal, Odysseus led her to a bench and went off to find food. He returned having eaten, but with a small cup of watered wine for her. “Sip it slowly,” he advised. 

She looked at him mutely, but took the cup and a sip. He smiled at her and used his thumb to stroke her cheekbone. After a long look, he turned toward the ocean again. He started telling her about his first trip at sea when he was very young. He was always in the way, so his father set him by the oars. If he moved the wrong direction, he would be hit. It was great motivation to learn to be still.

He then told her of his trip to put down the rebellion in Zacynthos, an island in the south of his kingdom. The seas were particularly rough on that trip, he said, and they had a full crew of men that couldn’t stop vomiting. They had some good luck, at least: a storm came up and completely washed out the ship for them. Otherwise, they’d have been scrubbing the deck for days.

Penelope thought that sounded more like bad luck.

The rebellion fell quickly, and they stayed longer than they needed to, all of the sailors willing to spend an extra day on land attending to loyalties instead of fighting the rebellious seas again soon. Once the seas calmed, they were back on the waves and then back home.

“I should also tell you a bit more about my parents,” he said, eyes distant. She watched him take a breath and resolve to speak. “My mother runs the household…” He glanced at her.

“I should ask her for what role I am to fill.” 

“Yes. I wish I could hand everything over to you - although if you tell my mother that, I will deny it - “ His smile was wry and he scrubbed his face with his hand until his expression was once again calm. “Your household in Sparta ran better than perhaps any I’ve ever seen. Even when you were not there - “ she started to speak, but he cut her off. “Even when you were not there things ran pretty smoothly. And when you returned!” He bit his lip, his eyes watching a whirling seabird. “My household has never been like that. My mother does a good job, but I think…she could use help. Again,” his gaze pierced hers, “I will deny this if she hears even a bit of it.”

Penelope put her hand on his thigh. “I would never divulge our secrets. I can be sneaky, I promise.”

He took her hand and turned it over, studying it. “And then there’s my father.”

The nausea was returning, and she sat up straight and looked out to the horizon, still listening. He continued, “My father doesn’t really remember things anymore. Sometimes, it is like he is living a life that is gone, where I am not born and he is unmarried…sometimes he is living a life where I am a teenager and he jokes about how strange it is to see a young boy able to grow a beard.”

“How long have you been king?” Penelope asked. What she was really asking was, how long had his father been dealing with a fading memory, but she trusted that Odysseus would understand.

“Ten years.” 

“So young,” she murmured.

“He wanted me to take over while he still was…fine…most days. I must tell you this because…he may not always remember you.”

She considered his words. “So I’ll get more than one chance to make a first impression?”

“Penelope, mine.” He turned her face to his, thumb stroking her jaw softly. “I should have told you before this. My only excuse is this: I love you. I don’t want anything to stop you from coming with me, being my wife. I worry that Ithaca won’t live up to your expectations, that it won’t be what Sparta was for you.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I will love it because you love it. It doesn’t need to be the same. I don’t even want it to be the same.”

He kissed her, and suddenly the nausea was back in full force. She wrenched herself from his grip and sprinted to the railing, reaching it in time to heave the small sip of wine from her system.

Within moments, his hand was again at the base of her spine.

“My lord? At your service.” She heard a guard approach.

“What is it?” Odysseus growled.

“Well, my Queen seems to be sickened by your touch, my lord. The men and I would gladly provide a touch that is kinder, if it is needed.”

“Really,” he drawled. “And your wife would teach me how to correctly touch a woman?”

The guard sputtered as Odysseus helped her stand again. The guard’s hazel eyes met hers. “My apologies, my lady. Another sip of wine?” He had come with a replacement cup, for she had dropped her previous one when she ran to the railing.

“Thank you,” she muttered, taking the proffered cup.

“Dismissed,” Odysseus said, but she could hear the smile behind the curt words. He led them back to the bench, eyes roving over the sailors and cataloging each task that was being done - or not.

“You should go,” she prompted. “I’m fine.”

“Truly? You’ll be okay?” His feet were tapping, and she could feel the restless energy under his skin. Sitting still when so much was going on was frustrating him, or perhaps he just wanted to thump the guard with the loose tongue. She nodded and with a quick kiss on her cheek, he was gone.

She walked to sit with her ladies, who were sitting by the railing playing a game. Actoris gestured for Penelope to sit, then placed Penelope’s head in her lap. Laying down felt better, Penelope decided. Especially because from here she could watch Odysseus. He was talking with the helmsman and the sailors, adjusting the sail, constantly in motion. While he was not as tall as the other men, he commanded attention wherever he went. As he passed the hazel-eyed guard, he smacked the man’s helmet but grinned. No harm done, it seemed. He winked at her when he saw she was watching. She grinned back. He had said he loved her. The thought lit her heart like a small ember, warming her more than the cloak that was draped across her.

A sailor tripped on a rope and Odysseus dashed to catch the bucket he was carrying. As he did so, she noticed a slight shadow detach from behind him. Strangely, the shadow was taller and thinner than Odysseus. She squinted at it, and watched as it flitted sometimes ahead of him, sometimes behind. Sometimes she would swear it had shape, other times it was just a wisp.

“Goddess,” she whispered reverently. “Athena.” The shadow flitted in her direction, and Penelope’s hair swirled just a bit. She didn’t know how she knew it was Athena, but she just…knew.

Her husband was goddess-blessed. 

Penelope closed her eyes, listening as her ladies started chatting again. Autonoe was still talking about Timnes - or perhaps it was again? Kynna was encouraging her, but was growing tired of the topic. Penelope warily looked up at Actoris, who was wearing a worried expression. Penelope shared her concern; if Autonoe was this attached to a man she hadn’t spoken to, she should probably be married to focus her attentions on a specific man. Since Odysseus was her owner now, Penelope would need to speak with him about finding her a suitable husband. 

Penelope whispered to Actoris. “I will speak with Odysseus about a match for Autonoe.” Actoris nodded and the worried look faded. “Actoris, why have you never married?”

Actoris’s eyes grew wide with panic. Penelope thought for a moment. “Is it because you never wanted to have a child in slavery?”

Actoris bit her lip. “You and the boys were my children,” she said, careful of her words. When Penelope continued to wait for more, she added, “And a child should not be born into slavery. It is hard enough to be pressed into such a life.”

Penelope caught her hand and pressed it silently. Nysa, her father’s housekeeper and Penelope’s mentor, had said something similar to her many years ago. Both Actoris and Nysa had been sold to Icarius, and Penelope was forbidden from asking more about their previous lives. She had asked anyway, of course, and Nysa had told her much about her life in Libya. Actoris had never answered.

Flustered, Actoris started to undo one of Penelope’s braids to keep her hands busy and unavailable. Penelope sighed and turned to watch Odysseus again. The shadow was still present, but started fading out of sight as the day lengthened into evening. She wished she could still see her, and whispered a grateful prayer to Athena for accompanying them across the ocean.

Hunger set in as the evening meal was served, and she attempted to eat a bit, but found herself back at the railing. Once again, Odysseus appeared at her back and held her tightly while she tried to breathe down the nausea.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized when she could speak. “What an awful voyage for you.”

“I don’t agree,” he said, chuckling. The slight vibration almost made her dash to the railing again, and he quickly sobered so she could regain control. “I get to hold my lady tightly as I sail towards home. I could think of many worse things, and few better.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and closed her eyes.

She found herself nodding asleep, and Odysseus laid her on a bit of deck with a soft blanket and stationed her ladies nearby. She found that sailing, if asleep, wasn’t quite so bad.

The voyage did last a full two days. The wind helped them along, but it was a gentle wind. Odysseus remarked that Penelope’s seasickness might have been worse with a stronger wind. She couldn’t help but think that a stronger wind would have them arriving sooner - and since she had nothing in her stomach to throw up anymore, it certainly couldn’t get worse. She was famished. Every time she ate, it would come back up almost immediately. She stuck to water and watered wine for the entirety of the second day, telling her stomach it would have to be patient.

Once they docked, Odysseus escorted her off almost immediately, and found a rock for her to sit while she got used to not being on the sea. She was dismayed at how difficult she found walking on land after being at sea for two days. Her ladies provided her with bread to nibble on while she watched the ship being unloaded, slaves running for wagons to carry the provisions and treasure they had in the boat, and sailors getting the ship ready for beaching.

It seemed that everyone had something to do - except her. Again. She was used to being useful and in the middle of activity, and found herself frustrated at not having anything at hand. She tried to observe her new surroundings, but could really only see the boat, the ocean, and a sliver of beach before rocks and trees blocked her view of the interior of the island. 

Soon, Odysseus was back at her side and holding out his hand, eyes bright with excitement. He was flanked by two of his guards, one of which was Timnes again, the other the hazel-eyed guard that still was nameless in Penelope’s mind. Odysseus walked with her up the path away from the beach, naming each of the trees as they passed and pointing up side paths. “The orchard is up that direction, and the original homestead is there as well,” he noted. “My parents live there now, but my mother spends most days at the palace keeping things in order. This path,” he said as the path they were on diverged into two, “is the one we take to the fountain -”

“The fountain you told me about, Corax’s mother?”

“Mmmhmm, that one. The myth says it was Corax’s mother, but my father knew the builders. Perhaps those men just added decoration,” he said to her concerned look; this was one myth she preferred to the reality. “My grandfather planted all these olive trees,” he showed her several as they passed them. “Olive trees take several generations to come into full fruit,” he explained. “My grandfather never saw the benefit of these trees.” He turned his sunny smile on her. “But we do.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much,” she commented, smiling back. “It’s quite lovely.”

“It’s a good thing you like it, my lady,” the hazel-eyed guard piped up. “He almost never stops talking once you get him going.”

“Polites, keep your thoughts to yourself,” Odysseus returned quickly.

“You first,” Polites shot back.

Penelope glanced back at him. Polites was shorter than Timenes and taller than Odysseus, with a slight frame and a smile that reminded her a bit of Semus. This was also the same guard she thought might have had lice, but his cropped hair was hidden now by his helmet. He winked at her. 

“I’ll introduce you when he’s off duty,” Odysseus said to her. “Polites is often my best friend.”

“Often,” Polites scoffed.

“Less and less often,” Odysseus stressed, then returned his attention to Penelope. “Just around this bend…” he paused as they turned the bend. “The fountain!”

It was spectacular. Large enough for dozens to fill water at the same time, and tiled intricately with colored stones interspersed with the baked tiles.  She could see patterns of waves crashing against black rocks on the outside. She moved closer so she could run her fingers over the textured pattern. “It’s so vibrant.”

“You can inspect it at your leisure later, my lady,” Odysseus pulled at her hand. “But now, you must come up to the palace and meet my parents.”

“Like this?” she gasped. She was horrified. It was one thing to be seen by guards and ladies and the occasional townsfolk, but she was certain she looked horrible after two days of seasickness.

“No, no, you can freshen up, but we must hurry. I am sure they will be waiting for us.”

The closer they got to the palace, the faster Odysseus walked. The incline was making her lose her breath, but she attempted to keep up and was fairly successful. He finally noticed that she was having trouble keeping up and stopped, although he was almost bouncing with the excitement of being home.

“I’m fine,” she gasped as she tried to inhale. “No wonder you run so well, you must have been taught by mountain goats.” He laughed and picked her up, continuing up the path.

“Know that you don’t have to be ‘fine’,” he said. The warmth of his gaze caught hers for a long moment. When he looked away, they were already going into the palace.

The palace did not have an outer wall, but stood proudly at the head of the path just below the peak of the highest mountain. It had large limestone brick walls, easily three cubits deep. The dirt pathway changed to bricked limestone as soon as they reached the walls and everything was very clean. There wasn’t much in the way of ornamentation, but the quality of the bricklaying was stunning - Penelope asked to be let down so she could trail her fingers along the wall. “It’s so perfect,” she mused out loud.

Odysseus was beaming. “It gets better,” he said, pulling her along. The passageway went between two smallish rooms and then opened into a large open air courtyard. Large pillars lined each side of the room, with a raised threshold on the opposite side with another line of pillars. Inside the pillars, the air was open, but there were roofed areas from the pillars to the outside walls, which were topped by more rooms and outdoor corridors. In shape it was much like her father’s or even Tyndareus’s palace, but this one felt so much more…solid.

At the front of the courtyard, a small group of people turned at their arrival. An older man and woman came towards them and embraced Odysseus without acknowledging her. They stood next to each other, but their entire focus was on their son. Odysseus stepped back, and quickly introduced them to her. “Penelope, may I introduce the previous King, my father Laertes,” he indicated the man, who was about the same height as Odysseus but with lighter brown hair, “And the previous Queen, my mother Anticlea.” His mother was shorter than his father, with the dark coloring that Penelope associated with Odysseus. Her look of delight on seeing her son soured slightly.

“Father, mother, I am pleased to present to you my bride, Penelope of Sparta.” His eyes were soft as he looked at her. “I suppose I should now call you Queen Penelope of Ithaca.”

Laertes strode toward her and embraced her heartily. “Please call me papás and welcome to your home!” He was exuberant, and she laughed at his enthusiasm. “I am so pleased that Odysseus was able to find his bride!”

He released her, and she took a second to regain her posture. She turned to Anticlea. She was not radiating welcome, but looked as though she had just bitten into a sour piece of fruit.

“I told my son to bring back the most beautiful bride in the world,” she said quietly. It could have been a compliment, but her tone made it clear that she did not consider Penelope to be worthy of any regard.

Odysseus stepped in front of her and faced his mother. “And so I did,” he said. Penelope looked at Laertes, who was frowning at his wife as if he didn’t know her. Anticlea was completely ignoring him.

“Please excuse us, mother, so that we may refresh and relax after a trying journey.” He reached back for Penelope’s hand, which she obediently placed in his. He gave his parents a quick bow, which she echoed with a curtsey, before stalking around them.

She followed him, his mother’s comment repeating over and over in her mind. Sparta had many women who had tried to befriend her throughout her life. Each time she had discarded a friend, it had been for comments much like these: words that looked beautiful yet were rotten on the inside, with thorns that tore through your heart. She had given up on female friends as a result. 

Icarius had tried to convince her that they would grow up in time, and so she would mingle with them occasionally. However, she had learned her lesson and kept her heart closed, allowing only her family, her cousins, and now Odysseus in. She supposed part of it was the position she held; other nobles would be jealous of her status and willing to tear her down to pull themselves higher. As far as she was concerned, it was easier to just focus on her family instead of fighting to be known and well-liked, so that is what she had done.

She bit her lip. She despised games where the intent was making someone lose. No one won.

Odysseus led her through the courtyard and up onto the threshold, where the massive doors there led her between another two smaller rooms. Both were large enough for a collection of probably fifty people, but were much smaller than the courtyard - which could have easily held several hundred. The one to the right contained two thrones. They were intricately carved and inset with ivory and precious metals. There was little color, but the workmanship was very fine. The room to the left seemed empty, but she guessed it was a waiting area for the throne room. He passed these rooms by, leading her through the next set of doors.

Here they reached the main workroom for the women. Again, there wasn’t much ornamentation. There were a few rugs on the floor and several chairs, along with a settee. What caught her eye, though, was the loom standing against one wall. 

“A loom!” she exclaimed, dropping his hand and moving to it, running her fingers over the wooden frame.

“I knew you’d like it.” Satisfied, he pulled her away. He took a deep breath. “Sorry about my mother's reception. She can be…unwelcoming to any that are attached to me.” He grimaced. “She dislikes my friends…I doubt she would have said anything different to Helen. Although,” he turned to face her, “to be quite clear, in my eyes you are twice the beauty of Helen.”

She gave him a half-hearted smile. 

“Let me show you our rooms.” He led her to the other side of the workroom and through yet another set of large wooden doors. Here, the corridor split again. To the left was one closed door, while to the right there were three. He opened the first and showed her many female slaves unpacking her clothing. “Your dressing room,” he said. “There is a door to the middle room here as well.” 

She furrowed her brow in confusion, and he waved it away. He pushed open the second door to show here a large stone bathtub, already being filled with hot water and flower petals.

“The bath room opens to both our dressing rooms - “ he pointed at a door opposite the one that opened into her dressing room, “so that we have all the privacy we wish. After studying the rooms at your father’s and Tyndareus’s palace, I think I will add on a room for relieving oneself as well, using water and gravity to move the waste away. It was extremely convenient.”

She took it in, and went to the tub. “Don’t you want to bathe first?” she asked, looking longingly at the water.

“There is another bathtub being filled for me in the men’s rooms. This one I may use occasionally, but it was made specifically for you.” He hugged her from behind, kissing her neck swiftly. “Relax.” He stroked her arm gently. “When you are finished dressing, wait for me in the women’s workroom. I want to show you our room tonight. Later.”

He showed himself out and left her with the ladies. Actoris was at her side quickly, helping her out of her clothing and sandals. The water was so warm it made her want to melt. She thought it must have taken a long time to get the stone so warm - it would naturally want to maintain the cold, especially with winter upon them.

She put her head under water and tried to drown the words of Odysseus’s mother.

Chapter Text

There was no rush, Penelope decided. Her mother-in-law already despised her, she was exhausted from traveling, and hungry as well. She would take whatever time she needed to feel ready to enter the battle of wills that was waiting for her. 

She lingered in the bath, watching the water run through her fingers until it had turned so cold she was shivering. She had her ladies redo her hair twice, making sure each braid did not pull at her head, selecting ribbons encrusted with jewels to work into the braids. Her forelocks were twisted and dried by two ladies holding fans so that they would curl gracefully down the sides of her face. 

She chose a coral gown, clipped together at the sleeves with her jade clips and belted around her waist by a cord. Kynna and Autonoe took out all her jewelry from Sparta, and she adorned herself with a jeweled headband and several necklaces, placing a filmy green veil over the back of her head. She would not cover her face in her own home.

Next she placed several rings on her fingers, amused by the weight they added. Rings on her toes, of course, since Odysseus had noticed them before, and an anklet as well. None of these items had come from Odysseus; they would show her new mother that she was a well-loved daughter from a rich kingdom. She had no reason to cower.

It was fully dark by the time she was finished, and she retired to the workroom as instructed. The room felt empty at the moment, abandoned. Even the loom didn’t look as welcoming as it had just a few hours earlier. She sat on the settee and tucked her feet under herself, leaning into the sloped side and setting her head down. She had added a cloak, to keep herself warm if she didn’t end up close enough to the fire, and now she used it to wrap herself in a warm cocoon. 

She could hear the ocean in the distance, the waves shushing her mind. She couldn’t decide if it was ominous or calming.

A touch at her shoulder awoke her, and she jumped. It was Actoris, her mild expression a balm on Penelope’s frayed nerves. “My lady,” she whispered. “The guards have told us that the king is coming.”

She rubbed her face, trying to remove sleep from her eyes and reawaken herself. When she removed her hands, Odysseus was already there, his lopsided grin in place and his eyes warm. He was dressed in a dark blue tunic, belted and accented with a dark brown cloak pinned at his shoulder. He looked terribly handsome with his hair curling about his shoulders and a blue headband keeping it off his face. 

“Ready?” he asked, hand at the ready as always.

“Always.” She stood as his smile broadened into her own personal sun. “Who is here? Any advice?” she asked.

They left the workroom and stopped just outside of the throne room. “Don’t try to remember everyone’s names. Just smile. You’ll win them all over.” He brushed her cheekbone tenderly. “Even my mother.” He turned and started walking again, and added as an afterthought, “Even if it takes years…”

She took a deep breath and pinned a smile on her face. She had been trained to lead events, and had done so for years. She had hosted many kings and queens as well as tradespeople and peasants. This was a new kingdom for her, yes. But it was also just another set of people to win over, to love, to serve. She had been born for this.

The courtyard was full of people. “Did you invite the entire island?” she asked, only half kidding.

“No, but my mother might have.” He raised a hand in acknowledgement as they were noticed, and led her to the head table. Only two women were allowed at this high table: Odysseus’s mother and his wife. She nodded regally to her mother-in-law as she was placed between Odysseus and Anticlea. 

Penelope noticed her hands were trembling and placed them firmly in her lap. “Good evening, Lady Anticlea.” 

“Please, girl, call me mitéra .” Again, the words were correct but the tone was harsh and unwelcoming. Anticlea had chosen the formal “mother” for her name, while Laertes had chosen the much more familiar “ papás ”. She could already tell which of her parents-in-law she was going to like better, even if Laertes might not remember her from day to day.

“Of course, Lady Mitéra .” Penelope turned her attention to the meal. Her stomach had woken with a vengeance, and she carefully ate small morsels so as not to gorge herself and become sick again.

Anticlea watched her closely. “Are you not pleased with the food, daughter?”

“It is delicious, Lady Mitéra ,” she responded. She took another bite to show her that she had no objection. In truth, she was so hungry she wasn’t tasting so much as inhaling whatever came close to her mouth.

“You are picking at your food. Are you already pregnant?” Her eyes were narrowed, calculating.

“Not that I know of.” Perhaps Anticlea was searching for a reason behind this marriage. If Penelope was far along enough to know that she was pregnant, then a pregnancy could have outdated her marriage. Of course, since she was still a virgin she knew truthfully that it was not a possibility.

“Hmpf. Who are your parents, girl?” Anticlea took a sip of her wine, peering at her narrowly.

“I am the daughter of King Icarius from Sparta.” 

“And your mother?” 

“The nymph Periboea. She is a water nymph of a small river near Sparta.” Penelope knew exactly what was coming next. 

“Nymph is a pretty word for local whore,” her mother-in-law said, softly enough that none of the men would hear. 

Anger flared, making Penelope’s eyes feel hot. She kept her tone flat as she responded, clenching her dagger that was strapped as usual to her thigh. “Perhaps in some cases, Lady Mitéra . But not in my mother’s.”

Anticlea tipped her head to the side. “How do you know? Have you actually met your mother? Usually ‘nymphs’ are hard to track down.”

Penelope found that the tasty morsel in her mouth had turned sour. Even Helen and Clytemnestra had hinted this to her on several occasions, but they had never been cruel enough to wound her by saying it outright. She looked directly at Anticlea and said slowly and distinctly, “My mother is a water nymph. She is not a whore.”

This didn’t seem to have any effect on Anticlea. She just took a bite of her meal and contemplated what Penelope assumed would be her next attack. When it came, it was for Odysseus. Anticlea waited for a pause in the conversation happening on the other side of Penelope and then asked in a carrying voice, “Odysseus, you should tell us how you ended up not marrying Helen.”

Odysseus turned to look at his mother as the men quieted to hear his response. As the men’s conversations died out, the women also realized that something interesting was happening, and all waited to hear the king’s response. Penelope wondered how he would explain, how he would tell a tale that his mother believed was a story of him losing the contest for the most beautiful woman in the world. 

He paused for a moment, meeting her gaze and accepting the challenge she had placed before him. “As you know,” he stood and addressed the entire courtyard, “My parents sent me to Sparta to bring home a bride.”

There were appreciative murmurs throughout the room. Penelope kept her eyes on Odysseus, although she could feel that the attention shifting to her: this was the bride he brought home, but was it the bride he sought?

“Sparta has two kingdoms, one ruled by King Tyndareus, one by King Icarius. Brothers. Both with daughters so beautiful it would make you weep.” He sought out one of his men. “Especially you, Lycaon, since any woman walking tends to make you weep.” The men laughed openly while the women twittered in the background. “Sadly, the only daughter left unmarried at the end of this tale is still in the nursery, so I would not recommend waiting for her.” 

Lycaon, who had a large, intimidating face, grimaced good naturedly. Penelope admired his ability to withstand teasing by his king in front of his peers. She imagined he was one of those men who looked frightening but was actually very kind. 

“The daughters of Tyndareus are Helen and Clytemnestra, though many say that Helen is actually the daughter of Zeus and that Tyndareus raises her out of respect for the god of lightning. The daughters of Icarius are Penelope and Iphithime. Iphithime is your future wife, Lycaon, so we’ll keep her out of this tale.” Another round of laughter.

Penelope glanced at Anticlea to find her watching Odysseus, face stern but with a hint of a smile on her lips. She didn’t want to approve, but he was winning her over.

“Tyndareus had invited suitors from all over the land - all who share our language, our customs, our gods and goddesses - to compete for the hand of this daughter of Zeus. A touch of the divine!” He spread his arms wide, his hands supplicating the skies. “We met her one by one.”

His voice quieted, causing his audience to lean forward a little. “She was exquisite. Red-gold hair, eyes like the sun-brightened sea. Tall, definitely taller than I -” More laughter. “And when you enter her presence, men, you can feel the power.” He was almost whispering now. “She holds an invisible net that she casts around any man who stumbles into her sight. When she speaks, the net tightens. When she touches you -” his hand reached forward and he dropped all but one finger, “- you realize the net is actually a noose about your neck.” His hand went to his neck and pulled an imaginary noose tight, coming up on his toes. “You realize she can lead you wherever she wants you to go, and that you will never be free unless she grants it.”

He dropped his hand and the spell was broken. Penelope could hear the audience take a breath. They waited to take another, wondering what he would say next.

“I left my audience with the beautiful Helen, swearing to myself and to the gods that I would not live under that woman’s power, that I would not bring her home to wreak anguish on these shores. Our shores. Our home. I almost left Sparta. But…there was opportunity to be had in the palace of Tyndareus. Kings and princes from across the land to meet, trade with -”

A hoot sounded from Penelope’s left and Odysseus nodded. “Yes, I expect you will enjoy that, Icmalius. I managed to procure some rare wood for your projects. You can pay me back with a footstool for my lovely bride.”

A tall man stood, bringing his lean, scarred face into the light. His head was almost completely bald but his beard grew thick and dark. “I would be honored, my lord!”

Odysseus acknowledged him and continued. “As I was saying. I stayed to increase the standing of our beautiful kingdom.” He raised his goblet. “For Ithaca.” He drank, and all eagerly grabbed their own goblets and joined him. “Then,” he paused, “I was blessed by the goddess.” He took another sip, enjoying the moment, building the suspense. “A vision of beauty, a joy so pure, was bestowed upon me in my despair: how was I to come home without a bride? Disappoint my parents, the old king and queen,” he bowed to each in turn, “My people?” He bowed to his guests. “I could not do it.” He reached a hand back towards Penelope and she stared at it for a moment, blinking furiously. If her hands were trembling earlier, now they were visibly shaking. She took his hand tentatively, and he grasped hers firmly, pulling her to stand by his side.

“This vision of perfection was the fair Penelope of Sparta. Whose father had determined she would never marry, for she was without peer. No one could be worthy of this jewel. And I admit! I am not.” He smiled at her, a lazy grin that had her smiling before she had decided to do so. “But through sheer determination - and with a miraculous win against her father in a legendary footrace -”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Legendary?”

“Legendary.” The laughter in his eyes was only for her as he put his arm about her waist. He looked out over his guests, his people.. “I was able to win her hand. And bring you my beautiful bride. Your Queen, Penelope of Ithaca.”

The guests erupted in cheers and applause. He kissed her fully on the mouth, and she kissed him back, forgetting for just a moment that there was anyone else in the room. “What an introduction,” she whispered into his ear as he embraced her as well. 

“They need to understand how I see you,” he returned, and he handed her back to her chair. 

“What of the other princesses?” asked Laertes, taken in by the story.

“Ah, the other princesses. Clytemnestra was married to Agamemnon from Mycenae, and Helen married Agamemnon’s brother, Menelaus. Three beautiful women, three marriages for Sparta to celebrate. But tonight - Ithaca celebrates!” he announced. “Music!” A lutist standing in the corner started to play, ready at the King’s command. 

As music filled the courtyard and Odysseus turned back to his father, Penelope reluctantly returned her attention to Anticlea. Her mother-in-law was still looking at Odysseus but her smile was gone. “I will expect you in the women’s rooms tomorrow morning for weaving,” she said. “You do know how?” she raised her eyebrows and blinked at Penelope. 

“I was quite excited to see the loom there,” she said, finding kindness simple with the glow of Odysseus’s approval warming her through. “It is one of my greatest joys. Perhaps I should start a new tapestry commemorating Odysseus’s and my wedding.” Tapestries were much more difficult than clothing, and usually only experienced weavers would even attempt them. Penelope, truth be told, had only done two: the first for Clytemnestra was passable, and the second for Helen had been decent. But her mother-in-law didn’t need to know that. And she knew her next effort would be much better, perhaps even better enough to impress. 

Anticlea was silent for a few moments, allowing Penelope to start enjoying her meal again. After only a few bites, Penelope decided that she should probably not eat any more that evening. Her stomach was already full, and she didn’t want to be uncomfortably full when she hadn’t eaten hardly anything in two days. She took a sip of her wine.

Odysseus slid his hand over her knee and squeezed, and Penelope jumped. Anticlea raised her eyebrows. “Not used to having your husband touch you?” She sounded innocent enough, but Penelope blushed. 

“I am a bit ticklish, and my lord finds it amusing to tease me,” she answered. Penelope slid her hand into Odysseus’s, taking comfort from yet another squeeze. “Can you tell me the names of those attending this evening, Lady Mitéra ?” she requested.

She was rewarded with a flat look. “There is no point, you wouldn’t remember them anyway.”

Penelope nodded. Her mother-in-law was probably correct; it had been a long day and she wouldn’t remember much. She wondered, suddenly, what her cousins would have thought: Odysseus’s characterization of Helen as a man-trap, Anticlea’s acerbic and unwelcoming remarks, Laertes who had been so welcoming this afternoon but then had only smiled at her absently this evening. Penelope would love to see Clytemnestra and Anticlea face off; Penelope wondered which of their strong personalities would have prevailed.

Penelope took another breath, trying to not absorb the feeling of disapproval that was emanating from her mother-in-law, and tried another tactic. “Lady Mitéra , I must thank you for the son you raised. He is a wonderful man.” 

Anticlea answered loudly, as if she were offended.  “Who wouldn’t notice such a thing? You, my dear, have been given what no one deserves. He is mad, thinking you are above him. It is you who are unworthy.” She took a breath, seeming to realize she may have gone too far. “I am finished. I will see you tomorrow.” She lowered her voice. “Unfortunately.”

Anticlea stood and bowed to her husband and son, who acknowledged her, then turned and left. 

At least she didn’t sleep in the palace, Penelope thought. She looked around her, noticing that Polites was stationed directly behind her. He rolled his eyes in Anticlea’s direction, then turned his gaze on her, apologetic. She shrugged at him. She had done her best, she thought. 

Left without her dinner partner, she too excused herself for the evening.

It had been a long, awful day, Penelope thought. She started to strip off her jewelry, starting with her veil and jeweled headband. The jewelry had ended up making her feel like she was trying to prove something. She wished her mother-in-law had made those terrible comments about her mother in a sparring ring, and smiled at the thought of taking her down to the ground, preferably with a knife in her hand. Not that she would really hurt her. Or not a lot.

Nothing visible.

These trinkets were not her, she thought, pulling off the rings on her fingers, then bending to yank the rings off her toes. She did not care for baubles like Helen did. She did not care for wealth like Clytemnestra did. She appreciated baubles and knew safety because of the wealth that surrounded her, but they were not who she was. She ripped off the necklaces and tossed them on top of the other jewelry, then undid the anklet and placed it with the rest, shaking her head in disappointment at herself.

Her ladies stood against the wall, too well-trained to react at her fit of pique. They wouldn’t even touch the pile of jewelry until she was out of the room, but everything would be tucked neatly away before she saw it in the morning. Sometimes, she wished they were not quite so efficient.

The bright parts of her day had been filled with Odysseus. Concern for her, joy for being home, showing off the palace, giving her time and space to add her armor for the evening. It didn’t really matter that it hadn’t worked; she doubted there was anything she could have done - or that even Helen could have done in her place - that would have impressed Anticlea. Odysseus was Anticlea’s whole world, and now she had to share with Penelope. Possibly Penelope was also a threat to Anticlea’s way of life, since currently she fulfilled almost all the duties of Odysseus’s Queen. Having a new Queen around was a challenge to her authority.

Penelope reminded herself that she didn’t actually have to share with Anticlea. Not Odysseus, not being Queen. As his wife, she had the stronger claim. She sighed and plopped down on the small bench in her dressing room. As his wife, she also sympathized that he wanted to keep his mother happy - a mother he loved. She felt a brief pang of grief for the girl in Sparta who had also hoped to find a mother to love in her husband’s family. 

Penelope did want to be Odysseus’s wife. Very much. 

Perhaps enough to be his wife in truth, not just in name. She undid the broach holding her cloak in place. He had allowed her so much time and space to become comfortable with the idea. She wasn’t sure that she would ever be perfectly ready, so why not?

She realized she was shaking. So much for just her hands being nervous. 

Motioning to one of her ladies, she had them undo her sandals. Another helped unclasp her sleeves, leaving her in just a sleeveless tunic. She asked them to remove her braids, and simply plait her hair down her back for bed. She did hope that Odysseus would undo her braid again. 

She loved when he had his hands in her hair.

At a loss as to what to do now, she looked over her ladies. They had finished unpacking. They looked at her expectantly, back at the wall in a line waiting for orders. There were five of them, which included Kynna, Autonoe, and Actoris from Sparta. She asked the Ithacan slaves for their names - Thebe and Eurynome - and then dismissed them for the night. Hopefully hearing their names would help her eventually remember them.

Actoris didn’t retire, but came and sat with her as the others filed out. Actoris was a quiet, gentle soul, Penelope thought as she gave her a small smile. Actoris took out some bones and held them out to her, a silent question.

Penelope shook her head. “I don’t think I could play tonight,” she said. They often played games with the bones when they were bored or waiting. She wasn’t bored tonight; she was anxious. She got up and started to pace. “You really can go, Actoris,” she added. “I am just waiting for Odysseus.”

Actoris raised her eyebrows. 

“He wants to show me our room,” she said. “I should have asked him to show me earlier, so I could just go to sleep…” she trailed off, because tonight she didn’t actually want to sleep. She pulled up her tunic and unbuckled her dagger, which was always strapped to the top of her right thigh. She supposed she didn’t need it so much this night. She handed it to Actoris to put away.

He had looked so handsome this evening, perhaps even more so than their wedding day. She thought it was the glow in his eyes at being home that made the difference. Or perhaps he had also been nervous on his wedding night. The thought stopped her. He always seemed so sure of himself. Such a show-off, as her brother Perious had said. But maybe…maybe their relationship was new ground for him as well. 

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said. Her voice didn’t crack, and she tried to hold herself like a queen. She motioned to Actoris, who left via the bathtub room.

Odysseus came in, surprised to find her almost undressed and alone. “I just dismissed my ladies,” she informed him. 

He removed his own cloak and set it around her shoulders. “It’s cold this evening,” he noted. Perhaps that was why her skin was pebbling, she thought. She welcomed the warmth of the cloak, and he took her arm to lead her to their room.

Timnes and Polites were stationed outside the door of her dressing room, and she wondered if the cloak was also so they didn’t see as much of her as Odysseus had. She was unused to having guards everywhere she went. Ladies, yes, but having men assigned to watch her constantly was new. The guards stared straight ahead. Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, she assumed.

Odysseus opened their bedroom door and ushered her inside. The glow was back in his eyes, and he had a nervous excitement that reminded her of little Aletes showing her one of his new bugs. What was so special about a bedroom, she wondered?

The room was lit with torches in holders on the wall, as well as from the large hearth near the door, lending them enough light to see the large bed against the back wall of the room. The frame was made of wood and was intricately carved. It reminded her of the throne they had passed earlier; curlicues like leaves twined in carvings in an intricate dance, inlaid with ivory, silver, and even gold. The headboard looked like two trees were growing from the two posts, branches intermingling and weaving together between the posts to form a tangled mass that managed to look soft and inviting. 

Awestruck, she moved to the bedframe and followed the leafy pattern slowly with her fingers. The wood was sanded and oiled, and soft to her touch. She pushed at the branches on the headboard, delighted that they allowed movement, being supportive and strong but giving just slightly at the pressure. She glanced at Odysseus, who was beaming at her reverence. “How long did this take?” she asked. “It is beautiful.”

“That’s not the best part,” he said, leading her to the bedpost at the top right of the bed. “Look,” he said, pointing at the floor.

She knelt and inspected the post where it touched the floor. No, not touched, she realized; the floor was built around it. She looked at him questioningly, and he said, “That is a live olive tree. The other post is not, but this one is. It is my wish…” his voice cracked and he took a breath. “It is my wish that our marriage be as deeply rooted as this tree.”

She stood then and wound her arms about his waist. “That is my wish as well, Odysseus.” She looked up at him, this man she had not even known three moon cycles ago, and wondered how someone could come to mean so much in so little time. He leaned over and kissed her gently, then started to release her.

She held onto his arms and took a deep breath. “Odysseus?” 

His eyebrows went up, but he just waited. 

“Will you come to my bed tonight?”

To her surprise, he didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes searched her face, looking for something he didn’t seem to see. “You have had a very long day, Penelope. What brought this on?”

She sighed and dropped her gaze. “I thought you said you would be easy to persuade.” 

“Make no mistake,” he said wryly, stepping away from her to remove his sandals, “I am not against the idea. But…” he removed his headband and the sash around his waist, then leant against the wall. Far from her touch. Even with the cloak, she was feeling the cold. “Are you certain?” All at once, his eyes held hope, and she swallowed the rise of panic.

She held up her palms and whispered, “I am in love with you. I trust you.”

He started toward her slowly, and she was reminded of a predator stalking a prey. She pushed away the thought.

“You are not afraid?” He stopped a few cubits from her, again keeping his distance.

“So afraid,” she whispered. He started to retreat again, but she reached for him. “But more afraid of the unknown than anything.” She curled her hand around his elbow, tugging him closer. “I trust you,” she repeated. 

He studied her again. She could see in his eyes when he made his decision, just before he crossed and took her in his arms. “Penelope mine,” he whispered before brushing her lips softly with his. “I cannot tell you what a gift you are giving me.” He kissed her again, asking, “Does this still calm you?”

“Not so much,” she admitted. He drew back, eyebrows creased in concern. “Now…” her hands fluttered on his shoulders and he captured one and kissed it. “Now…it makes me feel…greedy.”

HIs eyes glinted. “Good. Greedy is good.”

“Like I am turning into want .”

“Excellent.” He let her hand go, and pulled his hand through her hair, drawing her head back so that he could continue kissing her down her neck, then to her collarbone.

“What do I do?” she asked, gasping as he ran his hands up her sides, bringing her tunic with them.

Her tunic off, he stood back and pulled off his tunic as well, then knelt before her, turning his head up to meet her eyes. “Stand there. Talk to me, tell me what feels good - especially what feels bad. Touch me. Just…be here with me.”

She breathed, trying to find her center like she did when she was training. “I can do that…” she buried her hands in his hair as he nuzzled her stomach. She searched for something to say, landing on a neutral topic. “The bed is out of an olive tree?” 

He laughed into her stomach, running his hands up and down her legs. “Talk about us. Talk about you, me, now.”

“Oh.” She thought again as he moved upwards, hands on the back of her thighs and mouth just below her breasts. Then she couldn’t think, as his mouth was on hers again and he was backing her towards the bed. Her hands were on his chest, and she marveled at the heat that emanated from his body. 

She experimentally ran her hand over his shoulder, pausing as her hand hit what must be a scar on his right shoulder. She paused and used a finger to outline the scar, wondering where it came from. She kept going and found another scar just underneath his elbow on that same arm, and her other hand found a deep scar on his left upper arm. “So many scars.”

“Mmmm,” he mumbled, as they reached the side of the bed. He pulled her hair over her shoulder and removed the ribbon at the base.

She kept exploring his skin with her hands, and as he finished releasing her hair from its plait, he patiently stood still and allowed her time to explore. She ran her fingers along his torso, and he quickly put his hand over hers. “Touch me, don’t tickle me. Please.” She blinked in understanding, flattening her hands as she continued. She constantly found more scars. She held out his arm, “Someone forgets an arm guard,” she admonished. There were signs, obvious to any archer, that the string had broken his skin on many occasions.

“I am sometimes in a hurry.” His eyes blazed.

“Now?”

“No. Take your time.”

She went back to her exploration, moving to his back, his legs, then his feet. When she reached the scar just above his knee, she gasped. “What took a chunk out of your leg?” she asked, astonished.

“Remember the story of the boar?” he asked. 

His hands were in her hair again, and she leaned into his leg and just enjoyed the sensation of his fingers massaging her scalp, then allowed her head to follow as he pulled the lengths through his fingers away from her head. “I love when you play with my hair.” 

She thought it sounded ridiculous, but he responded, “Your hair is so fine and lustrous right after it is unbraided. It is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I could spend hours just playing with your hair.”

“Okay,” she agreed, continuing upwards to his chest, which had few scars, probably because he wore a breastplate during sword training. “You must bleed a great deal,” she commented.

“I like swords,” he said, twisting her hair into a tail and placing both of his hands on the small of her back. “They are sharp.”

She laughed. “Yes, yes they are.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I love how concerned you always are with me. You are the most patient person I think I have ever known.”

“I think,” his hands moved lower, “That I have come to the end of my patience.”

She smiled.

He was as good as his word: he was gentle, patient. He made sure she knew pleasure before she knew pain. And she was amazed how much of the night was spent being just held and stroked - and loved. 

“I love you,” he sighed as he tucked her into his arms, both of them spent.

“I love you…like the seagull loves the wind, letting it carry her higher and higher….” she mumbled.

“I love you like the sea loves the sand. Always returning, always wanting more.”

“I love you…like a lizard loves the sun, soaking in the heat and joy of a brilliant day.”

“I love you like a tree’s roots love the soil, seeking for what it needs to live…”

“Why are your examples so suggestive?”

“I cannot think of anything else when I am with you, Penelope mine.”

The next morning she realized that her attempts to add blood to their wedding night sheets had been stingy. This morning, their sheets were streaked with blood - quite liberally. “I wonder if my father knows that nothing happened that night.”

Odysseus looked offended. “Nothing? I told you a beautiful story that night. Just because you were feeling unwell and missed most of it…” 

“True, true.” She reached out to tuck that stubborn lock of hair that would keep trying to be in his face, but he caught her arm and kissed it. 

“I have to go to training this morning,” he said ruefully. He caught the hope in her eyes and shook his head. “I know you want to train. I’m trying to figure out how that can happen. But this is with the guard - and I think everyone would be scandalized to train with their queen.”

She acknowledged the truth of that, but couldn’t hide her disappointment nonetheless.

“I think you should take a day to relax and get to know your new home,” he said with another kiss. She smiled and watched him don his tunic and leave, sandals in hand. 

Then she frowned as she took in the mess that was her bed and decided to get started on the day.

Chapter Text

Bathed, dressed, and armed with her dagger once again, she set Kynna and Actoris to work on laundry. Before she left her dressing room, a female slave arrived with her morning meal. She looked at the thick soup-like substance with distaste. It smelled like barley and mint, and when she sipped it, she almost spat it out. The taste was a strange mixture of grains and spices, which was bad enough, but the texture was pasty and stuck to her tongue.

The small dark girl watched her anxiously. “My lady, this is the traditional Ithacan morning drink. Everyone drinks it in the morning,” she assured her. 

“Truly?” she asked. She attempted another sip. “Everyone drinks this?”

The girl nodded but cast her eyes to the floor. “The Queen wanted you to have this each morning.”

Every morning. She sighed and did her best, but could only stomach a few mouthfuls. “What is your name?” Today she was going to learn the names of her staff.

The girl shifted nervously. “Why, my lady? I am of no importance.”

Penelope frowned at her. “Everyone is of importance. Please, your name.”

“Sávra.”

“Sávra? Lizard?” Penelope asked. Do you like sunning yourself on rocks?”

“Hiding.”

She said it so quietly that Penelope almost missed the comment. “Ah, well, little Sávra, thank you for - this.” She made a moue of distaste and handed the cup back to her. “I think that is all I can drink at the moment.”

The girl gave a small curtsey and left, her disappointment clear.

Penelope shook her head and huffed. Hopefully the midday meal would be more appetizing. Her stomach felt like an empty pit from the days of not eating on the ship. Even the meal last night had not been enough.

She walked into the women’s workroom, noting the guards stationed to either side of the two main doors, to find her mother-in-law already sitting in a chair with a basket of wool, spinning. A morning with Odysseus’s mother. She shuddered, but forced a smile. “Good morning, Lady Mitéra ,” and went to inspect the loom. 

This loom was certainly finer than any she had seen. The looms at the Spartan palaces had been used for generations and were serviceable but showing their age. This one had been built recently and still shone with polishing. She guessed it was made from oak, a hard wood that would last for many years.

Spun wool was arranged next to the loom by color. There were only basic colors: bright red, dark blue, grass green, saffron yellow, the brilliant orange of sunset, white, a warm brown, and black. She knew that she would want many more shades of these colors for what she was planning, and she would also need purple - an expensive and time-consuming dye color. When watching Odysseus sleep the night before, she had decided to make a tapestry of him on the ship with Athena at his shoulder.

Anticlea just watched her, not returning her greeting. 

Other than spinning and weaving materials, and a few cabinets that proved empty on examination, there weren’t any other items added to the workroom. Penelope turned to her mother-in-law. “Are there any clay tablets for sketching?” she asked. In order to plan a large piece like a tapestry, she would need to sketch it out first and plan which colors she would need.

Her mother-in-law shook her head. “Simple is best,” she opined, but didn’t elaborate further. 

Penelope asked the slaves from Ithaca if they knew where she could find a tablet. They had already helped themselves to wool and spinning tools and started spinning. Eurynome, a girl about Penelope’s age with shining, honey-colored hair and a sweet smile, had already finished a skein, but the other two were not quite as skilled. A round-cheeked girl with sun-streaked brown hair who Penelope thought was named Thebe looked fairly hopeless at the task. At least Autonoe had started well, she thought, pleased.

Thebe was the only one to respond, saying, “They would be in the storerooms.” Her dull eyes, the color of dark sand, were on Anticlea. 

“Will you please escort me to those?” 

Thebe looked panicked, but Anticlea gave her a quick nod and she stood, set aside her work, and led Penelope from the room. Guards followed close behind them, and she stopped as they left through a side door. “What are your names?” she asked the two that had accompanied her.

They glanced at each other, uncertain. Were they not supposed to speak to her? After a moment of indecision, though, one responded. “I am Actor of Ithaca, and this is Dymas of Same.”

Actor and Dymas were of a height, each about a cubit taller than Penelope. They were both wearing full armor, which consisted of a helmet, a breastplate, braces, greaves, a sword at their hip, and a spear in their hand. Penelope thought it was a bit much for inside the palace, but she did not know this country or its customs, so she did not question it. 

Yet. 

Actor had bright blue eyes and Dymas had a muddy brown, and both were clean shaven. Since there were only two of them, they should be easy enough to remember. She motioned for Thebe to lead the way.

They were close to the storerooms, which lined the corridor on the outside of her dressing room. There were several of them and Thebe noted that there were more both upstairs and downstairs under the mountain, pointing at a staircase that sat at one side of the women’s rooms leading up. Penelope couldn’t see the stairs heading down.

“Which might have clay tablets?” she asked.

Thebe shrugged, and when Penelope looked to the guards, they did the same. “Right then, I will need some supplies.” She marched back to her dressing room, followed by her entourage. Deep in her jewelry case, she found what she was looking for: several pieces of papyrus, a few styluses made from split reeds, and a bottle of ink. The papyrus and ink were precious to her: very few people knew how to write, and so she had to make her own supplies. Ink was fairly easy to make from ashes, but she had to forage for the papyrus and reeds, which had required her to obtain permission to leave the estate in Sparta. Here, she was uncertain how far she was allowed to wander, since there were no estate walls. She placed her writing tools in a small bag and went back out to the corridor.

She was used to having ladies follow her, but the guards were starting to annoy her. They did not move quietly in armor, and were disgruntled that she was moving about so much. She tried to ignore their frowns.

All of the storerooms had closed doors, and she decided to start with the closest one. She opened the door to find a dark room, and asked Thebe to find a torch or candle to light the room. The slave hurried off.

While she waited for light, she asked one of the guards to retrieve a small table and chair from the workroom. Actor was the one with blue eyes, she reminded herself, so this must be Timnes. He quickly retrieved the items needed, obviously displeased that he had to leave her with just one guard. He set up the table and chair in the hallway just as Thebe returned. 

Thebe set a lit candle in one of the room’s candle holders, then lit and added more. Penelope was glad to see there were several candle holders on the walls throughout the room, since it was an interior room without windows. Penelope asked Thebe to bring items out to the corridor individually for counting and recording. The guards could count the items while she wrote names and amounts on the papyrus. None of her attendants looked pleased, but they did as she requested. 

Penelope had a feeling that either her mother-in-law would put a stop to her activities or Odysseus would have to officially allow them. The thought of having to ask Odysseus permission rankled: permission to inventory her own home! And yet, she reminded herself, it was his home first.

She spent the morning happily working on the first storeroom. They had only just started, but she decided to take a break as the morning ended. She was hungry - her morning “meal” hadn’t satisfied her in any real way. She returned to the workroom just as Anticlea was finishing up her meal. The slaves must have delivered the food through a different corridor, as Penelope hadn’t seen any movement near the storerooms.

Penelope asked the slaves leaving with the food to please leave them for a moment longer. They looked to Anticlea, who motioned them away. “Daughter,” she said tightly, “You must be on time if you are interested in eating.”

“Surely they can wait just a moment,” she returned, taking a half loaf of bread off the platter being held by the nearest slave. She could tell that the slave wanted to grab it away from her.

“They have their work to be about,” Anticlea said, returning to her spinning.

“Leave enough for the guards and Thebe; they have been working hard all morning and need sustenance,” Penelope commanded. The slaves, who were not willing to leave food for their new queen, turned immediately and set food before the guards and Thebe. Penelope bit her tongue. She was not going to start a fight the morning after she had arrived. 

She turned to Anticlea, asking, “Have you been spinning all morning?” as she broke off another piece of bread and started chewing. Spinning was mind-numbing work; Penelope could only do it for an hour or so at a time without wanting to scream. 

“Of course,” she said placidly. “It is consuming work. What have you been about?” Anticlea asked, sounding like she did not want to know and couldn’t care much about what her daughter-in-law had been up to. Penelope wondered if her mother-in-law was angry that she hadn’t been spinning with them all morning, or if she was annoyed that Penelope had found something else to do.

“I’ve been searching for those tablets,” she answered. It was true that she was still trying to find the tablets, but she did not intend to tell her mother-in-law that she was creating an inventory for Odysseus at the same time. He hadn’t specifically asked her to do so, after all.

“Ah.” Anticlea went back to her spinning, effectively dismissing her.

As soon as her helpers had finished their meal, Penelope took what was left of her bread back to the storeroom with Thebe and the guards and continued her work.

They finished the first storeroom in the late afternoon. Still no clay tablets, but Penelope was actually glad that they hadn’t been found; it provided a solid reason for her to keep looking - and inventorying.

The workroom still held Anticlea, continuing to spin, with skeins of yarn accumulated by her chair, but it also held a lutist, who was filling the room with a soft melody. Penelope gathered supplies for spinning and sat near her mother-in-law. She really should have used the day to get to know her newest relation, but when she thought of the progress she had made with the inventory, she was proud of herself. She thought Odysseus would also be pleased.

The evening meal was delivered to them in the women’s rooms again. Penelope knew that this was far more typical than her own family meals each night, but yearned for the friendly face of her husband. Anticlea dismissed the lutist.

Penelope smiled at him. “Thank you for the beautiful music.” The boy smiled back at her. That might have been the first smile she had seen today. The guards and Thebe had been helpful, but not animated or talkative or pleased to work on the storerooms.

After the meal, Penelope couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “Odysseus has told me that you run his household very well. I hope you will let me know if there is something I can help with or take from your shoulders. I do not wish to be in the way.”

Anticlea studied her. “You do not wish to be in the way,” she repeated. “I do very well on my own, thank you.” 

Before Anticlea could return to her spinning, Penelope plowed forward. “Odysseus tells me that you are an accomplished archeress.” she said. When Anticlea still didn’t respond, she added, “I love to shoot, but could really use some tips on improving my stance. Would you be willing to shoot with me? I brought my bows…” She let the invitation hang between them. 

After a long moment, she decided the absence of an answer was better than an outright refusal, and started to spin.

They continued to work for a few minutes in silence. Anticlea stood up abruptly, put aside her spinning and stretched. “That is all I can do for today. I will see you tomorrow.” She did not incline her head or even look in her direction, but just left. 

At least she took the tension with her, Penelope thought with relief.

It wasn’t long until Odysseus showed up, either. As he arrived, he glanced over all the new skeins in his mother’s basket with raised eyebrows. “Did you do all that today?”

She shook her head, smiling. “That was your mother’s.” She pointed at the two skeins in her own basket. “These are mine.” 

“You did get some rest, then?” He motioned to her and she stood, taking her bag with her.

“I had a lovely day, but I’m not sure you could say it included much rest. Do you want to see what I did?”

He ran his hand through his hair, which was wet. He must have just bathed.

“You were training and sparring all day?” she asked, surprised. Such a long day of training was extremely tiring, even for warriors of Odysseus’s caliber.

He grinned at her, but was unable to disguise the tiredness in his eyes. “My men were getting lazy. I’d love to see what you did.” 

She led the way to their room, placing her bag on their bed. She opened it carefully so as to not disturb the ink. “This will be quick, then you can rest.” She pulled out the two sheets she had carefully filled and showed it to him with a flourish.

He looked at it without comprehension and looked back at her.

“It’s an inventory for the first stockroom!” she exclaimed. 

He took them from her. “You can write?”

Her eyes widened. There were many people who believed writing was subversive, even evil. Was he one of them? She started a stumbling apology, reaching for the papyruses, but he pulled them out of her grip.

“Penelope,” he said with awe, “Can you teach me this?”

The air left her lungs all at once and she took a shuddering breath, nodding. “Of course, my lord.”

“I could ask you anything that is in there, and you would know,” he said, eyes wide with wonder. “But when you were trading with Icarius, you didn’t have any papyrus,” he said, finally handing them back to her.

“I memorized the current stock levels of those items we have for trade and the ones that we needed. It really isn’t that much to remember, when you don’t have to remember everything.” She looked through her notes, proud again of her day, still feeling the relief that she wasn’t about to be punished for practicing unholy arts.

He leaned over and kissed her swiftly. “You are amazing.”

She beamed at him. “I do have a request,” she said, starting to falter again. He looked at her expectantly, starting to undo his cloak. “Could you mention that it was your idea to the guards? They were…concerned that I was overstepping.”

His eyebrows disappeared into his unruly hair. “That is hardly a difficult request. Of course. Now, I have a request of you. I came back early to spend some time with you.” He looked her over. “And you are wearing far too many clothes.” When she started removing her cloak, he gave her a wicked grin. “Better.”

“Are you not tired, my lord?”

“Not when it comes to you, Penelope mine.”

“Let me at least rub your muscles so that you are not sore tomorrow.”

He pretended to consider it. “Acceptable.” He crossed to the hearth, and took two bottles and cups from a table, showing them to her: “Wine, for relaxing, oil for massaging.”

She took the oil, unstopping it and smelling it. It was a fine olive oil, and she smiled at him. “Ithacan?”

“Only the best,” he said with a wink. He poured both cups with wine, then went to the ewer and added water to both. She motioned to the bed as he took a drink. He put down his cup and finished removed his clothing as she took a sip. “Why are you still dressed?”

“Lie down, my lord.” She only had her tunic on, and that certainly wasn’t difficult to remove. She put down her own cup and poured oil onto her hands, then crawled up on the bed to straddle his back. She began to pull her hands down his spine, and could tell that he really had been working hard: there were knots of muscle around his shoulder blades and even along the right side of his torso. She began to press her thumbs into one especially tight area and he grimaced. “Too much pressure?”

“Just wondering where a princess would have learned such an art,” he mumbled, turning his head into the linens so she couldn’t see his face.

“My father -”

“Your father?” he exclaimed.

“Wait.” She pulled the bottle of olive oil towards her and poured a bit more on her hands, going back to the knot of muscles but softening her touch. “My father had an accident a few years ago, not long ago really, but he fell off his horse and hurt his back badly. Well, “fell off” is probably not what he would call it. He would probably say the horse had gone insane and bucked him off, all the horse’s fault.”

Odysseus groaned, and she was well aware that it was at her storytelling, not at the pressure on his back. She continued, “My father had heard of a man in Corinth that worked miracles. He had studied with Apollo’s acolytes in Delphi. He convinced this man, after many exchanges of messages, to come to Sparta and try his miracle cures. He came - eventually - and his work helped tremendously. Father asked him to train a few of the slaves in his methods. He worked with Kynna -”

“Your slave, the plain one?”

“Yes.” She added more oil to her hands, and she moved to work his right arm, kneading her fingers over the length of his arm. “I asked Kynna to teach me so that I could help my father if necessary, and the boys. She has taught me much of what the master taught her, if not all. It is good to know how to help those in your care.” She moved to his other arm.

“And you practiced on…” his voice was low and dangerous.

“My father’s back once…and Aletes a few times. The boys rarely - Thoas pulled a muscle in his calf once. Things like that. I am not as skilled as Kynna. I could ask her to work on you if my skill is lacking, my lord.”

“Are you telling me to spend time with your lady?” The dangerous tone was gone, replaced by teasing.

She did not respond, starting work on his thighs. She pursed her lips as she poured more oil on her hands, then started working it into his legs. Massaging Odysseus was different on many levels than working on her brothers or father. Just imagining Kynna doing what she was doing had her heart racing. Jealousy. That was what she was feeling. Strong and completely unprovoked. She started adding too much pressure again, and he squirmed. 

She could feel tension weighting her shoulders. Finally, as she moved to his calves, she decided to be direct. “Please do not lie with my ladies, my lord.” Her words doused his mirthful grin. She continued quickly, trying for a conversational tone, “You know, this was one of the reasons my father did not want me to marry. Because I would likely marry into a royal family, and royalty…and fidelity…typically do not meet. We hosted many royals throughout the years, and I do understand that hospitality often includes…women. But please, not my ladies.”

He was quiet, and she moved to his feet. She worried her lip between her teeth, unsurprised when she tasted blood. 

“Did your father have you choose women for your guests?” 

“No, my lord.”

“Typically, the women of the family are kept innocent of those types of goings on. How did you hear of them?” Controlled, quiet.

“I have seen to the women after they have returned…some badly mistreated, my lord.” She had finished with his feet and sat back. “You may turn over if you wish me to continue.”

He turned and got up, retrieving their wine and handing it to her. “Your father allowed you to see such things?”

“ Allowed might be the wrong word,” she said, holding tight to her cup so her oiled hands could hold it without spilling. He tilted his head, waiting for more. “Kynna and Nysa - our housekeeper - took care of ‘those things’. Nysa was my mentor, and Kynna and I were basically raised together. I doubt they could have kept me away, especially when I glimpsed what was going on.” She took another long sip, realizing that there was not much left. Perhaps that was why she was saying too much. She had never told her father what she had seen, what she had helped with. He would have definitely flogged Nysa, perhaps removed her from her position. Perhaps even killed her. She gulped. 

Odysseus was shaking his head. “You’ve seen too much for a 17-year-old princess, Penelope mine. It’s a wonder you ever let me touch you.”

She shrugged and took another sip, then put the cup down on the floor. When she sat back up, Odysseus put his hand on her neck and brought them face to face.

“You are mine.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“And I am yours.”

She looked at him skeptically. “My lord, I know -”

“Forget what you know. Or rather, it isn’t going to apply to us. I am yours. Only yours.” He kissed her, hard, and then released her. “Have you ever seen me drunk?”

Confused, she shook her head. Then tilted it back and forth. “A bit, was it at Clytemnestra’s wedding? Your eyes were a bit shiny.”

“I didn’t realize you were watching me so closely.” He took a sip of his own wine with a momentary half-grin in her direction. “I don’t drink to drunkenness. I don’t like being out of control. I also don’t engage in affairs - for the same reason. Indiscretions provide ammunition for enemies. You -” he raised his glass, “- are the one person who I feel…when I’m with you…”

She wasn’t sure she had ever heard him stumble over his words.

“Come.” He opened his arms and she curled into him. “Maybe I’ll be able to get this out if your sea gray eyes aren’t staring me down.” 

“Staring you down.” She nudged his thigh. In fact, she had been staring at her own hands.

He took another sip and rested his cheek on her hair. “You make me feel as if I don’t need to constantly be in control. When I am with you, I am at rest. Ugh, I’m still not saying this right.” He drank the rest of his cup and dropped it on the ground. “I am not going to lie with your women. I am not going to lie with any other woman at all if I can help it.”

The sudden image of him being tied to a bed while a group of women forcibly attacked him made her giggle. “You’re not planning on being a sex slave?”

“I very much am planning on it,” he assured her. “But yours. Only yours.”

Penelope was ready to continue with the stockrooms again the next morning. She entered the workroom to see Anticlea dressed to go out, obviously waiting for her to arrive. 

“Odysseus has requested that I take you on a tour of the palace and the island,” she informed Penelope. A veil was folded back over her head, ready to drop into place when they left, and a cloak draped her figure. The hearth was cold.

“That would be most agreeable. Will we be walking or riding?” she asked.

“Both.” 

“I will change then.” She returned to her dressing room and changed into a split skirt that would allow her to ride astride. She had Kynna also change in case she needed to ride and had Actoris pin a veil to her hair. Now that she was married, she supposed she would always need to wear one outdoors. Both Penelope and Kynna added cloaks on top as well to keep them warm.

Anticlea nodded when she appeared dressed, with Kynna ready to also leave. Both Dymas and Actor followed them as well. Anticlea sighed. “I suppose we can have an entourage.”

Penelope bit her lip, then stopped when she realized she would be reopening her wound from the night before. It certainly wasn’t on her orders that the guards were coming; she would be fine with just Kynna. Anticlea motioned to one of her ladies as well. “Eurynome, you will accompany us as well.” The honey-haired girl smiled and joined them. She must have known she was coming with them, as she was already dressed in a warm cloak for the outdoors.

“Let us start with the palace. You have seen the courtyard and the women’s rooms on this floor. What about the storerooms?” Anticlea raised her eyebrows.

“Only on this floor,” Penelope responded.

“Let’s go upstairs, then, and end with the rooms downstairs.” She led the way to the staircase.

Upstairs was a rabbit’s warren of bedrooms - for slaves on the east side, for guests on the west. An open collonaded porch flanked them on each side of the palace, and each room had shutters - some into other rooms - to allow for air flow in the summer. Once Anticlea had pointed out that they had been built to allow for air movement, Penelope could start to see the rhythm to the layout. It was not just a row of rooms but an extension of the wind currents, each room catching and passing the wind along to its neighbor. 

This time of year, everything was shuttered, but Penelope couldn’t wait to feel the breeze stir in the middle of summer up here. Anticlea also showed her the one big room upstairs: the nursery. Anticlea didn’t comment on the room other than just to point it out.

Anticlea’s every comment was to the point, precise. She didn’t so much introduce Penelope to the palace as section it out with her words, with very few notes on why it had been built in that manner. Here is a room for a servant, a room for a guest. Look, don’t touch.

There was a thick door to block movement between the women’s quarters and the men’s quarters. It was kept closed by a bar on the women’s side, which Anticlea had the guards lift and set to the side. “Just for the tour,” she said, as though Penelope were asking to keep it open at all times.

The rooms were all in a row on the men’s side, since the slave and guest rooms for the men ringed the open courtyard below. The porch still ran around the outside of the rooms, meeting in the middle above the front doors of the palace. Anticlea led them to this point, motioning towards the sea, which was clearly visible from their location. “A place to watch for ships.” 

And then she led the party back into the women’s area, closing and barring the door, then down the stairs and behind the throne room to another staircase going to the basement.

Penelope realized there were at least five sets of stairs - two going up in the women’s workroom, two going up in the courtyard, and then the one going into the basement. She wouldn’t be terribly surprised if there was a hidden staircase as well, though Anticlea hadn’t pointed one out. Palaces did tend to have their secrets.

Downstairs was built into the hill, and so they needed torches even on a bright winter morning. Anticlea pointed out room after room of storage. Penelope sighed inwardly - it was going to take a moon or more to catalog all of this. Here there was a big room as well. This one was immediately Penelope’s favorite: the armory. It was in slightly better order than the other rooms, but would still require much work to set to rights. She glanced over a few of the weapons and found that it would also require time to clean and sharpen the weapons. Many swords were rusting from disuse, arrowheads were loose instead of fastened onto an arrow, and fletching filled the flooring instead of being contained into containers. 

This room she would save for last, she thought, as a reward for getting through the others.

Outside, Penelope followed her mother-in-law’s lead and pulled her veil over her face, securing it around her head with a band. She gave Kynna a questioning look. She had forgotten to ask if her ladies had come up with any good ideas for securing a veil without using the headband. 

Kynna shook her head, chastened. “We didn’t think of anything yet, my lady, but we will.”  

Penelope nodded, turning to see two donkeys being led to a mound of blocked limestone. She recognized them as mounting blocks, but much shorter than those she had been accustomed to when riding horses. Anticlea went up to the blocks first, and sat sideways on her donkey before letting a guard lead it away and then retrieving the reins from him.

The donkey for Penelope was a small creature, at least in comparison to the horses Penelope had ridden. A bit smaller even than the pony her father had obtained for her to learn how to ride. Much longer ears, short, tufted tail. She had never ridden a donkey before, but knew they needed to trust their rider, perhaps even more than a horse would. 

She asked Kynna to run indoors and get a few pieces of fruit for their ride, then approached the donkey slowly. “Does this animal have a name?” she asked the slave holding the lead.

The slave nodded. “Exypnos.”

The name could mean clever, but it could also mean hardheaded. Penelope reached out a hand and ran her palm gently over the donkey’s nose, allowing the animal to sniff her but keeping her fingers away from its mouth. Kynna returned and handed her an apple, tucking another few apples into the side bags of the donkey. Penelope held it out for the donkey on her palm, and allowed the beast to take it from her.

“Are we riding today or tomorrow?” Anticlea asked, having her donkey led back to the mounting area, where Penelope was watching Exypnos finish off the apple. Penelope didn’t take her eyes off the donkey, but motioned to Kynna.

Kynna walked close to Anticlea, and Penelope heard her explain. “My lady Queen Penelope is very cautious with new mounts. Her father gave her a pony when she was young and the pony was very high-spirited; she was thrown when starting to ride and was saved from certain death only because her reactions are so quick. She will need a few minutes to make sure the donkey will allow her to ride.”

Anticlea huffed in irritation but did not interfere as Penelope talked with her donkey and ran her hands along its back, watching for a negative reaction. When the donkey remained impassive and calm, Penelope nodded and ascended the mounting block.

The donkey seemed to take her weight well. Penelope nodded to the groom and he handed her the lead and the reins. As Penelope maneuvered her donkey next to Anticlea’s, she shifted uncomfortably. She was incredibly sore from her nighttime activities of the previous two nights but had not thought it was an issue; after all, sitting in a corridor taking inventory or even just spinning in the workroom would allow her the rest she needed. Riding a donkey would assuredly not. Penelope gritted her teeth, determined to make it through the day regardless.

“We will start with the estate lands,” Anticlea called, spurring her donkey into a trot.

Penelope tightened her thighs to ride a bit off the donkey’s back, then spurred her own donkey to a trot. The guards jogged to keep up, but the ladies walked behind just keeping them in sight. They rode west of the palace, the path bracketed with grasses and olive trees. “Did they cut down the original trees to plant all these olives?” Penelope wondered aloud. There were a few other trees, difficult to identify without their leaves, but the gnarled and twisted olive bark was distinctive.

“The olives were deemed more important. Any accessible place on the island has been cultivated.” They continued over a gentle hill, which led to a long downslope covered in fruit trees. “The orchard and the apiary,” Anticlea announced.

Penelope gazed over at least 30 fruit trees, all still branches. In the middle of them was a collection of hives, still closed this time of year. There was only one person in the orchard, and as they rode closer, Penelope recognized Laertes. He saw them and jogged over, hand held up in greeting.

“Wife!” His expression was a grimace of annoyance. 

The donkeys halted and Penelope breathed in relief, relaxing back onto her donkey’s back. She cooed to the animal, running her hand appreciatively over the donkey’s neck. 

“King Laertes,” Anticlea greeted him with a deferential nod. Penelope stared. She called her own husband king in an informal setting with only family and their personal servants? “How can I be of service?”

“Have you made your decision?” He stopped with his hands on his hips, drawn tall and imperious.

“I’m afraid I have not had time to fully review the consequences of such a decision,” Anticlea hedged. The donkey beneath her shifted, conveying its rider’s unease.

Laertes huffed in impatience. “Well. Eurylochus is waiting on a decision. He has offered us a generous bride price. If you cannot come up with any good reasons to say no, I will agree.” Anticlea’s eyes had widened with understanding.

“Actually, my king, I believe I will agree. They will be a good match.” Anticlea again inclined her head. 

Laertes broke into a smile and gave a hearty laugh. “Excellent! I shall send Odysseus immediately to tell him. A wedding!” He glanced at the rest of the party and looked at Penelope, uncomprehending. “Do you have a guest, wife?”

“Ah, yes. Forgive me, my king. This is Penelope, a visiting princess from Sparta.”

“My lady, welcome to our fair isle.” Laertes extended his hand for Penelope’s, then kissed her hand lightly. “Perhaps we should introduce you to Odysseus this evening at tonight’s celebration.” He stepped back, chuckling to himself. “A wedding! Enjoy your ride, ladies.” Then he was off, jogging back to the orchard where he picked up a saw and began pruning one of the trees. 

Penelope kept her gaze down, waiting for Anticlea to say something, but Anticlea just nudged the donkeys back into motion. She knew she had just been shown a scene from their past, and wondered if Laertes always spoke so to his wife. If she always cowered a little when confronted with his anger. 

“May I ask, Lady Mitéra , who is Eurylochus?”

“My son-in-law,” Anticlea answered, face forward. Her words carried back to Penelope on the breeze. “He married my daughter Ctimene several years ago. They live on the island of Same - “ she pointed to the east, “- with their two children. Ctimene is expecting her third.” 

Penelope hadn’t realized that Odysseus also had a sister. “Do you have other children? Do you get to see your grandchildren often?”

“Just the two, the gods were kind enough to give me a girl as well as our heir. I have rarely seen my grandchildren. Odysseus needs me here.” She did not sound as if she would welcome additional comments on the subject.

Curious , Penelope thought.

They rode through fields, now empty, and around pens and stables for pigs, goats, oxen, cattle, and donkeys. The donkeys they were riding were keen to rejoin their stable mates as they rode by, and the guards took the leads of both donkeys to help them past. Then they rode past a few small homes, which Anticlea noted belonged to the laborers, the poorer of their people. This then led to slightly larger homes, which belonged to the skilled craftsmen. Penelope was surprised to see that they had looped back and were now back at the fountain. The craftsmen were quite close to the center of town. 

Anticlea then led them down to the beach, where the men were training. She was careful to keep their group far enough away so as to not interrupt the men. They continued back up and around another hill to show Penelope the homes of the nobility.

By now, Penelope was thoroughly tired of trying to stay comfortable on the donkey. She hopped off, and gave the donkey to their ladies to share as she walked. Anticlea sniffed, but didn’t comment. This arrangement did have the benefit of her being able to walk next to her mother-in-law, better able to hear her description of the countryside - not that she said much. Since they had run into Laertes, her comments were even more sparse than they had been previously.

They walked past a few beautiful estates, one of which was surrounded by large sycamores. It had grape vines curved over pathways and cultivated plants in a small garden. It reminded Penelope of the gardens in Sparta, tame and structured. “Who lives here?” she asked.

“This belongs to my friend Glyke and her husband Bias. Theirs is the oldest family on the island. I was hoping that Odysseus would marry their oldest daughter, Sebastaea, if he was unsuccessful with Helen.” She tapped her hand against her thigh. 

“I would love to meet them,” Penelope hinted, hoping they could stop and refresh themselves. She had to admit she was also a bit curious to see the woman Anticlea had wished to marry to her son. 

“Well. If you had stayed in the workroom yesterday, you would have.” Anticlea gave her a hard look. “That is, after all, the purpose of working at home: to meet with the ladies of the town who come visiting.”

Penelope’s face heated. She had missed meeting important visitors by working on the storeroom. “You were certainly welcome to interrupt me at any time, especially for introductions,” Penelope stated.

“Just like meals, you are either there to partake of the company, or you are not. I will not summon you when you should already be present.”

Penelope looked away, wanting to rage at her. How was she to know that Anticlea had plans unless she was told? Why was it so difficult to send one of their ladies to mention that lunch was starting, or that there were visitors?

She put her head down and bit her cheek. This was only day three. They would work it out.

When they returned to the palace, Anticlea had a late lunch delivered to the workroom. Penelope was starving and did not hesitate to eat as much as she wished, to Anticlea’s obvious distaste. After lunch she stood, and faced her mother-in-law. “Are there any visitors coming this afternoon?” she asked.

“Not that I know of,” Anticlea responded, pulling out her supplies for spinning.

“Are you planning on an evening meal, or are we finished eating since our lunch was so late?” Her words were clipped but polite. Penelope was having difficulty keeping her temper even, and knew her mother-in-law could tell.

“What you just ate should be sufficient for several days, don’t you think?” 

“I’m not sure that answers my question, Lady Mitéra . Will an evening meal be served, and if so, when?”

Anticlea met her gaze. “No, we will not have an evening meal today.”

“Thank you.” Penelope called for Thebe, Kynna, and Autonoe. “Autonoe, please bring your lute. We will return to the storerooms. Actoris, please find me if visitors are received.” Actoris nodded.

“Do you really need so many ladies to help you?” Anticlea asked.

“It is late; if we are to finish an entire storeroom today, I will need extra hands.”

And with that, Penelope gathered her supplies and left the room. She wished for a sparring ring again. And a sword.

Her working party was still in the corridor when Polites and Timnes came to change the guard. Penelope thanked Actor and Dymas, and asked Actor to find her two staves. He gulped, eyes widening.

Polites stepped in to save him. “I will find them, my queen.” Actor gave him a grateful look and the day guards departed with Polites. She instructed Timnes in helping them with the storeroom, which was almost put back together. By the time Polites returned, a staff in each hand, they had finished with the second storeroom.

She thanked him, and took the staves and her ladies to her dressing room. Thankfully, Anticlea had left without bidding her farewell. She inspected the staves. They were a full two fingers wide and at least five cubits tall - perfect. She had her ladies bind her breasts and dress her in a tunic, then dismissed them. They had balked at the strange request, but Penelope had held firm, assuring them that Odysseus could help her remove the bindings later.

A staff in each hand, she approached her bedroom door. Polites and Timnes watched her warily. “Polites, would you please give this to the king before he enters our room?” 

Polites nodded, eyes wide with concern. “Of course, my lady.” 

Timnes opened her door, also worried. 

“Tell the king to be on his guard.”

Penelope was ready. She had gone through her training routine to the point that she was warm but not exhausted, although her thighs still shook a little at the riding exercise she had earlier in the day. Would Odysseus indulge her? Hopefully.

He opened the door quickly and came in defensively. Lucky for him, she thought, as she struck overhead with her staff. His staff met hers, blocking the strike. “Are you worried that I’m not training enough, Penelope mine?” he asked, eyes watchful.

“I need to - “ she pulled her staff back and went for his side, “- expend some energy.”

Their staves met again between them, smacking with the force of her hit. “Bad day?”

“Just - “ another parry, met and pushed back, “- need to fight someone and you won’t get hurt.” 

“Sure of that?” he asked, as she lunged and he knocked her staff aside.

“You could take me with one of your hands tied behind your back,” she said, pulling back and circling. She was glad their room was large enough to fight in. “You probably have to hold back to make sure I don’t hurt myself.” She lunged again, and his staff clicked against hers as he pushed her away again.

“You are being sloppy.”

“I’m out of practice,” she said. She lunged straight at him, and he knocked her staff to the side, turning her as well, then stepped in quickly and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back to him.

“Ugh,” she said, defeated, slamming her head back against his chest. “Again?”

He raised his eyebrows as he let her go. “Do you want me to take you faster or give you more time to wear yourself out?”

She glared at him and huffed, returning to a starting position.
He dropped to a starting position too, now amused. “I don’t typically like to be attacked in my bedroom, but I’m starting to come around,” he quipped as he attacked first. She was barely able to meet the quickness of the attack, the tip of his staff clipping her thigh.

She bared her teeth at him and he laughed. “You have a sister?” she asked, pushing his staff away and lunging low only to be met with his staff again. 

“Ctimene. She married about five years ago? I’m friends with her husband Eurylochus. I bet you’ll like her, though she and I are like oil and water.” 

She stopped sparring, putting the staff on the ground and panting. She put the staff in a corner and poured herself a drink of wine and water, pouring her husband a drink as well. He added his staff to hers and started to undress, placing his wine on a small table near his side of the bed. 

She used the heel of her hand to press against her eyes, suddenly very tired. “I’m sorry I attacked you,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said. “As long as you keep blades out of the bedroom,” he smiled and took a sip of his drink, now undressed, “I think this could be an interesting start to the evening.” 

She put down her drink and stripped off her tunic. His eyes widened at her bound breasts. She shrugged. “They get in the way.”

“I disagree.” He came and helped her remove the cloth and held her close.

“Thank you,” she said with a sniffle. She bit her lip to keep the tears in. “I just need some sleep, I think.”

He kissed her. “You can tell me, if you’d like.”

She shook her head. “Odysseus, my own, let’s go to bed.”

“Ah, the sweetest words I’ve heard all day.”

Odysseus, as usual, left early.

Instead of staying in bed, Penelope raced to her dressing room with a lit candle, startling her guards as she ran past. Polites called after her, “Is there a fire?”

She waved his question away and slipped into her dressing room. She was in turn startled by a sleepy Actoris, who had been fast asleep on a pallet. She must have moved it into the room after Penelope had gone to bed.

“Actoris!” Penelope exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” She put a hand over her heart, trying to slow the panic from the slave’s unexpected appearance. “Are your other sleeping arrangements not satisfactory?”

Actoris rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. “My lady, our rooms are so far away from you, I thought I would sleep here in case you had need of me.”

“That is very kind, Actoris. If you truly prefer it, I would love to have you close.” She took a closer look at her sleeping arrangements. “However, I will have it turned into a better room for you.”

“There is no need,” she protested, but Penelope waved away her words.

“If you don’t mind sharing a room with my things,  I am happy to have you here. Especially right now,” she confided. Actoris’s eyes went wide. “I’ve had an idea.”

Actoris sighed. “My lady…” 

“I know, my ideas are sometimes…problematic. Anyway, I need your help binding my breasts.” When Actoris gave her a long look, she pleaded, “Please?”

They worked together and bound her breasts, then found her dagger and the full-length tunic that she had worn for training. It had a lot of fabric, allowing easy movement. She added a belt and bloused the fabric at her waist so that her feet and ankles were easily visible. Actoris raised her brows. “I need to be able to move, and I’m staying inside,” Penelope assured her. “Would you mind coming with me into the workroom?” Actoris looked slightly relieved and followed her out of the dressing room.

Penelope walked to her guards next. Polites and Timnes were still on guard from the night, their tired eyes were nevertheless alert. “Timnes, Polites,” she greeted them. “I am going to be training in the women’s workroom.” Their eyebrows shot up and Polites made to protest, but she stalled him with her own words. “I understand you are here to guard me, and I am not going to interfere with those orders. My lord does not wish me to be observed while training, however, so I am hoping you can find a location in the workroom where you can guard me but keep me out of sight. Perhaps you can be at the front of the stairs, while I practice behind you?”

They looked at each other, Timnes deferring to Polites with a shrug.

“As you command, my lady.” Polites nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. 

She led the way into the workroom. “You see,” she said, pointing to where the guards normally stood, “I’ll have Actoris here. Then if you’ll go there,” she pointed to the stairs, “I can use this entire area,” and she indicated the bulk of the workroom. “I do need a lookout, though…”

Now all three of her attendants looked alarmed. “Not from the king,” she assured them. “From Anticlea.” They relaxed fractionally. 

“We will not keep this from the king,” said Polites.

“I do not expect you to. I would have told him myself, but I just thought of it. You didn’t get in trouble for the staves yesterday?” 

“No, my lady.” With a sigh and a sidelong look of long suffering between them, the two guards assumed their post near the stairs. 

Penelope gave Actoris a brilliant smile. “Could you find Kynna quickly to be a lookout?” Autonoe loved her sleep more than the others, and was grouchy when awoken early, so Penelope tried to let her sleep when possible. Actoris quickly ran up the stairs to the servants’ rooms and Penelope looked around her. There weren’t any weapons in the women’s rooms, of course. She pursed her lips and started her regular routine anyway. She would ask Actoris to grab a staff from her room when she returned. She might also ask Odysseus to bring her a spear or a practice sword - she could leave it in their room or her dressing room so she could practice with it. He had banned blades in their bedroom, so perhaps the dressing room was better.

Actoris returned almost immediately, and Kynna entered soon afterwards, stationing herself at the door where Anticlea would be most likely to enter. Penelope winked at Kynna and continued her routine. She asked Actoris to get the staff, which extended her training to its normal length. Once she was finished - which was soon, since she didn’t have brothers to correct, she ran. Up the stairs, down the corridor upstairs, back down the stairs, across and around the room. For this, the guards would undoubtedly see her, but it couldn’t be helped. 

The third time she ran down the stairs, Polites stopped her. “My lady, you should take a break.”

She was breathing heavily, but she felt she still had at least another circuit in her. “It’s just been too many days since I trained, I’m fine,” she said, then turned and ran up the stairs again. When she returned, though, she admitted defeat. She inclined her head to her guards. “Thank you for your discretion,” she reminded them.

“But not from Odysseus,” Polites reminded her.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not.” She turned and called to her ladies, ready for the day. She felt ready to take on the storerooms again. Maybe even Anticlea. After a bath.

Chapter Text

Thebe and the day guards, Dymas and Actor, helped her pull apart another storeroom after her morning drink. With a word from Odysseus, the guards and ladies were pleased to help her. They had managed to make a large mess when they were surprised by Odysseus striding into the corridor. His eyes landed on Penelope, and the guards snapped to attention. 

“My lady, I would like to speak with you,” he said. He did not look severe, and she hoped she was not in trouble. His lopsided grin was absent, though, which caused a pang of worry to zing up her spine. Polites and Timnes had certainly reported her training to him at the end of their watch. She had hoped he wouldn’t immediately search her out.

“Yes, my lord. How long shall we be? I would like to not clean this until I return, but I also don’t wish it to be a hazard if we will be long…” she motioned to their work in progress.

He nodded his understanding. “Not long, I think. Leave it,” he instructed the attendants. “Dymas, Actor, with us. A cloak for the queen,” he commanded Thebe and she scampered off to do his bidding.

Penelope tucked her hand into Odysseus’s elbow. He had taken time to bathe and dress after training, so perhaps he wasn’t terribly upset.

He led them through the courtyard, where Thebe met them with a cloak for Penelope. They left through the front of the palace and Penelope smiled as the sunshine caressed her face. “Ah, outside,” she sighed with contentment.

Odysseus gave her a sidelong look “You were outside yesterday with my mother.”

“True. But the day is so beautiful. I am glad to be out in it.” She decided to address the issue. “I am sorry I did not ask permission to train; I came up with the idea after you had left this morning. Please don’t be angry with Polites and Timnes.”

“Ah, so you know why I am here.”

“If I train early enough, your mother doesn’t need to know - and the guards are not observing me during training. And I’m inside, safe.”

He shook his head. “Penelope mine. You are a queen. You are not a warrior. There should be no need for you to ever fight.”

She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “I do not ever wish to fight, Odysseus. But if I must, I will win.” When she met his gaze, she was forcibly reminded of the night she held him as he sobbed. This was his duty, as he saw it. “I do not doubt in the least that you will protect me. But…I need to feel strong as well.”

He blew out a breath. She was a bit concerned that he was not arguing with her. He was thinking, which could mean a longer battle. They walked towards the orchard. She stayed silent, letting him think.

They continued to walk past the orchard, where Odysseus waved to his father. Laertes was inspecting the trees with a few slaves, clearing nonexistent weeds from the base of the trees and looking closely at each trunk and branch. He waved back, but then returned to his task. Odysseus did not stop.

Beyond the orchard, they followed a small path into a depression and then started climbing again, up towards a small peak. At the top, there was an enormous black rock. “Corax,” she identified.

“Corax,” he smiled back at her. The hunter from his story. The rock where the hunter fell to his death.

“Ready to push me off already?” she asked, not sure if she was joking.

“Hah. I promised I’d bring you here.” He led her to the rock and sat her down. The guards positioned themselves several feet away - out of easy earshot - and turned away as Odysseus sat next to her. “Training in the mornings is a good idea,” he said. “I’m not upset.”

“You did a good impression of it.”

He ran his hands over his face. “You.” He took her hand and kissed it, then turned it over in his. He closed his eyes and put her hand - and his - to his forehead, letting his hair fall around his face.

She scrunched up her face, not quite understanding, then turned toward him and put her other hand on his knee. “Odysseus? Have I already managed to disappoint you?”

“You have managed to shock my guards. Polites has no idea what to make of you.” He squinted up at her through his hair, keeping her hand on his forehead. “I was a bit surprised myself when you attacked me. Do you make a habit of attacking people?”

She squeezed his knee lightly, thinking of the many times she had surprised her brothers with an attack. “Only people I like.”

“Not fond of your guards, then? Your ladies?”

She nudged his ribs. “They are fine. I don’t think they’d know how to respond if I attacked them. Should they protect themselves or allow me to hurt them? Not a good situation to put them in. I have been meaning to ask why I’m under constant guard - is it to protect me? Or Ithaca?”

“You.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Let me show you something.” He jumped onto the rock, and she did the same before he could lift her up. He walked to the middle.

“You are going to throw me off!” she teased.

He rolled his eyes and pulled her down with him to their knees, then scooted forward until they could see over the edge of the rock and down the cliff. “Do you see the holes at the base of the cliff?”

The waves struck the cliff, making it difficult to see for a moment, but as they retreated, she saw what he was indicating: the waterline was pockmarked with holes, some larger than others. “Many of those caves are big enough to hold a small boat. There are caves around this island that are big enough to hold more than one of the large longboats.” 

She raised her eyebrows, turning her face to watch him as he stared at the sea below.

“There is no possible way to patrol every one of those caves. Once the boat is inside, they are invisible and able to access the island without anyone’s knowledge. The sea may be a natural boundary, but it is a terrible wall - too many entry points.” He sat up and she followed him. “You have already been in danger because of my actions - I will keep you safe.”

She kissed him lightly. “I really don’t think I need a guard all the time, even within the palace. But if it makes you feel better -”

“It does.”

“Then so be it, Odysseus my own.”

He pulled her to her feet and they jumped off the rock. “I am meant to be scolding you, just so you know,” he confessed. “Appearances are more important than reality in many instances.”

“Scolding me for what? Training?”

“Not asking permission first. The guards have the impression that you barrel headlong into questionable activities and then ask for permission later. Your judgment so far has been sound, but talk to me, yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

They started to head back towards the guard. After they had gone just a few cubits, though, she stopped and slowly turned in a circle, taking in the wind-beaten, sparse foliage, the empty space around the rock, and the rock itself climbing into the sky at the edge of the island.

“Penelope?”

“Corax didn’t slip,” she said.

“What?”

She faced Odysseus fully and said “Corax did not slip.”

Odysseus’s brow furrowed. “It is just a story.”

Penelope shook her head. “Stories always come from somewhere. Look, in order to slip from this rock, you’d have to be quite a ways up it.” She jumped back on the rock and started climbing, but stopped halfway to turn. She wasn’t surprised to find Odysseus at the base of the rock, almost within reaching distance. “Farther than here,” she indicated her position. “Why would anyone be so far up on this rock? Not to hunt.” She put her arms in position to shoot a bow and turned, pointing the imaginary arrow at the sky. “If I shot a bird from here, it would go into the sea - a wasted shot.” She turned back to the island. “With as high as we are, being higher still on the rock won’t give me a better shot for small prey, which is all that would be here, since the trees are so sparse. Nothing big would come this high unawares.” She glanced at Odysseus, who was considering her words. “Unlikely that he would go so high unless he meant to jump, or if he were sighting two-legged prey.” She pointed her imaginary arrow at Dymas, then Actor. “He didn’t slip.” 

She stepped carefully back down the rock, and Odysseus grabbed her by the waist and swung her down as soon as she was within reach. “See? I can see well enough from the ground to take a good shot,” she said, still looking about her. 

He considered her, then took her hand and led her back to the guards. “What do you think, Dymas?”

Dymas startled. “My lord?”

To Penelope, Odysseus confided, “Dymas is fascinated by strategy.” Turning back to Dymas, he asked again, “What do you think of the Queen’s assessment? Did you hear it? How about you, Actor?” 

Actor joined them as well, and Odysseus started leading them down the hill. “I’ve never thought of it as anything but a story, my lord,” Actor confessed. 

Dymas’s brows were drawn in concentration, and when Odysseus looked at him again, he nodded slowly. “I think the Queen may be right. We can assume that Corax was not a young boy just trying to go as high as possible and stupidly slipping off the top…and there would be no advantage for hunting, but a definite danger. There is always the cliff as a possible route for attackers, but scaling it would be quite difficult, and there is no good shot to be taken from the top of the rock headed downward. It would make more sense to look for the grappling ropes and cut them if someone was climbing.”

Odysseus nodded in agreement. “Here is the problem I have been mulling over today,” he said again to Penelope. The guards started to drop behind them, but he commanded, “Stay,” and the guards matched their pace. “I have access to a brilliant trainer and strategist.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. Her. He was talking about her .

“And yet the constraints of society place her behind walls.”

The guards suddenly focused on Penelope and she felt her face and ears grow warm.

“Quite frankly, I’m not sure how to address this issue. But I promise, Penelope mine, that address it, I will.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed his back, smiling at him broadly.

He gestured again to his guards and they fell back a few paces.

“You knew I was going to do that,” she said, giving him a narrow look.

“I had a suspicion. If the guards see what I see, I don’t have to do as much convincing. My biggest problem is that I don’t want you around other men, quite honestly. Even your guards, though they are my four most trusted men.”

“You are quite adorable when you are jealous,” she bumped him with your hip. “But between us, any man other than you who tries to touch me will be very dead. By your hand or mine, it doesn’t really matter.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and tucked her in close. “You are incredibly beautiful when breathing out threats,” he said, his voice low and intense.

“My lord, I happen to have a very comfortable bed that someone made for me…shall we take advantage of it?”

He kissed her braids. “Perhaps we should. We will have to pass by my mother…”

“I might have turned my ankle, my lord…could you possibly carry me to our room so that I can rest?”

He laughed, sweeping her into his arms. “You may not get much rest…”

They entered the palace, drawing amused looks from the slaves that were tidying the courtyard. When they entered the women’s workroom, however, Anticlea’s look was decidedly not amused. Odysseus hurried to explain, saying, “ Mamá , Penelope had the misfortune to turn her ankle. I am going to accompany her to our room so that she may rest for a bit.”

“Odysseus,” she speared him with flinty eyes, “If you want to bed your wife in the middle of the day, far be it from me to stop you.”

Penelope turned red but Odysseus just laughed. “ Mamá , let us hope we don’t drive you from the room.” Penelope wanted to disappear. Crawl into the smallest hole available. Jump off Corax’s rock. 

Odysseus must have sensed her dismay, because he just kept walking until they were finally alone behind their bedroom door. He dropped her on the bed and leaned over her, whispering, “I think we should take out the staves again. Do you think we’ll scare her back to the homestead for the day?”

Penelope started to laugh, then laughed so hard her eyes began to tear as he tossed her a staff. He lunged and she barely made it out of reach in time to avoid his attack, collapsing on the far side of the bed, still in hysterics. 

“Penelope mine,” he murmured. 

She had just closed her eyes, but shook herself into slightly more wakefulness. “Hm?” The embers from the hearth provided just enough light to see his profile. It must be very late, she thought, for the fire to have died back so far.

“What is it, do you think, that makes a good marriage?” 

She wasn’t sure if he really wanted her answer or if the question was rhetorical, but she gave it serious thought. 

He continued, “My parents don’t really even like each other.”

She thought back to their reception, when Laertes and Anticlea were standing together. There was no physical connection between them, and she hadn’t seen them actually exchange any words when they were together. When they had encountered Laertes in the orchard, Anticlea had been overly formal and anxious. Was her anxiety because of the memory lapse, or had it always been present?

“They work well together,” he amended, “And they are wonderful parents…” he stopped.

“Trust,” Penelope stated simply. It wasn’t enough. She kept thinking.

“Love,” Odysseus added.

Penelope shook her head, surprising him. “Feelings come and go,” she said softly. “I am sure there are times you will be angry with me, and I with you. I’m sure there are times we will wonder…what keeps us together.” She kept thinking.

He nodded slowly. “I was so angry at you for commanding horses on the way from Sparta.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly,” I knew I was wrong the minute it came out of my mouth, I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh,” he stopped her. “You were right. The way you asked for it was wrong,” his voice turned stern, “But allowing you to continue to ride in the wagon just for my pride…if something were to happen, it could have started a war with your father.”

She blinked. She hadn’t considered that. He continued, “These are things we have to consider, as king and queen. Our actions have far-reaching effects that perhaps we don’t see immediately.”

The answer came to her all at once. “Choice.” 

“Hm?” 

“A good marriage. It is a choice.” She went on, determined. “My father kept choosing my mother. Each time he went to see her. She chose him to raise their children. With each child. He probably had many chances to cheat on her - and I don’t know and don’t want to know if he did - but he always chose to go back.” She pressed her face close to his. “I choose you. Every day, I will continue to choose you.” She kissed him. “I promise.”

“I choose you, too.” He returned her kiss. He thought for a moment, lips pursed in indecision. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

“Yes?”

“What changed your mind?” She tilted her head slightly, and he went on, “You were determined not to marry, and you had your family’s approval. Why did you change your mind?”

She sighed, and pulled back from him just a bit. Now it was his turn to wait as she decided what to say, how to say it.

“A dream,” she finally said.

“Tell me. Please.”

“The first night of Helen’s wedding, I dreamt that we were walking together along a cliff.”

He took a sharp intake of breath and his eyes grew keener. 

“I was walking along the outside, and stepped wrong, then fell off the side, sliding down…so far down.” She could still feel the terror of the dream. The feel of the loose rocks on her legs and hands as she grappled for purchase on the hillside. “You climbed down and somehow brought us both to safety. Then we traded places, and you started walking on the outside of the cliff. It started crumbling and you fell as well, grabbing onto the path where we were walking. I could only see your fingers.” The panic from the dream rose up her throat, and she took a moment to swallow it back, reminding herself that it was not real. “A deep chasm had opened on the side of the path instead of the gentle hillside we were beside just a moment before. I laid down on the ground and reached over to tug at your clothing. You finally came back over the edge.” She took another deep breath, and he did as well. “My arms were sore the next morning. Odysseus, I know this sounds strange, but I know that dream was from the goddess.”

“I had the same dream. I wouldn’t have made it back over the edge without you stabilizing me…” he bit his lip. “My arms hurt the next morning, too.” 

“Did you have your dream the first night of Helen’s wedding, too?”

“Actually, I had it the day after I watched you trading with Icarius.”

She was a bit disappointed. “Why did I have to wait so long to have mine?”

He shrugged and thought again for a moment. “Perhaps the goddess had to wait until you were on the path.” He smiled. “We will sacrifice to Athena tomorrow night, then have our regular new moon festival to Apollo the next night.” He grinned. “Feasts!”

She giggled, then grew somber again. “What do the Fates have in store for us, Odysseus?”

“I don’t think I want to know, wife.” He tightened his embrace for a second, then released it. “But I do know that we’ll need each other. And we’ll need sleep.” He kissed her forehead and tucked her into his arms. 

She stayed awake for a long time, listening to his slow, regular breathing. Breathing him in. Wondering.

She felt like she had just blinked, but she must have slept for hours. Her room had been dark when she closed her eyes, but she opened them to a room that was fully light. The amount of light alarmed her and she was out of Odysseus’s arms and sliding into her tunic before she had hardly taken a breath. She grabbed a handful of mint leaves from the bowl next to her bed to clean her teeth and freshen her mouth, then took a brush and started unraveling the tangles in her waist-long hair.

“What are you doing?” Odysseus’s voice was still sleepy, and she paused. It was also strange for him to sleep so late.

“Festivals.” She took in his wild curls and half lidded eyes. The stubble along his cheek and chin, extending down his neck. One arm lying lazily along his stomach, the other tucked under his head. “Did you know you look a little like Medusa in the morning?” She pointed her hairbrush at him. 

He rubbed his hands through his hair, managing to make it look even wilder. “Frightening?” He stuck out his tongue and bulged his eyes like the many statues of Medusa that decorated palaces as protective icons.

“Curling hair like snakes. Protective.” He didn’t actually look protective at the moment, but it was a description that was quickly becoming the first thing she thought of when it came to Odysseus. She turned away, determined not to be sidetracked. “How many people would you like to come to tonight’s festival for Athena?”

“Just us and my parents.”

She turned, eyebrows raised. “That is a small party.” And it meant she would be trapped with Anticlea all day. She stopped, cautioning herself mentally that she really needed to stop thinking of her mother-in-law as a trap.

“Tomorrow my mother will have invited the entire town. Let’s praise Athena as a family this night.” He stretched.

Tonight would be an easy gathering, then, but today should still be spent in preparation for the new moon festival for Apollo. And there was the mess in the corridor from the previous day. She and Odysseus had not emerged from their bedroom after their trip to Corax, enjoying both the midday and evening meals in bed, sharing stories, sparring, and exploring one another.

Another glance at Odysseus told her he was not ready to leave the room. Truth be told, she could spend another day - or perhaps several days - ignoring the rest of the world with him. However, that was not their life. She handed him a fistful of mint leaves, which he took from her and chewed as he watched her work on her hair. 

“I’m going to have to braid this mess before we sleep,” she sighed. “This is ridiculous.” Finally she was able to brush through her hair without the brush snagging on any tangles, and she quickly braided it simply. She would have her ladies do something better with it later, when she got ready for the festival.

She climbed onto the bed and kissed Odysseus, scowling when he pulled her off center so she would sprawl against him. “Odysseus, my own, the day is already getting away from us.”

He kept her pinned against him and kissed her again before releasing her. “Fine,” he drawled. “But only because I know where you sleep.”

She shot him an exasperated look and scooted off the bed and out of reach. “Until dinner?”

“Mmmm,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and putting both hands behind his head. “I’m going to enjoy this relaxed state for a few more moments…” His voice drifted off as he closed his eyes. She watched him take a deep breath, his chest expanding and releasing, then left before she decided to stay.

She met her ladies in her dressing room and explained to them that there would be a festival - which would mean bathing later in the day. “I will need everyone’s help to clear the corridor and put the storeroom we tore apart yesterday back together,” she instructed as Actoris redid her hair and Autonoe put on her sandals. “We won’t be able to resume the storeroom project until after the new moon tomorrow.”

Sávra appeared as usual with her morning meal, which she sipped perfunctorily and gave back almost immediately. “Ladies, shall we?”

Anticlea was in the workroom as usual, and Penelope surprised her by sitting by her and smiling. “Good morning, Lady Mitéra . The king has requested that we have a family festival this evening honoring Athena. With the new moon festival tomorrow, I also wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.”

“This evening?” Anticlea asked, her eyebrows raised. “Eurynome,” she called, and the honey-haired slave jogged to be next to her immediately. “Tell one of the slaves to extend the invitation to Laertes and report back as to his condition. Tell another to retrieve two lambs for sacrifice.” Eurynome bowed her head and left through the throne room doors. “Thebe,” she said, and the round-cheeked girl appeared with her dull eyes lowered, “Speak with the slaves in charge of meals and inform them that we will be dining as a family in the courtyard this evening. Some will need to be pulling foodstuffs for tomorrow’s festival as well; they should know what they need, but have any concerns brought to me as soon as possible.” Thebe inclined her head and walked after Eurynome.

Then Anticlea turned to Penelope, mouth drawn. “As you see, it is all under control. You should use your ladies to finish up your…little project…so that it is not in the way as we get ready for the festival tomorrow.”

Penelope felt the disappointment as if she was being pushed and then held underwater, oppressive and overwhelming. This woman was not going to make room for her anytime soon. She took a deep breath. “As you wish, Lady Mitéra .” She stood and gestured to her ladies and guards.

“Actoris, please fetch my bag.”

“Father, you remember my wife, Penelope.” Odysseus reintroduced Penelope as they met for the evening meal in the courtyard.

“Of course,” Laertes replied, giving Penelope a brief hug and a swift kiss on each cheek. 

Penelope searched his eyes, but couldn’t see any sign of confusion. “ Papás , how lovely to see you again.”

He rewarded her with a brilliant smile and helped her to her seat. They were using individual tables this evening, much like her own family meals in Sparta. The thought brought a lump to her throat and she swallowed it away. No time for homesickness , she thought, as she inclined her head toward Anticlea, whom Odysseus had just helped to her seat. “Lady Mitéra .”

Odysseus gave her a strange look, probably noticing for the first time her difference in address between his father and mother. She just smiled at him, trying to look unconcerned. He narrowed his eyes and she knew she wasn’t successful.

“Sacrifices!” Odysseus called, and a female slave led two white lambs, shining from being washed and oiled and with ribbons about their heads. The slave held a basket on her head, which she placed at Odysseus’s feet. As he took the basket, she started to sing a hymn of thanksgiving to Athena. Penelope had not heard it before and listened intently as the goddess was thanked for her wisdom and guidance. She could hear Anticlea humming along. The soft humming was in stark contrast with the hardness she had shown Penelope. Penelope tilted her head and watched as Anticlea’s face seemed to shift from antagonism to thoughtful prayer. Her mother-in-law was devout; something they had in common. Penelope tucked away that bit of knowledge, hoping to use it soon to overcome the barriers between them.

As the slave finished her hymn, Odysseus removed the knife from the basket. He began to pray as he slit the throats of both lambs and handed the knife back to the slave. Penelope and Anticlea cried out in anguish for the poor animals, voicing the pain they could not as darkness overcame their sight. Other slaves converged on the animals, preparing them for the sacrificial offering and cooking. Other slaves gave Odysseus and Laertes wine goblets to pour over the animals and into the fire.

Odysseus’s prayer filled her with the sense of the divine, the purpose she had felt when with him since receiving her dream - their dream - in Sparta. This was where she belonged, she knew it. As he finished his prayer, goblets were passed to her and Anticlea, and they stood to make their own oblations to the roaring fire.

“Zeus, wielder of lightning,” Penelope intoned as she splashed a bit into the fire. “Athena, may we ever be guided by your wise counsel.”

Odysseus took her hand and led her back to her chair, as Laertes did the same for Anticlea. Slaves brought small greens and dried fruit with honey for them to eat, along with bread and olive oil for dipping while they waited for the meat to cook.

“Why are we sacrificing this evening?” asked Laertes. 

“Because the goddess has led me to my wife, and she to me.” Odysseus fed her an olive. “Ithacan,” he confirmed as she questioned him with raised eyebrows. She smiled.

“How do you mean?” Anticlea eyed her son with curiosity.

“The goddess gave us both the same dream, mamá .”

Anticlea’s curiosity turned to disdain. “You told her your dream and she said she had one just like it. Really, Odysseus, I would have expected more of you.”

“Mitéra ,” he said. “Do you really think so little of me?” They held each other’s eyes, two sets of flashing dark eyes, so alike. 

“Do you know what I love about having a new member of the family?” Laertes asked Penelope with a grin. She tilted her head, inviting him to continue. “You haven’t heard my stories.”

“You are right. And you were an Argonaut. I’ve been dying to hear about it.” She leaned forward, which seemed to be all the encouragement he needed to launch into a tale.

He was as much a storyteller as Odysseus, building suspense and then taking a bite of dinner so she would have to wait to hear the next part. Odysseus and Anticlea continued their conversation quietly and Laertes would increase the tension of his story whenever she glanced in their direction. She tried to let Laertes’s stories relax her.

“Did you know that Odysseus took over the kingdom over ten years ago?” Laertes asked. 

“Yes, papás .”

“Still in his mid-twenties, and already a king for so long.” He looked at his son with a confident smile and pride in his eyes. 

Feeling his father’s eyes on him, he wrapped up his conversation with his mother. She looked slightly mollified but the anger had not completely gone from his face, eyebrows still drawn and frown intact.

“Wife, we raised this boy well.” He gave her a soft look, which seemed to surprise her. She choked a little on the bite she had just taken, and turned away to wash it down with some wine. 

“Are you finished?” Odysseus asked Penelope. At her nod, he pulled her chair close to his. He tucked her hand into his elbow, held her other hand, and pulled her close. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and she removed her hand from his arm long enough to tuck the offending locks back behind his ear, earning a brief smile. 

The quiet that descended was not peaceful, and so Penelope looked for Autonoe, whom she found waiting in the corner with her lute. She had anticipated that this dinner might be difficult and they might need a distraction. She nodded to the girl and smiled as she started to play. “Have you heard Autonoe play, my lord?” she asked Odysseus. When he shook his head, she turned to her in-laws. “She is quite talented, I hope you enjoy the music.”

Laertes gave her a conspiratorial nod, smiling at the music. Anticlea focused on her meal but started tapping her foot in time with the music. Penelope laid her head on Odysseus’s shoulder and listened as the soft melody wafted through the air and added calm to the silence between the four of them. At least a bit. Odysseus continued eating, finally working on his meal instead of fighting with his mother. Or discussing. He probably wouldn’t say they had been arguing, but she could still feel tightness in his arm.

A thought occurred to her, and she looked again to Laertes. “You must have known Atalanta.”

Odysseus squeezed her hand so hard she blinked back sudden tears. She resisted looking at him, but squeezed back. Message received.

Laertes straightened and a spark of anger flashed in his eyes, looking every inch the commanding king he once was. Atalanta had been the only woman Argonaut. “A champion of Artemis,” he spat, “No woman should have been on that vessel. She was a distraction, a problem at every turn.”

That was not the story that Penelope had heard in Sparta, but she kept her tongue. 

“Anticlea here fancied herself an acolyte of Artemis, but she was quick to give up that foolishness when we married.” He gave Anticlea a stern look, which she did not return, keeping her eyes and head down. He looked back at Penelope, eyebrows drawn. “You don’t fancy yourself an archeress?”

“No, my lord,” she responded, not surprised when he did not correct her address. “I can shoot, of course, but Artemis would never turn her bright eyes on my skill - or lack thereof.” She blinked at him innocently and he nodded in approval. 

“Atalanta,” he muttered. 

Odysseus softened his hold and squeezed her hand again, this time gently. Another night of sparring with the staves would be fine with her. It seemed that Odysseus might need it as much as she did.

Anticlea dismissed Penelope the next morning when asked - again - if she could use help for the festival. Instead of leaving, however, Penelope picked up her spinning tools and sat near Anticlea. If she were present while slaves came and went throughout the day preparing for the festival, she could at least keep track of what decisions were being made.

They spun in silence, the quiet broken only by slaves coming to clarify instructions throughout the morning. “Did you want us to leave the spear basket near the entry doors?” asked one young boy.

“Move them into a storeroom for the night,” Anticlea responded.

Penelope grimaced. At least they would be removed the next day, but she could see how easily the storerooms would be returned to their slovenly state if changes were not made. She was not done with the inventory yet, so there was still time to put into place rules on how to store items, temporarily and long-term.

During a lull, Penelope tried talking with her mother-in-law again. She wanted to bring up Atalanta again, but lost her courage and said only, “Our rooms in the palace are lovely.” 

Anticlea leveled her gaze at Penelope. “I prefer silence unless you have something of value to say. Are the servants acceptable? Are you getting what you need from them?” 

“They are quite acceptable, thank you.” She bit her lip. There were a few items that she needed to discuss, and if Anticlea preferred her to be direct, then so be it. “The morning meal is…unusual. Does everyone really start their day with a drinkable meal?” 

“It is the healthiest way to start the day,” Anticlea assured her strongly. “I am quite devoted to it, as are most of our townspeople. An Ithacan tradition, you might say, and one that has kept generations strong.”

“Ah. I was hoping I might substitute…” her voice trailed off as Anticlea’s gaze hardened.

“You will do no such thing. My son needs an heir, and keeping your strength up is extremely important. And if that drink is the only concern you have in your life, I think you should thank the gods for their blessings.”

Penelope took a deep breath. Next. “I am also wondering how I might obtain shelving and boxes for storage in the storerooms. More shelving would allow for more organization.” She really wanted to rail on the lack of organization and point out that she was starting to find spoiled food that had not been properly stored, but decided that might be a bit too direct. 

“I will send for our carpenter, and you may work directly with him until you are satisfied. Be aware that he might have other responsibilities given him by the king, which will take precedence.”

“Of course.” This was more than Penelope had dared hope; a resource that would be directly accountable to herself - and not to Anticlea. She kept her expression neutral and returned to her work. She wanted to also ask about getting some clay tablets, but figured she should wait until the storerooms were finished. There was a possibility she would find some already made.

Spinning stopped for the day at the midday meal so that the ladies could get ready for the evening. Penelope dressed with care, adding rings to her fingers and toes and jewels to her hair, but leaving the weighty necklaces and bracelets. She wanted to look regal, but not gaudy; sparkle but not overwhelm. Since it was the festival for Apollo, she wore her saffron gown, a dark blue cloak with a sunburst pattern caught in starry broaches at her shoulders. Actoris smoothed her veil in place at the back of her head, murmuring with pride that she looked very well.

Actoris’s assessment was confirmed by the gleam in Odysseus’s eyes as she met him in the workroom for the festival. He was dressed in a brilliant white tunic with a saffron yellow cloak. No wonder his mother spent all her time spinning, Penelope thought. He was probably the best dressed man she had ever met. She knew that Anticlea had looms at the homestead and wondered how many slaves were working them on a constant basis.

Odysseus offered her his arm, and she placed hers atop his, folding her hand into his. The guards opened the doors for them and they made their way to the courtyard. 

Anticlea met her as soon as they entered, announcing that tonight Penelope would meet the women. Odysseus kissed her hand, relinquishing his hold on her, and she obediently trailed her mother-in-law around the crowded room. In contrast to the clipped speech and haughty demeanor to which Penelope had become accustomed, Anticlea was truly charming this evening, chatting amiably with every lady and smiling modestly at each man. She introduced Penelope to everyone, barely giving her a chance to add a remark afterwards before moving onto the next guest.

Until they made it to Glyke, Anticlea’s friend, that is. Glyke was a striking woman with intricately braided black hair, tall and leonine. Every inch of her reeked of privilege, from the heavily embroidered veil to her bejeweled toes. Penelope wondered what such a woman was doing on Ithaca. There certainly wasn’t enough society here to play the kinds of games that socialites liked to play. And she was a socialite, Penelope was certain.

Glyke’s daughter, Sebasteia, was the image of her mother, although she did not smile with the same predatory intent. Instead, her mouth pouted with boredom and her eyes scanned behind Penelope as they were introduced. This was a girl who should be in Sparta or Mycenae, playing the political and social games in a large pool of creative nobility. Penelope knew immediately that she would never have invited them back to her Spartan palace had they been introduced there. 

Anticlea gave both women a long embrace, and started gossipping with Glyke. Penelope thought them an interesting pair. The socialite and the old queen, gossipping about a limited social circle on a small island. Penelope had been taught that gossip was the purview of the unhappy and the uninspired. 

And Penelope had decided that Anticlea was unhappy, and had been for some time. Odysseus had confirmed that Anticlea had been forbidden to shoot early on in her marriage to Laertes. She had been allowed to teach Odysseus, but not her daughter Ctimene.

Anticlea was, for once, animated as she talked with her friend. This woman quite possibly still grieved the loss of her autonomy and her skills. Anticlea had obviously tried to replace her love of Artemis with motherhood and a queenship. A queenship that was no longer hers. But how successful had she been? Would Penelope have to bow to the same fate?

Penelope was starting to realize how unusual Odysseus and her own family were in their attitudes towards women. When it came to her training or even using a weapon, Odysseus was not just fighting against the traditional role of women and the perceptions of his guard; he was fighting his father, the king who had handed Odysseus his crown. Who was not well. Against a bitter mother who had been denied the very opportunity that Penelope was requesting. She could see that her being able to train - especially with anyone else on the island - was going to be a massive, pitched battle. A battle that might have casualties. 

That Odysseus was even willing to consider trying…it meant more to her than he would perhaps ever know. She scanned the room for him, finding him surrounded by a crowd who was listening to him speak.

“How fortunate you are,” Sebasteia said, handing Penelope a drink and following her gaze to Odysseus. 

“That is true,” Penelope admitted, moving her attention to Sebasteia. She wanted to try the wine, but did not trust a drink handed to her by a guest. She wondered who was master of festivities tonight and if the wine had been watered well or not. Laertes? Odysseus? It should be a steward, but she knew the palace did not employ one. Every day she had worked on the storerooms she had wished for a steward or a housekeeper. It was ridiculous that Anticlea should oversee every slave herself. Worse than being ridiculous, it was not effective. 

“At least you see your good fortune. He would be wasted on many women, I think.” Sebasteia was still speaking, and Penelope tried to pay attention. “They might focus on him being too short, too provincial.” 

“Only until he started speaking,” Penelope added.

Sebasteia took a drink. “Only until he started speaking,” she agreed. “Or until they saw him fight.” The woman was still watching Odysseus. 

“You are of the house of Bias, correct?” asked Penelope, remembering the stately home they had passed on their tour of the island. “Your gardens are remarkable.”

“Yes, we’re the oldest family on the island. We go back farther than the royal line, actually. Did you know that Odysseus and I were to be married if he came home without a bride?”

A flicker of jealousy flamed in Penelope’s chest. “I did not. Perhaps Odysseus did not mention it, since it was no longer important once we had met.”

Sebasteia took a long sip of her wine. “It’s always good to have a backup plan, don’t you think?” Her gaze was still drinking in Odysseus, and Penelope wanted to smack her.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Penelope said, “I should…” and she walked away, itching to be moving away from Sebasteia. She should be continuing to greet guests with Anticlea. However, she had been a hostess at many events and knew well how to meet people. She was done being a shadow.

The event was much more enjoyable once she started mingling on her own. The sacrifices were made, dinner was served, and she was back beside Odysseus. She was also beside Anticlea again, who was not pleased that Penelope had strayed off on her own. Penelope just gave her a tight smile, praised the feast, and then ignored her. 

After festivals in Sparta, Penelope and her brothers would gather to discuss their guests and trade stories of the evening. Sometimes her father would join them as well, and they would talk and laugh deep into the early morning. 

It was early morning, Penelope knew, but she was not laughing. Instead she was looking at the ceiling in her room, trying not to cry.

Homesickness had descended heavily as she had seen off the last of their guests. The constant activity of traveling to Ithaca and now the work on the storerooms had distracted her. But as she was undressing, she found herself wishing she could just go home. The next thought was startling, even painful: she was home. 

She let Odysseus distract her again as they lay together, kisses and touches reminding her that she had chosen this path. This man. But now, in the depth of the early morning, her thoughts and feelings caught up with her.

She wanted to go home.

She needed to make this her home.

She was tired of trying, even though it had only been a few days. 

Tears started to spill from her eyes, and she extracted herself from Odysseus’s arms and threw her tunic over her head. She draped her cloak around her like a blanket and silently left their room before her sobs could break loose.

Polites and Timnes were on guard. She cursed this island where security was so difficult that she needed a guard at all times. She didn’t meet their questioning eyes but went into the workroom, curling onto the settee and using her cloak to cover her more fully. It was cold in here, the hearth banked for the night. She welcomed the cold, matching it to her despair as she allowed herself to cry. The tears wouldn’t change anything. Maybe, though…maybe being able to release her tears would allow her to grieve the losses of the past few moons: Helen, her first real friend; her brothers; her father; her mountains, her valley, her home. She even missed Clytemnestra and her snarky comments.

She felt another blanket being added to her, and looked up to see Actoris tucking it around her. She sniffed and thanked her brokenly. Actoris also placed a cloth near her chin that she could use to wipe her face. Practical, even in the middle of the night.

Then Odysseus was lifting her, and placing her in his lap, resting their heads together on the settee’s slanted side. “Why are you sad, Penelope mine?”

She shook her head, the sobs threatening to choke her once again. “Homesick,” she said simply. “After parties like this, my brothers and I would…”

“Tear apart the guests one by one?” Odysseus guessed. Her sob turned into a half laugh. “I think we can help. Polites? Timnes?”

The guards walked beside them. “My lord?” Timnes’s deep bass voice seemed at one with the night.

“Have a seat, brothers.” The two gratefully rested on chairs and removed their helmets. Timnes shook out his hair, which was about shoulder length, but Polites still had just a stubble of hair all over his head.

“Polites,” Penelope sniffled, “May I ask what happened to your hair?”

Timnes and Odysseus both started laughing and Polites grimaced good-naturedly. “My wife.”

“Your wife? Why would she want it so short?”

“I was complaining -” he glared as Timnes chortled, “- that my kids were always pulling my hair. So my wife ‘fixed’ it.”

She giggled. He gave her a wry smile.

“Serves you right,” Timnes added.

“Speaking of hair, did you see our newest bald friend? I think Mentor has gotten tired of having wisps covering his head. Shaving it was probably the better choice.” Odysseus began to lead them in a spirited discussion of the guests from the evening. Penelope listened, her tears drying, trying to match their descriptions with the people she had met but not doing well. She didn’t remember being introduced to anyone named Mentor, but did remember a bald man. Eventually, she gave up trying to keep track of the names and just enjoyed listening to the comments and stories.

“Bias was certainly in a mood,” Polites said, bringing her back to attention. She remembered him, only because he was attached to the lovely Glyke and Sebasteia. “He was trying to tear down every idea you had.”

“And he still slicks his hair back until he looks like the snake that he is,” Odysseus remarked. Ah, she had a similar thought when she was introduced. He had long hair, and all of it was so oily she wondered if droplets of oil worked their way free all evening to roll down his spine. It was enough to make her squirm. “Ah, so you noticed as well, Penelope mine?” he knocked his head against hers gently.

“Mmm, they’re an interesting family,” she said, trying to be polite. At Polites’s incredulous look, she decided to be honest. “Odysseus, Sebasteia was ready to cover you in honey and eat you with a spoon.” 

All three men sat in silence. Penelope could hear the distant waves crash in the background and she sighed, tipping her head back. “I’ve managed to shock you, sirs, my lord. Again.”

“You met Sebasteia?” Odysseus sounded unconcerned, but his arms had tensed slightly around her.

“Your mother introduced us, I suspect so she could talk with Glyke. Aren’t they close friends?”

Polites pursed his lips and deferred to Odysseus. Timnes watched them both quietly. Odysseus gathered his thoughts. “Sebasteia and I were…betrothed is too strong a word, don’t you think?” 

Polites chortled. “If mothers could wish hard enough…”

“Yes, mother and Glyke are friends. They were once very close, but not so much anymore. I think - I hope - my mother finally realized that Glyke was a friend who only cares about what she receives from relationships - such as a connection with the royal family.”

“And hopefully a match for her daughter,” Polites added.

“That whole family is a pack of dogs, waiting to rip anyone apart that recklessly walks into their den,” Timnes grumbled.

“Trouble,” Odysseus agreed. His hand had worked its way inside her tunic and was working its way slowly up her leg.

“Ready for bed, my lord?” she asked, all innocence.

“Past ready, I think,” he mused. 

“Thank you for coming to get me,” she said.

“Oh, that wasn’t me, though I wish I could say it was. I could have slept for a moon. It was Timnes.” He motioned to the guard with a tilt of his head.

“Timnes! If I wanted to wake my lord I would have. I wanted to be left alone.” She frowned at him.

“My wife always says the same. And yet she is pleased when I don’t listen. If I do listen, I’m in trouble. So.” He was unrepentant.

“Oooooohhhhh.” Polites drew out the word, eyes wide.

“You should listen to me more often,” Timnes rumbled.

She sighed again, shaking her head in defeat. “Thank you.” Men. They weren’t the same as her boys, but their company was a balm all the same.

Chapter Text

Little Sávra was waiting for Penelope when she finished training. As usual, she was scrunched into a corner, painfully thin limbs tucked close, black braid over her shoulder. And that dreaded cup of sludge in her hands, cradled like a precious gem. 

If Sávra knew that Penelope was training, and when she was finished each day, chances were that all the slaves knew. And Anticlea. Penelope huffed in frustration. She reached for the cup, and was dismayed to see a bruise along the side of Sávra's small face. A bruise in the shape of a hand, two fingers clearly outlined on her cheekbone.

“Sávra!” Penelope knelt in front of her, tilting the girl’s head to see her face better. The girl tried to pull farther into the corner, but there was nowhere for her to go. “Who did this?”

“I have to give you your morning meal. You don’t drink it.” She swallowed and managed to pull her face from Penelope’s hand. “I am worthless. You don’t like it.” 

“Whether I like my…meal…or not has nothing to do with you,” Penelope stated, sitting back and considering her. Her ladies started filing in behind her, and she glanced back at them. “Do you all drink this Ithacan drink for your morning meal?”

The ladies glanced at each other and nodded in the affirmative. 

“And do you like it?”

Eurynome, Thebe, and Autonoe all nodded again. Actoris and Kynna stayed silent and unmoving. Penelope turned back to Sávra. “Not everyone likes everything,” she said soothingly. “It is not your fault. Who do you report to?”

Her eyes widened in fear and she started to pant. “No one, my lady.”

Penelope gave her a disbelieving look.

“My father, my lady,” she whispered, so softly that Penelope could barely hear her. Her ladies, only a few feet behind her, would not have heard. Penelope could do nothing if her father was beating her. That was family business, and even her father would not have intervened. She doubted Odysseus would.

“Well.” She looked at the cup, still in her hand. There was a simple solution: she could drain her cup. She swallowed hard, then downed as much as she could in one gulp. She had to bite her lip to force herself to swallow, but continued until the cup was completely empty. 

She handed the cup back to the girl, who looked hopeful. Penelope waited until she knew she was not going to gag or vomit before standing and turning to her ladies. “Please make sure that her bruise is seen to,” she ordered Kynna.

Kynna held out her hand to Sávra, and ushered her from the room. Penelope asked Autonoe to get her a glass of wine, with a bit more wine than usual to rinse her mouth, then started getting ready for the day.

Her days since coming to Ithaca had fallen into a pattern. She trained in silence, and was finally running her chosen course well. Having started with barely three circuits, she was happy to see that after a moon she was easily running seven.

After training, she would dress for guests - Anticlea stubbornly refused to give her any notice for when ladies would come to visit the palace - and greet Anticlea in the workroom. Anticlea might or might not return her greeting; Penelope told herself she didn’t care either way. Then Penelope would excuse herself to work on the storerooms. She only needed to spend time with her mother-in-law during meals, and those were spent primarily in silence. Ignoring her mother-in-law seemed to be the best plan Penelope could devise to keep her own mind at peace. 

Then she would spend the evening - and night - with Odysseus. Loving, stories, sparring, sleeping. It was the only time of the day that she was just herself, just Penelope. She had a feeling Odysseus felt the same.

Penelope and her small crew had finished with the main level and the upstairs storerooms and were finally starting on the downstairs. She motioned to her guards and Thebe, but was surprised when Thebe hesitated.

“My lady, may I stay here today?”

“Are you unwell?” Thebe had never asked to be dismissed before, and Penelope looked her over carefully. She did not seem to be unwell, but there was a tightness about her eyes that was unusual.

“I just have a bit of a headache. Perhaps if I spend the morning spinning it will go away.” Thebe was wringing her hands.

“Of course. Lady Mitéra , do you have a preference on who I take with me today?” 

“Take Eurynome.” Anticlea didn’t look up from her work, but at least Penelope had an answer. Penelope had learned that Anticlea would answer direct, practical questions. Personal questions or planning questions were usually ignored. 

Eurynome put aside her spinning with an air of relief and Penelope grinned at her. Perhaps she was not the only one who wanted to escape the ever-watchful eye of Anticlea. Eurynome returned her grin and started talking as soon as they started down the stairs.

“My lady, I have been hoping to work with you on this, the storerooms have been driving me absolutely insane forever and ever. Thebe is so lucky.” She continued to chatter. 

Penelope was pleased. She had been trying to get Thebe to talk to her, asking her about her homeland and her childhood, her work in the palace. Thebe had responded properly, but with very little information. Penelope had asked her where she had grown up and was told “Ethiopia,” which was not actually an answer; all it meant was “very far away.” Other questions were answered similarly.

This was the first time she had been able to work with Eurynome away from the other ladies. Eurynome was not a beautiful woman, but her smile and willingness to work was a relief to Penelope. Anticlea had been strangely reluctant to allow Penelope to work with her slaves from Sparta, preferring to keep them in the workroom. Perhaps she thought they were all spies. 

Penelope had the guards and Eurynome set up the torches in the first of the basement rooms, addinga brazier to keep them warm, while she set out her papyruses and ink. She had enough to supply her through this project, but then she would need to make more of everything. Finding reeds for the styluses and ashes for the ink would be simple. She was hoping that these final storerooms would hold dried papyrus and the elusive clay tablets, but she might have to ask slaves to forage - if there were any papyrus plants on the island, she wasn’t sure - or ask Odysseus if they could be obtained in the next trade. The plants weren’t that unusual, but they did require boggy land and she didn’t remember seeing any on the tour of the island.

Not that Anticlea was thorough. There was much of the island Penelope had not seen.

She explained to Eurynome the process, and Eurynome set to work. Instead of having all three of them remove items from the room, Eurynome set Actor at the door and passed him items, which he could then give to Dymas in the hallway to stack. Such a simple change to the process, Penelope thought. Eurynome also seemed to have a greater knowledge of what was in each storeroom than Thebe had, so she was able to sort items as she removed them from the room instead of waiting until everything was out in the corridor to start sorting.

Their work sped up and Penelope could see the guards relax as they started responding to Eurynome’s natural exuberance. Penelope let her take the lead, thrilled to see someone with a talent for organization and leadership. 

Someone who would talk with her, answer questions, think of better solutions. She appreciated the skills of her own slaves, but they had been taught to obey, not to share their own thoughts and ideas. 

Nysa, her mentor from Sparta, had taught her to pay attention to the slaves. Even if she kept them at a distance, as was proper, she needed to know their strengths, weaknesses, and background. They were not working for the palace by choice - and that, she well knew, could be dangerous.

And so Penelope was always looking for the slave that would provide her with information. Perhaps even a bit of companionship. Eurynome might be that slave.

With Eurynome, the group was able to finish an entire room before the midday meal. They returned to the basement after refreshing themselves with the midday meal, and opened the next room.

The rooms they had finished had primarily held supplies for the palace: everything from foodstuffs, candles, linens, and ropes to raw materials such as animal bones and ore for tools, wood for both the hearths and for constructing small items, and animal products such as leather, cords made from sheep intestines, and extra wool.

This room, though, was full of treasure. Jewelry, raw gems, precious ores, pottery with detailed artwork. Penelope took a step into the room and stopped, a chill descending on her. “We shouldn’t be in here,” Penelope said, and ushered them all out. What was a treasure room doing so accessible? In a row with all the other storerooms? She closed the door firmly, uneasy. 

The guards and Eurynome were opening up the next room, and she followed them in to see what was next. There was only a large pile with no effort made to organize or even separate the items one from another. But this pile she recognized. These were the goods from Sparta that had arrived with her. Her pulse raced and she could feel the blood under her skin bubbling with anger. These items were no more precious than those they had been working with for a moon. But they were hers . They had been just as disregarded as she had been.

“My lady?” Actoris had appeared at the door, hands clasped in front of her and eyes down. “The old queen has requested your presence to greet guests in the workroom.”

Penelope closed her eyes and breathed, willing calm into her lungs and visualizing it spread throughout her body. Sometimes this worked, but it was not working today. Penelope often suspected Anticlea tried to inconvenience her, waiting for days when Penelope was doing something slightly different - like when she had a slave working with her for the first time.

“Eurynome.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“My guards will not be able to stay, but could you find a few men and fix…this?” She glanced at the pile then back at Eurynome. The slave’s eyes went wide with anticipation. 

“Absolutely, my lady!”

Penelope did not want to watch this particular room being dismantled. She wanted to spend the next hour running, whether in circles up and down the stairs or outdoors, or really anywhere. She squared her shoulders and marched upstairs in front of Actoris. 

There was no way to know who had been responsible. Perhaps the sailors who emptied the boat knew these rooms wouldn’t be looked at for a long time and so just dumped the items in a pile. Perhaps Anticlea wanted to show her how little they mattered. She doubted that Odysseus had a hand in it; he was too orderly, too concerned about his property being treated well. The only time he let things be was when his mother was in charge. 

Penelope decided to place blame on the slaves or the sailors just assuming they didn’t have to be diligent. She did not need another reason to snap at Anticlea, even if she had been involved. Although the image of her and Anticlea in a sparring ring wouldn’t quite leave her mind. 

The palace needed a steward. 

The guards opened the doors to the workroom, and Penelope took a moment to survey their guests. Glyke was cozied next to Anticlea, a cup of wine in hand, and Sebasteia sat nearby, looking demure. Another two ladies were in attendance, and all stopped their conversation to rise and curtsey to her. Anticlea rose with them, eyes resolute. 

If she could bear it, so could Penelope.

Penelope joined their circle and Anticlea introduced her to the two new ladies. The first was a young woman with merry eyes and a stubborn chin. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a tail that was braided down her back, a small veil on her head. Married, then. Her name was Chloe and the twinkle in her dark eyes had Penelope liking her before she even said a word. The other was an older woman, perhaps the same age as Anticlea, with silvering hair and a placid expression. She was introduced as Chloe's mother-in-law, Maiandria.

“My queen,” she said, curseying again, “I believe you know my son, Polites. Chloe is his wife.”

“A pleasure,” Penelope said, meaning it for perhaps the first time since she landed on Ithaca. No, there was one other time she had been pleased to meet someone: she had meant it when she was introduced to Laertes. That seemed ages ago.

They sat and Penelope recognized that Lady Maiandria had the same smiling hazel eyes as her son.

“Are you starting to feel at home?” Chloe asked her politely. “I imagine that Ithaca is much different than Sparta.”

“I am, thank you,” Penelope lied. “Is your family from Ithaca?”

“I am from the island of Dulichium, in the northern part of the kingdom. Dulichium is a bit more sheltered than Ithaca, being closer to the mainland. Not quite as windy and a bit cooler.”

“Is your family still there?” Penelope saw Glyke and Anticlea striking up their conversation again in hushed tones. Sebasteia scooted a bit closer to the two of them so that she could hear better.

“They are, but Maiandria has welcomed me into her home. Polites is her oldest, so we live with his parents.” Chloe gave her mother-in-law a loving smile. “It is a good situation, as Polites has a few younger sisters that love to help with the children.”

“Which is a good thing, since the children of that scoundrel are absolute heathens,” Maiandria laughed. When Chloe pouted, Maiandria continued, “Oh, I don’t blame you, dear. You can only work with what you have. And since you have my son as their father…what can you do?”

Penelope chuckled, feeling herself relax. This was the kind of interaction she had hoped for with her own mother-in-law. “Chloe, please tell me about your children,” she encouraged.

Chloe grew animated as she talked about her two children, both toddlers. She had an older girl and a younger boy, and both were quite active. Maiandria interrupted her as she spoke to add comments like, “And then he jumped off!” or “Why can’t she just sit still for a moment?” 

“You should bring them to the palace some fine day,” Penelope begged to their astonishment.

“The palace! This is no place for our heathens,” Maiandria gasped. 

Chloe just laughed. “They let Polites in.” They nodded agreement and Penelope joined them.

“Children don’t belong in the palace,” Anticlea said, her voice cutting through Penelope’s enjoyment like an axe.

Penelope stared at her in silence for a moment, allowing the tension to build. “Hopefully that is not true.”

“Are you announcing something?” Glyke inserted, eyes narrowed. Penelope tilted her head as she studied the woman. There was something odd about her expression. Almost as though she didn’t believe that Penelope could answer in the affirmative.

“What an incredibly personal question to ask your queen,” Penelope responded, pleased when Glyke flushed. Sebasteia’s cheeks also pinked.

“Sebasteia.” Penelope decided to bring her into the conversation; she had been sitting, mute, the entire visit. “It has been a moon since I’ve seen you.”

Sebasteia gave her a painful smile. “How have you been, my lady?”

“Quite well, thank you. And you?”

“I fare well.” She fidgeted a bit with her cloak, then asked quickly, “Does Odysseus spend much time at the palace during the day?”

“Not usually, no.” Penelope stopped herself from providing more information. Sebasteia was far too interested in Odysseus. “Do you typically call your king by his name?” she asked. Even she only used ‘my lord’ in public settings. 

“We have known each other all our lives, my lady.” Sebasteia seemed to think this was perfectly acceptable.

“I have known my father all my life, and yet I always address him as a king outside of our family gatherings,” Penelope mused.

“This is not Sparta,” Glyke interjected.

Penelope gave her a long look. “But King Odysseus deserves respect as much as any King of Sparta. Would you not agree?”

Anticlea cleared her throat. “Ladies. Shall I call for our meal?”

“Excellent idea, Lady Mitéra .”

Penelope excused herself as soon as the meal was complete. “Lady Mitéra , I must beg your forgiveness. I must return to my work.” She stood. “A pleasure to meet you, Chloe and Maiandria. Thank you for visiting, Glyke and Sebasteia.”

Evening found Penelope in her room, papyrus scattered around her on the floor. Eurynome and the male slaves she had enlisted had worked to have the Spartan goods in order before she had returned at midday, and they had finished with the last storeroom in short order. The only rooms remaining were the weapons room and the treasure room, about which she would need to speak with Odysseus.

Now that she knew what was in each room, she could determine which rooms needed to be set up for which purpose: a necessary room with candles, soaps, bandages, and extra linens; rooms for grains, dried fruits and nuts, dried meats, oils, root vegetables…all required different storage techniques in order to keep them fresh and usable as possible. Then she could have Eurynome put it together. The woman was better at organizing than Penelope was, and Penelope was glad for it. Finally, something could be delegated to the staff to whom these tasks should belong.

She was deep in thought when Odysseus entered, stylus moving quickly enough over the papyrus that she was constantly dipping it into the ink. She spared a glance - to make sure that it was Odysseus and not a slave needing something - and went back to her writing.

“I need to speak with you,” he said. He sounded tired.

“Of course, give me just a minute to put this away. I also have a topic I need to speak with you about…” She finished writing and blotted the paper. Gathering up any sheets that were dry first, she heard him sigh and glanced again in his direction. He was holding his forehead, eyes squeezed shut in a grimace.

“Odysseus, my own, are you well?” She pushed the still-drying sheets to the side of the room and stood, concerned.

He waved away her concern. “Headache, I’ll be fine.” He started unknotting his belt and she went to help him, kneeling at his feet to untie his sandals. “What is your topic, before I get into mine?” he asked.

“The treasure room.” She gave him a severe look. “It is perfectly accessible, which makes no sense at all.”
“You obviously didn’t go very far into the room,” he gave her a small grin that looked a bit painful.

She finished with his sandals and sat back, thoughtful. 

“It’s a trap,” he clarified.

“Oh.” She thought for another moment. “Do you want us to organize it, or should we leave it as is?”

He tipped his hand back and forth. “Leave it for now; once you are finished with everything else I can disarm the room for you.”

She crawled onto the bed, and motioned for him to lay his head in her lap. “Let me massage your head, Odysseus. You can tell me how much trouble I am in just as well while you rest your head.”

He lay on the bed - almost more of a collapse - and put his head in her lap obediently. She pulled her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his face which was still lined in pain. “Why not just make the room inaccessible, or put it in a place that is secret?”

“Traps are useful, and secret rooms can be found.” He met her gaze. “Why didn’t you go in? Did Actor or Dymas warn you?”

“No, I just…something was off. There was something…not right.”

His eyes gleamed with approval, but then sharpened a bit before closing again. “ Mamá told me about some comments you made to Glyke and Sebasteia today.” 

Penelope started rubbing small circles on his temples, then across his forehead. “Mmm, I was short with them. But Odysseus, Glyke pointedly asked if I was pregnant, which is simply something you do not ask - and Sebasteia was looking for you. And calling you Odysseus! ‘We were raised together, I don’t need to be respectful of my king’.”

He peeked up at her. “Jealous?”

“Of what? I already have what she wants.” Penelope leaned over and kissed one of the stress lines on his face. His eyebrows raised a fraction. “Maybe a little.”

He huffed a laugh, then turned serious again. “Be careful with that family, Penelope mine. They are dangerous. My mother doesn’t particularly like Glyke…” Penelope scoffed as he continued. “However, she knows well that she must make Glyke think they are still friends. Be very careful.”

Penelope groaned a little. “They are just so awful.”

“They also have a great deal of influence.” He caught one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, where he kissed it. “Be careful.”

She started to rub his ears, moving to his strong jaw. The stubble on his face was rough and he leaned into her hands. “Yes, Odysseus, my own. I will. Perhaps Sebasteia needs a husband.”

“Perhaps you are right.” He lifted his head and pulled her out of the way and then down by his side. “However, I do not wish to speak of that viper anymore tonight.” He tangled one hand into her braid and trailed the other down her side until it reached her knee, then hitched her leg over his hip. “When are you going to teach me to read?”

“When are you going to have time?”

He nuzzled his face into her neck, his hands moving in small circles higher on her thigh. “Not tonight.”

Odysseus was gone from their room so early that Penelope didn’t hear or even sense him leave. She hoped his head was feeling better, but knew that he would press on regardless.

Now that the storerooms were in Eurynome’s capable hands, Penelope could return to the loom. She had decided to make an unbleached strip of cloth on which she could stitch characters for teaching Odysseus to read. 

After she had trained and dressed for the day, she set up the loom, pointedly thanking Anticlea for the baskets of skeins she had made ready. The ladies returned her smile, but Anticlea just continued with her spinning. 

Penelope shook off her irritation and requested Autonoe to join her at the loom. Now that she was in the workroom with Anticlea, her mother-in-law shouldn’t object to her using one of her own slaves.

“Autonoe, how are you faring?” Penelope asked her quietly as she started the first part of the warp by tying the yarn to the bottom peg.

“My lady, I am quite disappointed.” She frowned at her, taking the yarn and looping it on a peg at the top, passing the yarn back to Penelope to loop on the next peg at the bottom.

“In what?”

“I met the wife of Timnes a few days ago. She is very sweet so I cannot hate her anymore.”

“That is a problem, Autonoe,” Penelope giggled. “What will you do?”

“Spend more time with the men. Although it seems the old queen likes to have us with her at all times,” she sighed. “I need better scenery.”

They finished the foundation of the cloth and Penelope tested the tension of the threads. Penelope grinned at her. “I would have thought you’d like the musician that comes to play every day. You could do duets.”

Autonoe scrunched her nose with disdain. “He’s too young. I want a man, not a boy who isn’t able to even grow a beard yet.”

Penelope shook her head in amusement. “Let me know if someone catches your eye. They do have to be single,” she warned her. 

Autonoe grinned and returned to the spinning group.

It took Penelope the better part of the morning to finish the cloth. It was just a simple weave with only one color, so the work went quickly. She had Autonoe again assist her as she removed the cloth from the loom. Anticlea looked up at it and scoffed audibly. 

When she had said ‘simple is best’, perhaps she wasn’t expecting something quite so simplistic. 

After the midday meal was complete, Penelope selected a dark blue from the finished skeins of wool along with a large needle and sat to start stitching. 

By the end of the day, she had several characters stitched into the cloth. Her ladies looked at it with confusion, while her mother-in-law just narrowed her eyes at it. 

The evening meal with Anticlea was quiet, and Penelope entertained herself by thinking through exactly how to teach Odysseus the characters she had stitched. She believed he would catch on quickly. Should she also bring out papyrus and ink for him to try sketching the characters? She had little left of either, so she should turn her attention to that in the next day or so.

Anticlea bade the ladies good night, shaking Penelope out of her thoughts. As usual, she turned to Penelope last and said, “Daughter.” The single word always felt more like a dismissal than an acknowledgement. Then she left and all the ladies - including Penelope - gave a sigh at the release of tension.

Penelope had the ladies ready her for bed, then bade them good night herself before retiring to her room. She nodded to Polites and Timnes, who were stationed outside her room as usual. 

The room was already lit with a few candles on the tables and a fire in the hearth. She took the bottle of wine sitting next to the hearth and poured a small sip into the fire, praying that Hestia would grant her home safety and her family solidarity. She almost laughed at the last; solidarity with Anticlea meant double talking, unkindness…the very things she despised. She shook her head to dispel the thought and took a sip of the wine. She needed to find a different approach to Anticlea. Being kind and submissive was certainly not working.

A tendril of a cold breeze caught her unawares and she shivered, moving closer to the fire in the hearth. The windows in her room were covered by oiled pelts as well as the shutters that were permanently in place, and yet there always seemed to be a bit of a breeze. She could hear the ocean moaning in the distance as well as rain softly pattering on the oilskin, seeming to echo her low mood.

The door opened, the sudden movement startling her. When two men entered, she felt the chill reach behind her neck and she instinctively backed up a step. It was only Odysseus, but he was leaning on Polites. She put the wine down, almost spilling it in her haste, and ran to Odysseus’s other side, helping him to the bed. 

“Thank you, Polites,” she said, moving to take off his cloak and sandals. Her hands brushed against his skin and she looked to the guard again. “Can you find the physician?” She placed her hand on his face. He was flaming hot. Perhaps she should have been making oblations to Apollo, the god of healing. 

Polites shook his head. “Odysseus asked the palace physician to travel to Zola yesterday for an emergency.” At her confused look he added, “The other side of the island. I can send someone for him, but he won't make it back until tomorrow morning at the earliest.” 

“Polites, please find my ladies.” He nodded and left the room in haste. Penelope turned back to her husband. “Odysseus?” His breathing was ragged, and as he met her eyes she saw that they were flat and glassy.

“I just…need sleep…” he mumbled, fumbling to move enough to put a blanket over himself. Penelope helped him, yanking the large blanket on the bed so it covered him twice as he started to shiver. She sat on the side of the bed and placed her head gently on his chest, listening to him breathe. Each breath seemed difficult, and there was a faint rattling sound. She glanced around, looking to see what she had available. She took the chair she usually sat in to undo her braids and placed it by the side of the bed, then went back to the door as she heard a tentative knock. It was Actoris, and Penelope beckoned her inside. The ewer needed filling, she explained quietly, and she would also need a cauldron on the hearth in their room with water. Actoris took the ewer and left. 

Next she asked Timnes to find her a table she could place by the bed. Kynna came into sight as Timnes left for the table, and she asked her to find her as many linens as possible - enough to fill half the bed a cubit or two high. Kynna asked her to send more ladies to help her when they were available and scurried off.

As Eurynome and Thebe arrived with Polites, she asked them for small pieces of cloth to put on Odysseus’s forehead, to help Kynna with the linens, and also to make some willow bark tea. They both looked at her blankly. 

“Well?” she asked, upset that they hadn’t already left.

“What kind of tea?” Eurynome asked. 

Penelope looked at her, frustrated, and looked to Polites, who was also looking at her in confusion. “Willow bark?” she asked him, and he slowly shook his head. “No, no, no…” she muttered. “Chamomile?” she asked. Eurynome nodded and both she and Thebe left. 

With the night as rainy as it was, and with her having almost no knowledge of the island outside of the palace, she would have no luck locating a willow tree in the dark. “Polites?” she asked.

“My lady.” 

“Do you know where a willow tree might be?” she asked, trying to quell the rising panic. Without it, there would be nothing to lower the fever other than placing cool cloths on his skin, which was only barely effective. 

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not, my lady. I’m not very good at identifying trees. The old King would certainly be able to do so, but…”

But it was raining. He was not here. It was dark. 

She would have to do the best she could with what she had. 

Her ladies returned and she had them pile the linens on the bed, add the cauldron to the fire, and place the basin, ewer, and small cloths on the table. Then she bid them good night, asking Kynna to sleep with Actoris in her dressing room to be available if needed. They protested, asking to be of more help, but she was firm; she would be able to do everything that needed to be done, and she knew that Odysseus would not like to have a parade in their bedroom.

She began by building a small pile in the middle of the bed, and encouraged Odysseus to roll onto it. He was barely lucid but did not fight the suggestion. Once he was out of the way, she built a large wedge on his side of the bed with the linens. He did complain at being moved again, but she tried to console him by quietly explaining that this would help him breathe. He lay on the wedge and took a slightly deeper breath. Convinced, he nodded. 

She realized he was shivering again, so covered him with several blankets before pouring cold water into the basin, soaking a cloth in the water, and placing it against his forehead. He jolted, and again, she soothed him as best she could. 

Then she sat. She would check the cloth every few minutes, replacing it with another cold one as needed. At some point, she realized he was awake, just watching her, and she stroked his cheek and began to sing. She knew her voice was not the best, but even a lullaby might ease him.

He placed his hand on hers and her voice cracked a little; his hand was so incredibly warm. She sat on the side of the bed and rested her head against his chest again. His breaths still seemed uncomfortable, but almost sitting up as he was, they seemed to flow a bit more freely. She went to sit up, but he moved his hand to her head. “Stay,” he mumbled.

“I’m not going anywhere, Odysseus. Rest.” She moved his hand and sat up, checking the cloth on his forehead again. “Is my singing okay? Would you like a story instead?”

His hand fluttered a little - either would be fine. She added more wood to the hearth to keep it burning, then sat back and continued to sing softly, pulling a blanket over herself in her chair and bringing the basin as close to her and Odysseus as possible so she wouldn’t have to reach far to replenish it. Then she waited. And watched.

His fever seemed to break early in the morning. He was still warm, which kept her anxious for the remainder of the night. She put the cloths aside and let him sleep, watching the window for the first signs of light. 

She must have nodded off for a moment, because the sounds of an angry Anticlea woke her. She roused herself, looking first to Odysseus, who had not stirred, then moving her neck slowly to help ease the pain from sleeping in her hard chair. 

Groggily, she moved to the door and quietly let herself through. As she did so, she realized the futility of keeping quiet; Anticlea was almost yelling at Polites on the other side. 

“Anticlea,” she said firmly, quietly. She had never called her by name, and doing so seemed to stop her tirade instantly. “You will be quiet or I will have the guards remove you.” The guards straightened in solidarity with her words, which almost made her smile.

“You should have called for me if my son is sick,” Anticlea said, voice shaking in fury. “I need to see him. Now.”

She started to move forward, but Penelope raised a hand and Polites took Anticlea’s upper arm. Anticlea hissed like a mad cat. “How dare you?”

“Again. Be quiet. Or leave.” Penelope’s voice was still quiet, low. Dangerous. Anticlea stopped for a moment, glaring at her daughter-in-law and then at Polites. He dropped his hand. “Lady Mitéra . His fever has broken. He is resting, and I do not wish to disturb him.” A thought hit her and she asked almost desperately, “Do you know how to make willow bark tea?”

Anticlea narrowed her eyes. “What is that and what will it do to him?”

Penelope kneaded her forehead. She was too tired to fight with Anticlea. “Would you sit with him? Is the sun out?”

“It is still raining, but morning has come,” she replied. More softly, she added, “I do wish to see him.”

Penelope fixed her mother-in-law with a firm stare. “You will not wake him.”

“What do you think of me?” she rasped. “I care only for his well-being. I will not wake him.” 

Penelope opened the door behind her and let her mother-in-law in. She gestured to the chair by Odysseus, whispering, “I am going to make a tea that will bring his fever down further. It may take me some time.”

Anticlea nodded, looking curiously at her son sleeping almost upright on his bed, at the cauldron steaming over the hearth, and with recognition at the water and cloths on the table beside the bed. 

“Do not move him.” Penelope warned, then left. He was sleeping; if he was not awake, Anticlea would not try to move him. Probably.

Kynna and Actoris were sleeping heavily in Penelope’s dressing room, Kynna with a slight snore, but they woke quickly and helped her dress. Penelope sent Kynna to get a few of the ladies - one to refresh the water over the hearth, one to ask for broth to be made for the king’s morning meal, and asked Actoris to accompany her outdoors. At this last request, Actoris’s eyes opened wide. Penelope just waved Kynna out as she pulled on her leather boots and motioned for Actoris to do the same. The boots would be much more appropriate for the weather than their normal sandals.

She went out into the corridor, where she realized the guard had changed. It was fully morning, then. She asked Actor and Dymas to find sharp knives for pruning and to accompany her to find a willow tree. Their eyes also went wide, almost with fear. 

“My lord will not like you going outside,” Dymas whispered. “We cannot take you.”

“You will,” she stated. “My lord needs this.” Her voice broke just slightly at the last sentence, and they looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do. “He can have me whipped,” Penelope continued, “I care not. I will care for him. If you will not come, I will go without you.”

She moved into the women’s workroom, anxious to be going. She could hear the guard discussing her decision in low voices. One of them went off into the darkness of the early morning, while the other moved to her side. She recognized Dymas with a nod.

“We know where there is a willow tree, close to the palace. We will take you there. Actor is getting the knives. Actoris is accompanying you?”

“Yes.”

“Very good, my lady.” He stood tall next to her and Actoris. Finally, Actor joined them as well.

She led them from the palace, then let Actor lead them to a willow. It was just outside her own bedroom window, and she was surprised and annoyed at herself for not having noted it before. She gave them all knives and instructed them to cut the newest of the branches, especially if they had new buds. She wanted as many as they could gather quickly, and within a few minutes they had amassed a decent pile. 

Actor and Dymas gathered them up and they returned to the women’s workroom, which was still dark. Penelope asked Actoris to light the candles and to get a maid to start the fire in the hearth, then laid out the branches onto tables with the guards. 

Kynna returned with Eurynome, and Penelope instructed the three ladies on how to score and strip sections of the bark so that they were in small long pieces. The guards returned to their post and the ladies worked quickly and silently. 

Penelope gathered the first few that they finished and asked them to continue to make as many strips as they could. She asked Eurynome to find a cup, some honey, and perhaps a bit of cinnamon from the storerooms and deliver it to her room. She took her small bundle of the bark strips and returned to her room.

Anticlea was sitting, just watching Odysseus breathe. Penelope was surprised to find her mother-in-law’s face relaxed, her eyes clear and almost welcoming as she returned. She added the willow bark to the cauldron, which had again returned to a boil. 

Penelope rested her back against the wall, looking first to Odysseus. He was still sleeping. Not well, she could tell. It would be simple to wake him, but she wanted to put that moment off until the tea was ready. Then she turned her attention to Anticlea.

Anticlea was watching her. “Long night?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Penelope nodded. “Thank you for sitting with him.” Her voice, too, was just a murmur.

“The tea?” Anticlea motioned to the cauldron, and Penelope nodded again. 

“It will be ready soon.” She looked to the ground, her tiredness catching up with her all at once.

“You should sleep.”

Penelope pursed her lips. “I will.”

The room went quiet then, so quiet that Penelope could hear the faint wheeze as Odysseus breathed in. She closed her eyes, listening to the sweet sound of him breathing, then startled as a soft knock sounded on the door. She answered it, finding Eurynome and the items she had requested. She thanked her and bade her return to the work on the branches.

She dipped the cup Eurynome had brought into the cauldron and blew on the liquid softly, trying to make it slightly cooler before tasting it. She took a sip and grimaced; willow bark tea was just as terrible as she remembered it. At least it was ready, she thought, as she dipped the cup into the cauldron again until it was almost filled. She poured a little bit of honey into the cup, again tasting it. Not as bad. Then a pinch of cinnamon, and it actually smelled palatable.

As she finished, Anticlea got up and allowed Penelope to take her place. “Odysseus,” she whispered, smoothing back his hair. “Odysseus.”

His eyes opened. As she expected, he was not sleeping deeply. His eyes were not as glassy as they had been the night before, which relieved her worry somewhat. She asked him to sit a little, and he was able to take the tea from her. “I will warn you, it is very bitter. But it will take some of the pain away and help you sleep.” 

He narrowed his eyes and lowered the cup. “No. I do not want anything that will dull my senses.”

She matched his stare. “This will not dull your senses at all. But it will make you feel better and help you heal. Drink it, my lord. Please.”

He considered her for a moment, then looked to his mother. Penelope also looked to Anticlea, and was surprised when she nodded her approval. Disappointment that Odysseus would not trust her warred with her amazement that Anticlea had approved the tea. Relief added to these emotions as he drank it slowly, sighing as the tea warmed him.

He handed her the empty cup, and she added it to the already crowded table with the cloths, basin, and ewer. 

“I will be in the workroom should you need me,” Anticlea said slowly. “Daughter, you should get some sleep.” She gestured to the bed, then left.

Penelope watched her go, stunned. 

Turning to Odysseus, she asked, “How do you feel this morning?” She ran her hand over his forehead again, noting he was still warm.

“Cold,” he responded, shivering a little again. She immediately went to work wrapping blankets around him. “Warm me,” he requested as his eyes lowered back into sleep.

She took off her shoes and cloak, still wet from the outdoors, and climbed into bed beside him. “I’m cold as well, just to warn you,” she said softly as she sat next to him and pulled his head onto her shoulder. “But I should warm up quickly.”

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and shivered again. That shiver was probably from her cold toes, she thought. She closed her eyes, resting her head on his, and was soon fast asleep.

When she woke, it was because she was too hot. The water boiling over the hearth had made the room humid and the extra blankets, along with a sleeping, fevered man, had made her sweaty and restless. She unraveled Odysseus’s arms, checking to make sure his fever hadn’t gotten worse and smiling when she realized it had reduced even more. She moved to her side of the bed, luxuriating in the cool sheets on that side of the bed before realizing that she needed to replace the water in the cauldron before the willow bark started to scald. 

She decided to use the water in the ewer so she could return to sleep, but was saddened to see that most of it had been used over the long night. She peeked out her door to see that Thebe was standing across from the guards, waiting for orders. She smiled at her, in a better humor now that she had some sleep, and handed her the ewer. “Come and fill the cauldron as well, when you are finished; also, please check on the broth for the king’s morning meal. He should be almost ready for it.”

The girl nodded and scampered away. 

Returning to the room, she could see that Odysseus had started shivering again. She rearranged the blankets and crawled on top of them, gathering him again into her arms. 

“Cold,” he said.

“I know, I am getting you more tea to help warm you. Did you sleep any better?”

He nodded and she took a deep breath of relief.

Thebe knocked and Penelope bid her enter. She filled the water in the cauldron and replaced the ewer. “I’ll be right back with the broth, my lady,” she said as she began to exit the room.

“Please bring me my meal as well,” Penelope asked. With a nod, Thebe disappeared.

“I may eat all mine and yours as well,” he warned.

“I won’t stop you, Odysseus, my own.” she smiled, “But I truly doubt you’ll want more than the broth after you’ve had it.”

“Story?” he asked. His plaintive tone reminded her of the last time she sat up with Aletes with a sickness, his hot childish body limply laying in her lap. She pulled Odysseus closer. 

“What kind of story would you like today, my lord?” she asked, trying to use formality to lighten her mood. 

“Sparrow.” he coughed a little, then settled.

“You would like to know why my father calls me ‘sparrow’?” she checked.

He barely moved his head, but she knew she had guessed correctly. “That is less of a story and more of a description.” He looked up at her, his eyebrows slightly creased in a question. She pulled her braid in front of his face, “Dull-colored.” He started to shake his head and she continued, “Not a slight on me, you understand, just an accurate description. But primarily because I was never where I was supposed to be when I was younger - always flying away.”

She settled her braid down her back again and continued. “If I was supposed to be spinning, I would be out in the fields with my brothers. I wanted so badly to throw that javelin farther than Perious. He got so much more practice than I did.” She considered. “I guess there is a story there,” she mused. “There was one day when they were trying to track me down. I do not remember this myself, you understand, so this is what my father told me. I was very young. Actually, he wasn’t there either, so this story must have passed through many tellings…”

Odysseus chuckled a little, and started to cough. The coughing did not last long, and Penelope smoothed his hair back as she continued. “I was supposed to be with my ladies, but had snuck out to the playing fields and was playing with the swords - although I couldn’t lift them. Not sure what I would actually have been doing with them. Anyway, I saw the ladies looking for me, so I started to run. Somehow - my father always wants me to tell him this secret, but I refuse - I was able to slip out of the palace walls. Imagine, a small girl alone in the city.” At the moment, Penelope thought it sounded quite lovely. “They found me eventually. I was curled up into a ball under a tree, about halfway up the mountain behind my home. I wish I could remember what I was looking for, why I went so far.”

Odysseus looked at her with censure in his eyes. “Yes, I know, it was very terrible of me. My father said I was born disobedient.” And yet, the thought of walking outdoors anytime she wanted - behind her home in Ithaca, perhaps - was tempting. She had only been outside for a moment that morning, and was focused on getting the medicine that Odysseus needed, but even the smell of the rain on the grasses that grew among the rocks had been heady. Almost intoxicating.

“You could have died,” he remonstrated quietly. She imagined he would have been quite severe were it his daughter.

“True. But if you live your life based on the worst that could happen…do you ever truly enjoy the best that could happen? I am sure that my younger self quite enjoyed her time in the mountains and couldn’t be prevailed upon to realize the danger. This is probably what makes my father so angry when he tells the story.”

“Probably more that he was terrified to lose you.”

She thought about that for a moment. With a teasing smile, she said, “No, I don’t think that was it.”

He started laughing, and the coughing followed. This time, he rolled away from her, coughing into the linens and struggling for breath. She hurried to get him more tea, since the slave had not arrived yet with their meal.

They both slept that night. Odysseus was still fighting for breath when he coughed, but coughing fits were becoming less frequent and his fever had abated almost completely. In the morning, Penelope was woken by his cough but was confused that the sound was far from the bed. She turned and sat up to see Odysseus lacing up his sandals.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he gasped from between coughs. She rushed to get him more tea, frowning at him severely as he drank. 

“You are not going out today?” she asked. He would need more rest to fully recover, but she couldn’t very well order him back into bed.

“I have things to attend to,” he responded, his lungs and voice calmed by the tea. “I will see you tonight.”

“Odysseus,” she pleaded, “You are not well. Please take another day…”

He shook his head, and went to leave the room. Penelope, worried that he would be worse by the evening, lunged at him, pushing them both on the bed. He started to cough again, and the look that he turned on her was frustrated and angry. “Please take another day, Odysseus, my own.”

He didn’t answer, but just pushed her off and strode toward the door, not even deigning to look back. She huffed. Now he would be sick and angry. 

She went through the motions of getting ready for the coming day, taking care to put their room in order for when Odysseus came back - she was certain he would be much worse for trying to go out. She took a look outside and was pleased to see that at least the rain had stopped. 

Going through the motions of bathing, dressing, and drinking her morning meal helped calm her. However, her worry for Odysseus did not lessen. Anticlea and their ladies were already spinning when she entered the workroom. Her mother-in-law glanced at her and went back to her spinning. Penelope joined them, not wanting to start on a new weaving or even sketch.

“Odysseus went out this morning,” Anticlea said, her tone containing its unfriendly note once again. “He looked terrible.” She looked at Penelope again. “You don’t look very well yourself.”

“How kind you are to notice, Lady Mitéra .”

Her comment was received with silence, which she welcomed heartily. The silence continued to grow, soon becoming oppressive. Usually she was able to ignore - or at least bear - the tension in the room, but today her nerves were taught with worry and her eyes tired from the lack of sleep. She was also frustrated. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t literally pin Odysseus to their bed until he healed. She had tried.

She had also tried to develop a relationship with Anticlea. Over and over and over again. Every kind word met with indifference or cruelty. She was not going anywhere - this was now her home. The least Anticlea could do was to be cordial, but she wasn’t even trying. 

Penelope set aside her spinning, feeling tears come to the surface and cursing them as well as her mother-in-law. She knelt at Anticlea’s feet, resting her hands on her mother-in-law’s knees in supplication.

This was how men pleaded for their lives on the battlefield. Perhaps Anticlea would realize how distressed Penelope had become. She started brokenly, “Have I offended you, Lady Mitéra ? I cannot understand why you and I have not been able to live peaceably with one another…” she laid her head on her hands, hoping against hope that Anticlea would soften at least a little.

Anticlea just sat silent. Penelope waited for many long minutes, determined not to move first. Finally, Anticlea set aside her spinning and stood, almost kicking Penelope out of the way. “You have no right to address me so, daughter.” She stepped away in disgust as Penelope felt tears running down her face. She sneered softly, so that the ladies and guards would not overhear, “You are the bastard child of a whore and you have no place being a queen. Much less the wife of my beloved son, who has every right to a noble woman. I sent him to marry a daughter of Zeus, and he brought back you . Your king is ill and yet you allowed him to return to his duties. For all I know, you are a spy. Perhaps you were poisoning him with that tea. He is ill. And you sit here and do nothing.” 

Penelope stood, not trying to hide her tears. “My mother,” she said with conviction and barely suppressed anger, “Is not a whore. And if I am a bastard, so is Helen, who is also not the child of legally wedded parents.” She took a deep breath. Anticlea’s eyes were narrowed, her mouth a slit in her face. “Helen and I are cousins. We both have one divine and one human parent. I know Helen well. She and Odysseus would not suit. Even Odysseus has said so. Lady Mitéra , if you are going to cast aspersions on my character, you are also being disrespectful to your king. You…are only welcome in this palace when - and if - you can be respectful to the crown.”

Anticlea’s eyes lit and she sneered, “You will regret that.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but just turned and stormed out of the palace.

Penelope sat, wiping away her tears as she felt her anger intensify. She was tired of being confined, enjoying fresh air only on balconies and through open windows. Training in a closed room, begging the guards to allow her even a small amount of freedom. Even retrieving ingredients to help her husband had been fraught with worry. 

She stood, motioning to the guards, and called Actoris and Kynna to her, then set out in the opposite direction as Anticlea. Once they had reached the doors leading outside, Actor and Dymas flanked her. Actor said apologetically, “My lady, we are required to keep you safe. The palace is the best place for this.”

“Is there not a path around the estate or town that I can take to get some air?” she asked, not caring that she sounded a bit petulant even to her own ears.

“No, my lady,” he responded. He sounded apologetic but authoritative. 

She tried another tack. “I require a tour of the grounds.” she said as imperiously as she possibly could with red-rimmed eyes and tear stains on her face.

“My lady, I apologize. I cannot.” Actor and Dymas moved between her and the doors.

Penelope put her hand around her dagger, strapped to her thigh and out of sight. She would never hurt her guards, but she wanted to hurt something . A memory of her flinging her knife against targets while her brothers threw javelins surfaced, and she took a deep breath. “I need an archery target and tools to hang it indoors.”

The guards looked at each other, confused, but considered her request. This way, she would still be inside. Actor nodded to her, and Dymas left to find a target. 

She had the guards mount the target just inside her bedroom door, where she would be out of sight if the door opened unexpectedly. Then she dismissed everyone, asking for a moment alone. 

Imagining her mother-in-law's face in the center of the target she removed her dagger and pulled it back, then let it fly. It hit the target off center. She hadn't practiced with her dagger since before her wedding, so she wasn’t terribly surprised. She retrieved the dagger, and allowed the rhythm of setting her stance, aiming, and letting the blade fly calm her.

A slave knocked for dinner, but she said she wasn't hungry and continued to throw. She was starting to throw more like her old self, the exercise making her sweat and loosening her limbs.  

Finally, after hours of throwing slightly to the left, she hit the center dead on. She wanted to cheer for herself, but just went to unstick the knife from the target. She felt another surge of pride as she had to pry much harder than previously to get it out of the board.

The door slammed open, and she jumped, the dagger finally out of the board and in her hand. She looked at Odysseus, who took in her disheveled state and the dagger and slammed the door closed quickly.

“You threw my mother from the palace?”

She stepped back in shock. “What? No!” His eyes still showed the strain of being ill, but his anger strengthened his voice. He gave her an incredulous look. She had never seen him angry, not like this. “No, she called my mother a whore and I told her that casting aspersions on my character also showed disrespect to her king - “ she went to gesture towards him and realized she still had her dagger in her hand. She quickly put it away and continued, “But I told her she was always welcome in the palace as a loyal subject.”

“That,” he said, pointing at her, “was not the message she received. And you went outside of the palace -”

“To get ingredients to make you well -”

He dismissed this and kept going, “And you are armed! In our bedroom!” He quickly knelt before her and rucked up her skirts to find the sheathed dagger. He took it out and stepped back.

She held out her hand. “I need that, please give it back.” 

His mouth thinned. “Why do you need it?” 

“I just…do.” Her voice sounded very small.

In one movement, he whisked her against the door and had both of her wrists at head level, each in one of his hands. His right hand also still held her dagger, and the hilt pressed against her wrist painfully. “You are endangering yourself by leaving the palace. You are insulting my family and my honor by telling me I am unable to defend you. You do not need to be armed. Especially in our bedroom!” His voice started low and dangerous, but by the end of his exclamation, he was shouting into her face and pressing her into the door with his entire weight. The exertion caused him to start coughing, and he pressed her harder into the door, coughing into her shoulder.

“My lord,” she gasped, “You are hurting me -”

“Tell me why you need to remain armed. Why do you need a dagger when you have a husband and a guard and solid walls to keep you safe? You don’t . You don’t.” He was gasping for air, but didn’t seem to care.

“I do,” she pleaded. “Please don’t take it away from me. My father gave it to me -”

“Why would your father give you a dagger? Why would you need it? Were they unable to protect you? Were you so foolhardy that you put yourself in situations that they couldn’t get you out of?”

Tears of pain and frustration were spilling from her eyes now. “Please…I need it…”

He took a deep breath and pressed his mouth together. She could see a muscle twitch at his jaw. “Tell me. Why.” He coughed again, the force driving her back into the door more painfully. She whimpered. 

When he was able to glare at her again, she nodded, barely even moving her head. Her voice was barely a whisper and cracked so much she wasn’t sure he could even understand her. “It’s a bit of a story…I was walking in the corridor at home. My ladies were only just behind me, just a few steps. They were so close. I turned a corner and one of our male slaves was waiting for me. He tripped me and pushed me…he had my arm, I think…he pushed me into an open storeroom and then I was falling into the shelves.”

His eyes widened with horror and she shook her head. “He didn’t…he barricaded the door with the shelving and the boxes that were inside…He didn’t choose a good storeroom. It was where we had our knives stored for meals. I know what’s in those storerooms, I helped organize them…I know where everything is…maybe he didn’t know? While he was barricading the door, I was grabbing the knives. They were right there…” Odysseus had lessened the weight he was pressing against her, allowing her to take a deep, shuddering breath. The memory was sour on her tongue, one that haunted her dreams still.

“When he turned to me, I rushed him with a knife in each hand, into his stomach - “ she was gasping again, the feeling of being trapped tensing her shoulders, the memory of the knives pushing into flesh making her blanch. She couldn’t look at Odysseus, so looked at his tunic instead. “That was a mistake, I should have focused on just one knife…I dropped the left knife and pressed the right one in and he pushed me away.” She closed her eyes, the look on the man’s face as he registered shock but also relief of sorts. “I hit the shelves hard, and ended up on the floor, but when I looked up to see him, his hands were on the knife. He said ‘thank you’ and turned it,” she involuntarily cried out a little, knowing that tears were streaming down her face. “It takes a long time for a man to die from a stomach wound, you know?” She saw him nod out of her peripheral vision. 

“I took another knife…he was on his knees…and he looked up at me. He nodded, almost…giving me permission? I slit his throat. That was another mistake. There was so much blood…” she looked at her hands, remembering the flood of blood that had covered them, and her dress, and her feet. “Then he collapsed. It must have happened so fast. I just sat and watched him. He wasn’t moving. I don’t know how much time passed…probably not much. I could hear my father and Perious on the other side of the door and it seemed to…wake me up. I started moving some of the boxes  from the door, and then my father and my brother Perious pushed in so hard they knocked me over again. My ladies had been…discreet…no one knew except those two, my father and Perious. Perious told everyone he had killed the slave for being a thief - the slave was found in the storeroom, after all.” She looked up at Odysseus again. His eyes weren’t as angry, but they were still horrified. “Slaves aren’t here because they want to be. They can turn at any time. I need my dagger.”

He pushed away from her and threw the dagger onto the bed, then pushed his hands through his hair. “This was why you weren’t a complete mess when you killed that man…”

She thought of the bandit she killed on their journey to Ithaca. “I did a better job with him.”

“Because I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“Because you can’t be everywhere at once!” Now she was shouting. “I don’t carry a dagger because you can’t protect me. I carry one because I cannot have a guard at every second, every time I turn a corner -” she slid to the floor and hid her head in her skirts.

She looked up as he grabbed her again, pulling her to the bed. He looked at her, his face a mask of anger, worry, wounded pride. Then he turned and walked out.

She stared at the door for a long time after he left. He left , she kept thinking. He just left . Worn out, she pulled several blankets around her and curled into a ball. She heard the dagger ping against the floor but left it where it fell. She stared at the wall until darkness closed around her, and her eyes closed of their own accord.

When she awoke to the light of day, she realized she was still alone.

Chapter Text

Penelope sat on the stairs, only half finished with her running. She was so tired. Her head felt heavy and a bit dizzy. She tipped her head down to her knees, and tried to breathe away the discomfort.

“My lady?” 

Leave it to Actoris to check on her when she wanted to be left alone. She raised her head and immediately wished she had not; her vision tilted and she tried to steady it by holding her jaw with her hands. When that didn’t work, she put her head down again and closed her eyes.

“Give me a minute,” she said.

“You need to lie down, my lady.” Actoris took her arm and helped her stand, giving her a moment to steady herself against the railing. 

Dymas, who was facing away from the stairs as usual, turned to watch with concern. “May I be of assistance?”

They took a step and Penelope stopped again. “Yes, Dymas. May I have your arm?”

He offered her his arm, and with Actoris holding her other arm, they made it back to the workroom. She had gone up and down those stairs at least three times already without problem, but now every step threatened to take her to the ground. 

Dymas dropped his arm at her bedroom door, and she thanked him as Actoris led her to the bed. She laid on her back, perfectly still, feeling her head still spinning. She heard a chair dragged to the bed, and knew that Actoris was sitting with her.

“My lady, can you tell me what is wrong?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“Dizzy,” Penelope’s head had started spinning faster, and she could barely manage the word.

“Rest,” Actoris commanded. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

By the evening, a feverish headache had added to Penelope’s dizziness, and she started struggling for breath. She was certain she was suffering from whatever sickness had plagued Odysseus. 

Actoris built up the linens behind her back as she had done for Odysseus, and started water to boil for the willow bark tea. “Here, my lady, drink this,” she said, holding the cup for her as she drank the bitter tea. “I’m sorry it took so long, we had to harvest more of the bark.”

Penelope’s brow creased. “We did so much,” she whispered. There were so many branches when they were working to strip the bark, and Odysseus hadn’t used very many before he was off the next morning. “Where did they go?”

“The king took them with him,” Actoris said. “Please finish the tea, my lady.”

Penelope obediently finished the cup, pulling the blankets close around her chin. Shivering would be next, she knew. Soon. She tried to catch her breath, and when she had enough air, asked, “Took them where?”

“I heard that he has gone to the other islands, my lady. They are saying that the king visits them regularly, and it takes a moon span or more each time.”

The other islands? He had actually left the island, not just the palace? 

He left. Without saying goodbye. Without sending a messenger to inform her. With no specific return date. Just gone. He would come back, she knew. 

For Ithaca.

Penelope turned away from Actoris and let the tears fall silently. She wanted to be angry, but couldn’t find the strength.

She was ill for many days. The severity of the sickness surprised her, since Odysseus had been up very soon after his fever broke. Knowing how intense the sickness was, she worried about Odysseus and how he was faring. Worrying about him reminded her of their last interaction and she found herself fluctuating between worrying and being furious. Why must he continually think that her dagger was a slight to his ability to care for her? And why had he left the island without reconciling with her, or at least telling her that he was leaving? 

Then there was his mother. He defended her without hearing both sides of the story or even asking the guards for their account. Anticlea hadn’t arrived at the palace since their altercation. Penelope relished the restful quiet in her absence.

Once she was well enough, she started to pace the palace. Food wouldn’t always stay in her stomach, and the dizziness would not go away, so she kept her ladies close to steady her. She refused to stay in just the women’s rooms, taking the opportunity presented by both Odysseus’s and Anticlea’s absence to venture into every room and question every slave for their names and their duties. 

Eurynome reported to her that the storerooms had been reorganized to her specifications, and Penelope visited those as well. Eurynome had done a brilliant job, and Penelope made sure she knew how well she had done. Then she took Eurynome on another tour of the palace.

This tour was not just of the palace rooms, though, but of the palace staff. She found Eurynome was well-versed in everyone’s duties, even on the men’s side of the palace. She knew who everyone was, and most of their schedules.

“Eurynome, how is it that you know everyone?” Penelope was puzzled; Eurynome had spent every waking hour with Anticlea for as long as Penelope had known her.

“I was a maid before you arrived, my lady. I have worked in many positions in the palace.” The blush that suffused her face transformed her from plain to charming, and Penelope studied her. She was someone who would go completely unnoticed in a room, but had the intelligence and interest to gather information. She was much like a squirrel with seeds, constantly gathering for future use.

“I would like to ask your opinion, Eurynome.” She asked her about the slaves she had observed who were not competent at their tasks. Between the two of them, they decided on training protocols for several of the other slaves, demotions for some, and reassignments for others. Penelope also requested that Eurynome suggest a male counterpart to oversee the men’s rooms. She didn’t even need to think about it but quickly named one of the more competent slaves that Penelope had observed, a tall dark-skinned man named Ops. 

With Eurynome and Ops working together, they implemented the changes in staffing. Within just a few days, Penelope began to see improvements in the palace. The rooms were cleaner, items started to have a home instead of roaming about as needed - and getting lost - and the staff were working better together. 

The household now more under control, Penelope had little to occupy her mind, and she resumed pacing. Sitting still made her focus almost entirely on the nausea that would not let her be, so spinning and weaving, or even sketching what she wanted to weave, remained undone. She did not wish to return to the weapons room after being so thoroughly chastised about her dagger, and the treasure room was still armed. 

The dizziness was sporadic regardless of what she was doing, but seemed to be getting worse.

Penelope woke late in the morning, dazed and a bit confused. She had taken to sleeping later in lieu of training, since her dizzy spells make active training difficult and in the case of running up and down stairs, dangerous. 

Her courses had been due the day after Odysseus left. After so many days, through sickness, recovery, and then being up and still nothing, she was certain she was pregnant. The thought turned the side of her mouth upwards, but even this small amount of happiness paled next to the emptiness in the palace and in her chest.

After the slaves readied her for the day, she began her daily rounds through the palace. Actoris walked by her side, hand on Penelope’s elbow in case she faltered. The other ladies fell behind, the guards following them. Penelope tried not to notice the eye rolling between Autonoe and Thebe, who were becoming fast friends. The pacing was boring them silly, but at least it gave them an opportunity to gossip. 

She could hear them and languidly allowed their silly chatter to entertain her mind, which was still vacillating between worry for Odysseus - was his ship safe? - to fury at both Odysseus and Anticlea. Currently the girls were giggling about Laertes sleeping with the stablehands over the stables. Apparently Anticlea had been driving him to distraction at the homestead. The news provoked a rare smile from Penelope. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering, though she did not wish ill on her father-in-law.

Thebe had heard of a death in one of the elder’s families in town. Autonoe expressed dismay, although she did not know the elder or the family. Penelope did not know them either, by name or reputation. Autonoe whispered of a house slave that had snuck out to meet with one of the stable men. 

Odysseus, Penelope thought, would be upset at this last piece of information. Slaves were only allowed to breed with their master’s permission. She couldn’t find it within herself to care one way or the other. At least someone was finding comfort.

Actor turned the conversation from its dangerous path, saying, “Dymas, have you heard anything new about Timnes’s family?” Penelope could not hear his soft response. “I haven’t, either,” he continued. He mentioned a few more families, and Penelope felt a stirring of interest. What was happening with these families? And how was Timnes involved?

Her night guard had changed when Odysseus left, since he took Timnes and Polites with him. She had thought only to be grateful to still have Dymas and Actor, but had not wondered more about any of the crew that had gone with Odysseus. 

Penelope stopped walking, causing her entourage to almost bump into her as she stood, head tilted to the side, looking intently at Actor first, then Dymas. The ladies apologized, bowing, and lining up against the corridor wall as Penelope continued to consider the guards. The guards themselves looked at each other uncertainly, then stood at attention, waiting for their queen to speak. Or, as was more likely, to continue pacing.

“How many men did the king take with him?” she asked finally, her voice quiet but with purpose. 

“Seventy-five,” Dymas replied. 

She considered again. Seventy-five men from a small island at the end of winter. “How many have families?”

“About half,” Dymas again stated. 

“How many of those are struggling without their men to assist them?” 

“All,” said Actor. Neither he nor Dymas met her gaze. 

“All,” she repeated. “All.” She began walking again, this time with a destination in mind. 

Within an hour or so, her attendants had gathered several baskets of grain, dried fruits, nuts, and smoked fish. They also added extra items that might come in handy, such as candles, bandages, and empty water jars. She asked the guards to find additional guards to accompany them into town to deliver the baskets.

Actor objected, but his objection was mild. 

She did not tell him that this was her first time doing this particular activity. Her father would have been furious, and she knew that Odysseus might be - would be? - as well. A princess - or queen - should be sequestered in the palace or the palace grounds. If there were duties that needed to be done outside the palace, slaves could be assigned. 

She didn't care. If her people were in need - especially because of the actions of her husband - how could she not help?

Placing her focus on her people would also help her stop the mental loop she couldn’t seem to escape. Or at least she hoped it would.

Penelope easily overrode Actor’s objection. He was concerned with the struggling families, and in the absence of being commanded otherwise, he was perfectly happy to follow her orders. They ate their own midday meal, then prepared to go into town. She asked Actor and Dymas to lead them, which they did after securing several other guards to go with them into town.

Their first stop was at the fountain in the middle of the town, and she had the ladies fill the jars they had brought with water. 

Always intrigued by the fountain, Penelope sat on the wide lip and watched the water lap against the edge while her ladies were busy. She narrowed her eyes at the water - was it really Corax’s mother? She dipped her hand into the water, the question held firmly in her mind. Immediately, she felt drowned in deep darkness, blackness washing over her eyes, and a hole of grief gaping and pulsing in her chest. The impression was so strong that she doubled over with it, taking her hand from the water.

It was gone as soon as it had come, and she took deep breaths to try and remove the blanketing feeling of despair that remained. Actoris and Kynna were by her side within moments, fluttering and asking if she was alright. She was able to smile dimly at them, assuring them that it was a bout of nausea, which had passed as quickly as it came. She stood, moving away from the fountain and eyeing it warily. 

Penelope was not about to try that again.

The ladies handed the full water jars to the extra guards for carrying, and with another round of assurance that she was fine, the party left the fountain behind.

They didn’t encounter many people outdoors, since the air was cold and the wind brisk. Penelope pulled her cloak over her head to shield her from the biting winds. The air helped to calm her nausea and clear her head, further convincing her that this was a good idea. They reached a collection of small homes, where they could hear a baby crying fitfully from a small cottage, and she pointed at it, looking at Actor and Dymas. “That one?” Actor gave her a curt nod, and she motioned to the door. 

The guards surrounded the front of the home. Once they were assured that the queen would be safe, Dymas nodded to her. She walked to the door and knocked.

A small, plump woman holding a squalling baby answered the door. The baby had the plaintive sound of a newborn, and the mother’s hair was lank and greasy, wisps plastered to her face. Penelope thought she probably hadn’t had a moment to herself for days.

Dymas announced, “Her Majesty, Queen Penelope.”

The woman tried to curtsy with the baby with limited success.

“Please, rise. I heard your little one, and it has been ever so long since I held a baby. Could I possibly…” she held out her arms as the woman looked at her with wide eyes. The woman glanced at Penelope’s ladies, and took in the guards, and handed over the baby, looking uncertain and a bit frightened.

Penelope took the babe and gently rocked it in her arms. The baby did not stop squalling, of course, but she talked over the cries. “What is your name?” she asked the woman.

“They call me Bris,” she said with a bit of a lisp. Penelope found it endearing.

“May we come in for a spell?” she asked politely.

Bris looked overwhelmed. “My lady, my home is…not ready for company, especially for such as yourselves…” she glanced helplessly behind her, where two small children were peeking out from behind a table with two chairs.

“Well, hello,” Penelope called to them gently. “Who have we here?”

The woman took a step back to see who Penelope was referring to, and said, “Those are my daughters, my lady.”

Penelope used the small opening to brush past Bris, motioning for her ladies to follow. Once inside, she saw what the woman meant: there was only one room and belongings were strewn about everywhere. Used bowls and spoons were scattered on the table, clothes were on the chairs, on the floor, and on the pallets stacked to the side of the hearth at the opposite end of the room. A small cauldron was heating on the fire, but there wasn’t a smell of food coming from it; perhaps it was warming water for laundry.

She indicated the table and the chairs to her women, who immediately set about tidying and cleaning, using the water they had drawn from the fountain. Bris looked dismayed. “My lady…”

“Bris,” she said placatingly, “You look like you could use a few minutes off your feet.” She nodded to a chair.

“I couldn’t, my lady. I couldn’t sit in your presence…” she was becoming more confused and upset by the moment.

“I insist,” Penelope said firmly, and one of the ladies pressed her into the chair. Once the table was mostly cleared, Penelope laid the baby on the table and quickly unwrapped the baby, asking for winding rags; the poor thing was soaked. Again, Bris held up her hands to stop Penelope, but Penelope just shook her head.

“I miss having babies around,” she said softly, cooing to the child. “I raised my five brothers, and though they are grown, I miss themas infants the most. Before they learned to talk back.” She looked at Bris with a smile, then returned her attention to the babe. His little fingers wound around hers, even in his distress, and the movement pricked her heart. 

Thebe was the first to arrive with rags and a wet cloth, which Penelope used to clean the little boy before rewrapping him in clean rags. She asked Kynna to get a small blanket from the pile of linens she had brought, and wrapped him in the soft linen. The boy was noticeably quieter, but still whimpering. Penelope held him across her body and turned side to side, hushing him while pointedly giving her ladies instructions. She had one sweeping, one piling dirty clothing for laundry, one combing one of the younger children’s hair, and another tidying up the pallets in the corner, readying them for the night ahead. When everything looked as tidy as they could make it, Penelope had Actoris bring one of the packets of food to the table.

The woman had given up protesting and sat slack-jawed as activity took over her home. Since the room was so small, the ladies had to take turns to keep from running into one another, but Penelope stood the entire time, rubbing the baby’s back until he finally lapsed into slumber. “Bris,” she addressed her again, “Would you like a moment to yourself? Or would you rather we leave while the little one is sleeping?”

Bris held out her arms for the baby, and Penelope passed over the little one with a pang of regret. Soon, she told herself, watching Bris tuck him into her arms protectively.

“I hope we haven’t intruded too long,” she said quietly, motioning for her ladies to leave the room. “I hope you have a lovely afternoon - what is left of it,” for the sun only had about another hour left in the sky. “Do you know of anyone else that could use a few extra hands?”

“Oh, my lady, my poor neighbor Lyra has her hands full - with her mother being blind and a sick child and her husband also off to the seas.”

“Which home?”

Bris pointed to a home two houses away, and they set off again. Neighbors had come to the door to see about the commotion, and Penelope had the ladies pass out all but one of the remaining packages of food stores before heading to the next house.

As they walked, Penelope heard one of her ladies - she thought it might be Kynna - complain that they were being treated like house slaves. She would need to address the comment later, when they had returned to the palace.

Lyra’s home was much cleaner. An older woman, probably the blind mother, was spinning in a chair. Lyra herself, a middle-aged woman who was thin and drawn, sat next to a pallet that held a bundled child, telling her a story. The child was bright with fever. Penelope asked if they could tidy anything up - not that she saw anything - and had a lady sweep before leaving the small family with a package of food. Lyra did not protest quite as much as Bris, but was also intimidated by the visit. 

As they walked away, Penelope promised herself that her people would not be intimidated by her - and that she would be a fixture in their lives. “Eurynome?”

Her lady fell into step next to her. “Yes, my lady?”

“Can you send a messenger with willow bark to Lyra’s home with instructions on how to brew it?”

“Yes, my lady.” She returned to the other ladies and Actoris, always near, took Penelope’s elbow as she wobbled a little. She might have done a bit much for one day, but she couldn’t regret any of it.

Once they returned to the palace, she thanked all her attendants. She also told them all that they were excused from the duty the next day if they found it unpleasant. However, they were expected to help prepare packages the following morning regardless of their feelings. They nodded and she excused them.

She slept soundly that night for the first time since her fight with Odysseus. 

The next few days followed in much the same way: they spent the morning preparing linens, candles, bandages, and foodstuffs for distribution, then headed to the town after their midday meal. Penelope wasn’t feeling any better, but the excursions gave her a new purpose. She also found, to her relief, that none of her ladies asked to be excused - and she did not hear additional complaints. 

On the sixth day of this routine, Penelope had just finished her morning drink and was bringing her ladies to order when Anticlea strode into the workroom. 

Penelope asked her ladies to start working and rose to meet her. “Anticlea,” she said. She found she was pleased that Anticlea had returned, but was not ready to welcome her back unconditionally. Nor was she going to call her mitéra . She had assumed that she wouldn’t see her mother-in-law again until Odysseus returned and forced a reconciliation. 

Anticlea curtsied. “Queen Penelope.”

Penelope’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you well, Anticlea?”

“May I speak with you, daughter?” Anticlea’s eyes were downcast, her voice tentative.

Penelope was so shocked she didn’t answer for a moment. Blinking, she finally answered, “Yes, you may.”

Anticlea rose from her curtsy and gestured toward the side of the room. Actoris came to Penelope’s side, grasping her elbow, and Anticlea narrowed her eyes slightly. “Alone?”

“If I may have your arm. I have been dizzy of late.” She did not want to touch Anticlea, did not really want to talk to her. Since she had shown respect thus far, though, Penelope decided to give her a chance. She held out her hand, and Anticlea stood beside her so that Penelope could grasp her arm.

“Are you well, daughter?” Unlike Penelope’s similar question a moment earlier, this one was sincere.

Penelope was not interested in sharing her current state. “Why are you here, Anticlea?”

She was quiet for a moment as they strolled to the side of the room. “I have misjudged you, and I must explain myself. And perhaps…apologize.” Again her eyes were downcast, and a slight blush colored her cheeks.

Penelope hummed and indicated she should continue.

“Odysseus likes sweet young things…but then he chews them up and spits them out. I was unsure that you would last, to be quite honest. Odysseus needs someone with backbone, someone who can stand up to him. I thought perhaps that Helen might be that person.”

Penelope scoffed as Anticlea said her name.

“Yes, I know I don’t know her. But she is beautiful and a child of Zeus -”

“As you have said repeatedly -”

“And I thought those two qualifications might keep Odysseus…interested. You showed up, so young, so sweet, so accommodating. I did not know if you would go back to Sparta in tears, or if you would try to turn Ithaca into another Sparta. I did not know where your loyalties would lie.”

Penelope bit her lip to stall an angry retort..

“Then you stood up to me. I was very angry at first, I’ll admit.” They turned and continued to pace along the far side of the room. “I started to reflect, these many past days. You have reorganized what was amiss in the household. You have recognized the gem that Eurynome is and have started using her talents. I have heard about the staffing changes you have begun to make.” Anticlea gave her a sidelong look. “They are long overdue.”

Penelope dropped her own gaze.

“I am an old woman with strong opinions.”

“An honest characterization, though I wouldn’t call you old.” 

“I am willing to admit when I was wrong.” She stopped and faced Penelope, taking her hands. “I apologize. You were right; my…unkind treatment of you was disrespectful to both you and my king.”

Penelope did not know how to respond, so she remained quiet. Anticlea continued their stroll around the room. “If you will have me, I would like to help with your newest project. This is another example of where you have shown my judgement of you to be incorrect. You are helping our people. Without direction, without prodding.” She nodded to where the ladies were putting together the baskets on the other side of the room. “It was terrible timing for Odysseus to pull those men from the island; he usually waits until there is a small harvest so that everyone has plenty to eat. He must have been very angry, and I take responsibility for at least some of that, if not all. When his temper rises, it rises quickly, and abates usually just as quickly. I wish he would have stayed to show you that part.” She stopped again, dropping into another curtsy. “Will you have me?”

Penelope found she had tears in her eyes. She had wanted a relationship with this woman so badly. Her apology was more than Penelope had ever expected of her, her explanation far more than Penelope could have dreamed. “I would like that.” She was not ready to forgive her, but they needed to have a working relationship. She was willing to go that far.

Penelope showed her what they were preparing and how they were planning on spending the day. Anticlea joined in creating the bundles of foodstuffs and efficiently organized several other items that Penelope had not thought of: small bundles of needles and thread, which poorer women would have difficulty obtaining; extra blankets; and even a bundle of firewood that she gave to a guard to carry.

Their group stopped so Penelope could snuggle Bris’s little boy before moving onto the other homes in the town. They were only able to visit a few homes each day, but they provided baskets of goods to at least a dozen. More importantly, in Penelope’s eyes, she was seeing her people and understanding their lives better. There were so many who relied on the sea for their livelihood; they would trap or fish, then use what they collected for food and to make other items such as needles, hooks, and so on. When their men were gone with the king, as they were now, the families had to live on what they had stored. For some, it wasn’t much.

Today they were visiting the middle classes, and Penelope was excited when the next door opened to reveal Chloe, Polites’s wife.

“My lady!” Chloe enthusiastically welcomed their group into their home, which was a multi-roomed home that seemed to have been around for many years. The home and furnishings were older, but in good repair, and tasteful touches were everywhere: a small vase filled with branches adorned a cupboard, a tapestry of the twelve gods and goddesses filled a wall of their sitting room, a thick rug lay before the hearth.

She was almost in tears when presented with the basket of food, which told Penelope that she, like many other wives, was struggling to feed her family without her husband home to hunt and fish for them during the winter months. Penelope gave her a hug, letting her know that the palace had far too much and needed to distribute the largess before it went bad on their shelves.

Chloe sniffed, then smiled widely. “Since you are here, would you like to meet the children? They have already damaged everything here, so I won’t worry about them like I would at the palace.”

“Please,” Penelope said, Actoris stepping forward already to take her elbow. 

Chloe caught the movement and a frown puckered her smooth forehead. “Are you well, my lady?”

“Well enough,” Penelope said with a smile. “Let’s find your ‘heathens.’” She turned to Anticlea. “If you would like to give out the rest of the baskets while I play with the children, that would be helpful.”

“I would be pleased to do so, daughter.” Anticlea gathered everyone and left with all but a few guards and the ever-present Actoris. 

Chloe raised her eyebrows at Penelope as they left. “Seems like there has been a warm wind blowing through the palace.”

Penelope laughed a little. “It is still not quite as warm as your home, but I have hope.” 

Chloe laughed and escorted her and Actoris to the nursery.

As they made their way back to the palace, Anticlea waved over a few of the elders that were starting to gather by the fountain in the late afternoon. She introduced Penelope, who tried not to let her astonishment show. Not so long ago, her mother-in-law had called her a bastard of a whore; now she was introducing her to the very people she tried to keep from her at festivals.

Penelope asked the elders to invite their wives to the palace in the morning. Anticlea nodded in approval. Penelope mentioned that she had already invited Chloe and her mother-in-law Maiandria. She could tell that Anticlea had to bite her lip to keep from reprimanding her; Anticlea had wanted to be asked first. Penelope just smiled. 

They finally returned to the palace, where Penelope invited Anticlea to stay for the evening meal. She accepted.

“Tell me, daughter,” she said over a bowl of lentils and fish, “does Odysseus know of your current activities?”

Penelope bit her lip and met her mother-in-law’s stare, but did not answer. 

“I thought so,” she muttered. “You -” she pointed at Penelope,” have a brain inside that pretty little head.” She laughed to herself.

Penelope was astounded by the compliment. She wondered, not for the first time that day, if Anticlea had hit her head. “Thank you for your help today,” she responded. “You are welcome to join us every day, if you wish.” 

The items Anticlea had brought were invaluable. The firewood especially was an item that was in much need. Bris, for example, couldn’t easily cut her own wood with her children running about her feet. There were many young families in her situation. A few extra bundles of wood made their day so much easier.

Anticlea just nodded. “I’ll be here. I am also sending a message to the physician to come see you as soon as possible.”

Penelope waved the comment away. “If you wish, but I doubt it will do any good.” She had never had a good experience with a physician in Sparta, and had finally determined that trial and error mixed with logic helped more than a physician’s visit. Since she didn’t want to ruin the first positive day between herself and Anticlea, she just allowed it.

That night, Penelope looked at the empty bed sadly. “Odysseus,” she murmured, almost like a prayer, “your mother and I have…well, I can’t say we have reconciled, not exactly. But we are working together peacefully. And talking more than we ever have. All in one day.” She clasped her hands together. “And I miss you. Please come home safely.”

She knelt and prayed to the gods as well: Poseidon, to bring them safely across the waters; Aeolus, to bring them favorable winds; Zeus, to give them sunny skies. But most of all, she prayed to Athena, who she knew was watching over Odysseus. “Bring him home,” she prayed. “Just bring him home.”

The next morning, shooting pains in her abdomen announced the end of her short pregnancy. Her tears poured out with the blood and the cramping pain, and she mourned the small one that would not live to meet its parents. Would it have been a girl, dark like Odysseus and Anticlea? A boy, that they could train to take the throne one day? 

She asked her ladies to give her regrets to her mother-in-law and retired for the day. Once they had left, she allowed herself to give in to the wrenching sorrow and sobbed.

Three quarters of a moon cycle had passed since Odysseus had left. 

Penelope told Anticlea about the miscarriage later in the day; it was impossible to hide from the slaves and Penelope knew it would take time before she could hide it from anyone at all. Anticlea listened in silence, then leaned over Penelope to give her a swift kiss on the forehead before leaving her alone. Penelope was surprised at the comfort she derived from the interaction: no blaming, no hashing over the terrible news, just acceptance and space to heal.

Anticlea came at the end of the day to report that two of the elder’s wives had arrived to help. They each brought something to add to the baskets: one brought sweet buns encrusted with nuts and honey made by her slaves and the other brought dolls that her own daughters had outgrown. She listed the families they had helped, wished Penelope health, and left for the night.

As the days passed, more showed up with gifts of their own, and the workroom became a social center. Anticlea welcomed the ladies and their contributions, excusing Penelope because she was unwell.

The miscarriage had left Penelope despondent and fatigued, and she spent most mornings resting. The physician had come and gone, without anything helpful to add. He pronounced that she was sick in spirit, needing rest and her husband to return. Even Anticlea agreed that his assessment was worthless.

Without an answer, they just hoped and prayed for her strength to return.

And so Penelope was excused from all activity once again. When she felt up to it, she would sit up in bed and sew characters into the cloth for teaching Odysseus to read. It never satisfied her for long: it made her think of her husband, sailing on the treacherous seas and possibly finding rebellions on the other islands - he had told her about one that his reign had already put down. Her mind turned to the worst scenarios, wondering if he were hurt or in need of help that would not come. 

Anticlea continued to check in with her each day, seeing if she were up to accompanying them to town and letting her know who was in attendance. Penelope decided to leave her room when Chloe was announced; sitting in the midst of all the bustle would be much more interesting than staring at her walls for another day. Actoris walked her to the settee so that she could rest, and Chloe moved a chair nearby so she could sit and talk with her.

“My lady, may I ask if you are all right?” 

Of course Chloe would notice that she was not looking better; in fact, Penelope was certain she looked worse. “I am just tired,” she replied. “The physician said I just need my husband home.” She gave her a wan smile.

“The palace physician?” Chloe looked worried.

“Yes.” Penelope tilted her head. “Why?”

Chloe scooted her chair closer. “He is the brother of Bias, did you know?”

“Bias? Glyke’s husband?” Penelope didn’t see why this was an issue; just because the man had a wanton Sebasteia for a niece didn’t necessarily mark him as a problem.

Chloe nodded. “Their whole family has been trying to get one of theirs on the throne for generations, since before King Laertes. You know that Sebasteia was trying to get Odysseus to marry her?”

Penelope nodded, not sure that she wanted to encourage gossip, but intrigued all the same.

“Polites says they are always on the lookout to take the throne. He dislikes them greatly - not just because he is a friend of the king, but also just because they are greedy and selfish. If one of them took the throne, Ithaca would become nothing more than their playground. They would raise taxes, take whatever they wanted from whomever they wanted.”

“Then why would the king employ a physician from their family, if he is not to be trusted?” Penelope believed strongly that Odysseus was a good judge of character - with the exception of his characterization of Helen.

Chloe shrugged. “Perhaps to keep him under a watchful eye? At any rate, don’t believe what he tells you outright.”

Penelope smiled. “That I do not. Though that is more because I do not trust physicians generally, not because I specifically distrust this one. I will be well soon enough, I’m sure.” She hoped. “Please tell me what your children have been up to,” she requested, eager to hear more of their exploits.

“Into, more like. Have you ever had to clean off a child who got into the honey?”

Days and nights continued to pass, Penelope no better. Nights were the worst, as the cold settled inside her bones and worry circled through her mind. 

Penelope was bundled in bed with all the blankets piled on top of her, but she just couldn’t seem to get warm. It was late into the night and she was still shivering, muscles tense. The fire was banked so that warmth would continue all night, but it seemed to be doing less than usual to ward off the chill.

The bed gave a little, and something tugged at her blanket. She jumped, spinning out of bed and accidentally dragging most of the blankets with her.

“Your reflexes are slow,” Odysseus drawled. “Do you have your blade on me?”

“N…n…nooo,” she stuttered. She pulled the blankets she had closer. “You’re back. Thank the goddess.” She climbed back onto the bed, where Odysseus had taken the one blanket she had left behind.

She took a moment to rearrange their blankets, still shivering, then drew close to him, luxuriating in his warmth. She turned into him, inhaling the warmth and catching a whiff of the sea. She buried her face into his hair, bringing fistfuls of it to her face. “You smell like the water.”

“You’re so cold,” he muttered, pulling her closer. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“I’m furious,” she responded, tangling her legs with his and placing her cold toes on the back of this calf. 

“If this is furious, I’ll take it.”

“It’s late, I can always yell at you tomorrow. At the moment, let me just be warm for the first time in years…”

“A moon?”

“Centuries…”

He kissed her softly, and she allowed it. She finally was starting to feel a little warmer, and her muscles were cramping a bit as they relaxed. She was having a hard time being angry with him when she had missed him so much. To add to that, she was a little worried about how angry he would be when he found out how much she had been out and about the town - when he had left partially because she had walked outside the palace walls. 

“Will you allow me to apologize?” he asked.

“Only if you stay and keep me warm,” she answered.

He nuzzled her neck. “Okay.” He breathed against her chest, which really did help warm her quickly. She buried her hands into his hair, but then moved them so they were cocooned between their bodies.

“Wait. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a king apologize… ”

He pulled back a tiny bit. “Your father never apologized?”

“He would say something like, ‘More information has been brought to my attention and I am revisiting my previous words.’ Not exactly an apology. However, I do think you make it seem very kingly.”

He chuckled softly.

“Did you just get in?” she asked. “It’s so late…”

“We’ve docked earlier this evening.” he answered.

She thought of Bris and Lyra and the other wives she had visited. They would be so happy to have their husbands back. Hopefully their husbands had gone straight home. If Odysseus had come straight home, she could already be warm and asleep.

“Scared to see how much trouble you were in?”

He chuckled, but there was little humor in the sound. “A bit. Yes. Even Polites thought I was doomed - Polites! Who is like a blind man stumbling about on an unfamiliar mountainside when it comes to women. Timnes and my sister agreed that I should crawl back to you on my belly.”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough.” 

This time, his laugh lightened. “Gods, I missed you,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her breastbone.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

He shook his hair back and she tucked a few stray hairs back behind his ear for him. “We visited the other islands in the kingdom. I had to leave,” he said more quietly. “I shouldn’t have left so long, and perhaps I shouldn’t have gone off island, but if I stayed…” He sighed. “If I stayed, I would have said words that I would regret. You say that feelings come and go. Yet, even when I was so angry…I loved you. I couldn’t stay and hurt you.”

She hummed a little, understanding a bit and yet not agreeing. She ran her now-warm fingertips lightly over his arms, wondering what new wounds he had picked up this time. 

When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Keep your dagger,” he said.

“Truly?”

“But don’t bring it to bed.”

“Okay,” she said. “There’s no place to hide it anyway.”

He chuckled softly. “My mother…”

She put a finger to his lips. “We’ve sorted things out between us. We may never be best friends, but she is here every day as before, and we’re working well together.” 

Odysseus looked at her in shock. “Are you sure? Polites finally got around to telling me some of the things she was saying to you -”

“We’re fine, Odysseus.”

He studied her again in the dim light of the hearth. “You could have told me, I would have helped.”

She shook her head. “You getting involved would have made it worse. Anyway, that issue has resolved itself.” She debated whether she should tell him that Anticlea had apologized. She decided to keep it to herself.

He sighed in obvious relief. “Then the last item is leaving the palace -”

She stopped him again, this time with a kiss. “That could be a long conversation,” she said. Her fingers hit a new scab on his arm and she frowned. “Did you find a fight?” she asked.

“Pirates were attacking one of my towns on the other side of the big island,” he said with a touch of anger. “We were able to rout them, but it was a near thing.”

“How are your men?” she asked, thinking of Polites and then of the families in the town who had been suffering with their men gone.

“Everyone escaped with only minor injuries and bruises except for Mentor. He’ll be limping the remainder of his days,” he said with a wince. 

“How is he with numbers?” she asked, her groggy mind making connections she might have struggled with by day.

Odysseus thought for a moment. “He is in charge of supplies for the boats, I would say he is excellent with numbers. Why?”

“You,” she said, tapping him gently on his chest, “Need a steward.”

He considered it. “You may be right.”

She kissed him again. “Of course I am. I am also tired, it is so late.” She turned in his arms, snuggling her back against his chest. “Good night, Odysseus my own. I’m so glad you’re home.”

He ran a finger down her braid, then pulled it up and over her shoulder to rest in front of her. “Home,” he mused. “Every time I have traveled, I have wished for home, like I was missing a crucial part of my being when I sailed away. I would think of home and see this island. The sea breaking on the rocks and lazily lapping at the beaches. My parents, the palace, the homestead, the orchard…this time was different.”

Penelope hummed to show she was still listening.

“This time, when I thought of home, all I could see was you. Penelope mine, I shouldn’t have left.”

“Especially without telling me.”

“Especially without telling you. You are my home.”

“Welcome home, Odysseus my own.”

Penelope was woken by a feather light touch on her face, which she quickly batted away. She had, after all, been awakened many times by brothers who thought tickling was a hilarious way to wake her. One of the many reasons she usually woke early.

She opened her eyes to see Odysseus, already dressed, sitting in the early morning light and reaching out to her face again. She put her hands in front of her face. “I’ll get up, just a few more minutes,” she mumbled.

“Penelope mine.” His voice was serious, and she thought immediately that he had heard - somehow - about the baby. Or about her daily activities. She and Anticlea had promised to approach him together, at least about the visits to the town.

“Later,” she begged, pulling a sheet over her head. They had just made up, did they need to start fighting again this morning?

“Penelope, what is going on?”

She sighed and pulled the blanket down. He again reached for her face and she flinched but allowed him to place his hand on her forehead. She drew her eyebrows together. “Hmm?”

“You…don’t look well.”

She sighed and said drily, “And you look like a god in the early mornings, I know. We can’t all be you, Odysseus.” She tried to turn it into a joke. She knew what he was seeing: her face was pale and drawn, and there were bruise-like shadows under her eyes. 

“What is going on?”

Tears pricked her eyes and rolled down her face. “I lost our baby,” she managed before a sob broke. His eyes softened with sorrow and he cupped her cheek.

“When?”

She sniffed. “Eight days?” She wasn’t entirely sure, time had felt so fluid and nonsensical lately.

“I didn’t even know,” he whispered.

“I didn’t know myself until after you had gone.”

He touched the hollows under her eyes, in her cheeks, along her collarbones. “This is much more than that. Isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m just sick,” she said. “Or something.” She sat up, and dizziness set in. She steadied herself for a moment, the grief of the miscarriage threatening to rip a hole in her chest. Once she had regained her balance, she rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. “Anticlea had the physician in, he said I was probably just pining for you.” She gave a lackluster grin. “And now you’re home. I should be fine.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Mother sent for the physician?”

“Don’t worry, please. I’ll heal,” she said. “Go - I’ll see you later?”

He stood, but his brows were still furrowed and he looked unconvinced. “I am going to ask him to visit again. Are you available this morning?”

She nodded. Perhaps it would be best if he came to the workroom this morning; she and Anticlea could talk with him together and he would see the support she had for her project. With all the people she had met, and with her relationship with her mother-in-law growing better each day, she was determined not to be locked back in the palace again. Sick or no.

“Odysseus is back,” Penelope stated as Anticlea walked into the workroom the next morning. “We should speak with him about -” she waved to the baskets already being filled by the slaves. 

“Probably before we leave to give these out,” Anticlea agreed. 

They shared a worried look. Once again, Penelope had not asked permission first. This particular activity also took the women out of the palace daily. Penelope had no idea what Odysseus would do, but she was worried that he would not be supportive. He might even be angry. Again.

“Perhaps we should send for him, talk to him now.” Anticlea tapped her finger against her lips.

“He’ll think it's an emergency. It might make him more angry. He was sending for the physician again - he might come to our rooms this morning. We should be ready when he arrives.”

“I’ll get these baskets ready. You are resting this morning?”

Since Penelope was already lounging on the settee, she considered the question to be superfluous. Part of her wanted to snap at Anticlea, make a case for resting. Part of her knew that Anticlea was just verifying that Penelope wasn’t feeling up to helping, and that part prevailed. “Yes, I’m hoping to have enough energy to go out this afternoon.”

Anticlea nodded, and headed off to supervise the slaves. It was a miserable morning outdoors, sheets of rain being snapped by the wind over the island, and none of the ladies from town made it to the palace. The physician and Odysseus did not make an appearance either.

She looked at Anticlea across the room, and an understanding passed between them. They needed to speak with him soon. Penelope got to her feet and moved to her guards, seeking out Actor. He saw her headed toward him and stood a bit taller.

“Actor, would you find the king and request a private audience for myself and Anticlea?”

If he was surprised, he did not show it. He simply nodded and walked towards the men’s rooms. Perhaps he was finally getting used to her oddly timed requests. She looked again to her mother-in-law and walked back to her dressing room to make sure she was presentable for an official audience, Actoris at her elbow.

When she returned to the workroom, Actor was also just returning. He motioned to her and Anticlea, and they left just as the slaves started serving the midday meal. They were led to the throne room, where Odysseus waited, standing in front of his throne. He dismissed Actor and Actoris and faced his wife and mother. 

“The physician came to see you?” he asked.

Penelope shook her head. “No, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I will send for him again.”

Anticlea cleared her throat. “Son, we are here about something else.”

He sat and motioned for her to speak. Penelope stood by her side, trying to keep herself from wobbling. 

Anticlea outlined the basics of their activities: the food preparations, the necessary items, the daily visits to the townspeople. Penelope marveled again at how opaque Odysseus could be when he wanted to be; no emotions showed on his face at all. When she had finished, he turned to Penelope.

“How are our stores?”

She explained how much had spoiled in the storerooms, and her suspicion that much of what was stored was probably going to spoil within the next few moons. Plenty of time to fill the stores again with a new harvest, but these stores should be used before they were ruined. With winter upon them - even as mild as it was in their climate - there were subjects who needed assistance. She wanted to help. She wanted to know them. It seemed a good solution on many sides.

He nodded. He took a moment to think. Anticlea took Penelope’s arm, and Penelope gave her a grateful smile.

“My dear mother and wife. This is an elegant solution. I cannot pretend that I approve of you going out. However, I am prepared to agree that it is a worthwhile cause. You have also provided for your safety.” He took another moment. “I am concerned, however,” he said, looking specifically at Penelope, “that the queen is not well enough to continue these visits.”

Anticlea looked at her and Penelope saw in her eyes the same look that Odysseus had given her just that morning: a realization at how frail she had become. 

She didn’t know what was wrong. She did know that it was getting worse, and that Odysseus would not allow her to endanger herself. She bowed her head and said, “You are right, my lord. I will have your mother lead the group to deliver our gifts. There are several ladies from town that have also joined us each day; there is no shortage of hands available.”

He walked toward them and embraced them both tightly. “Did you really need to ask for an audience?” he asked, with a half grin. 

“It was the easiest way to talk to you in private,” his mother responded.

He allowed that, kissing his mother on her cheek and resting his cheek against Penelope’s for a moment before stepping back. “I am impressed by your compassion for our people, ladies. He cupped Penelope’s cheek. “Please rest. I’ll find out what is keeping the physician.”

She curtsied slowly, keeping her balance thanks to Anticlea’s strong hold on her. “Yes, my lord.”

“Also, Penelope, the storerooms will be filling again today; the ships are full from our voyage. I’ll have the sailors stack them in the corridors so you can inventory them and decide where you want them.”

“Actually, Eurynome and Ops can decide; I have placed them over the storerooms. Could you also ask Mentor to assist as he is able?” She was pleased that they wouldn’t be just added haphazardly to the storerooms she had worked so hard to bring to order, but more pleased that there was someone to whom she could entrust them. Anticlea watched the interaction with interest but did not comment. 

“Mother, a word?”

“Of course.” 

Penelope turned and left. It was an unfamiliar feeling to be comfortable leaving Anticlea behind. She was not worried that her mother-in-law was trying to undermine her with Odysseus. There was also the distinct possibility she needed to sit or lie down so badly that she didn’t have the strength to worry about Anticlea, but she pushed that thought aside.

The physician again found nothing of concern. Other than the obvious fact that Penelope was dizzy, tired, slightly nauseous, and having difficulty concentrating.

That night her guards Timnes and Polites were back on duty. When they saw her, they both went on one knee. “Welcome back,” she said. They typically did not even so much as acknowledge her - other than a wink or two from Polites - so she tilted her head and waited for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, she told them to rise and went to enter her room. 

Polites stopped her with an emotional, “Thank you for taking care of my family.” 

Timnes added, “My mother and wife thank Hestia for you daily, my lady.”

She smiled at them both. “The gods have blessed us all with your return,” she replied. “The crown is grateful for your service, and I hope our meager gifts show at least a portion of our gratitude..” She held out her hands, allowing each guard to kiss one lightly. 

The need for the food baskets may be diminished now that the men were home, but Penelope resolved to continue visiting her people. How else could she know what they needed? But first, she needed to get well.

The next morning, Odysseus introduced Penelope to Eurycleia, a slave who had nursed him and Ctimene. “I have asked her to be your shadow. She nursed me and Ctimene through many illnesses.”

Eurycleia reminded Penelope of a bird: small, alert, and very active. Penelope worried that being with her would bore Eurycleia, since it seemed all she did these days was lay about.

“My lady, I am pleased to be of service.” She curtsied, and Odysseus left Penelope with a kiss. After he had left the room, Eurycleia turned again to Penelope. “I’m not certain I can be of much help, but I will follow you and see what I can learn.”

After a few days, Eurycleia decided that the best way to help Penelope was to feed her. Constantly. Penelope wasn’t eating much at meals, so Eurycleia carried around a small basket and gave her something small every few minutes. A piece of flatbread. A few raisins. A handful of olives. Penelope often wouldn’t eat more than a bite, but Eurycleia kept at it.

Penelope was surprised that she did start to feel a little better. Within another few days, she had enough energy to sit with Mentor, Eurynome, and Ops to update the storeroom inventory. 

Both Anticlea and Odysseus were relieved when Penelope had the stamina to finish her tapestry design and began to weave.

The winter was finally drawing to a close, and planting had started. With the men home and crops starting to produce, the need for additional food for the townspeople diminished. Penelope and Anticlea continued to visit the townspeople, but no longer needed to bring supplies or as many ladies with them. Penelope’s health remained precarious - for not even additional food returned her health to what it had been - but no one could keep her from her people.

Chapter Text

Eurycleia wanted to catch up with chores in the nursery, and so Penelope sat on the wide balcony railing just outside the nursery with Actoris, wondering what chores possibly needed to be done when there weren’t any children in the palace. There was a lovely view from the balcony: the fields were being furrowed below her and the smell of newly turned earth drifted to her on the slight breeze. Odysseus was working with the men as they drove the oxen through the field, and she watched as he laughed with them and helped spread manure in front of the plough.

He was a very different sort of king, she thought. Her own father and Uncle Tyndareus would spend their days consulting with elders, ministers, and priests. They would go out among the people at times, but not often. There were festivals and markets for mingling as well, but most of their time was spent with men of the higher classes.

Odysseus spent time with everyone. He built fences, helped bring the catch in at the end of the day, pruned trees, commissioned work from his craftsmen, repaired ships, trained with the guard. His industry impressed her, but she missed how simple it had been to track down her father during the day. She could always find Icarius for a quick walk or chat. Her husband was busy from sunup until after his counselors were finished talking at night. He liked being involved and knowing everything that was going on, but she worried that it would wear on him. 

What did he really want to do and be as a king?

She looked up as an eagle soared overhead. The bird of Zeus. There was an interesting king. What did he do, other than seduce maidens and fight with his wife? She smiled with little humor. Zeus was certainly not a role model for kingship.

What did she want to do and be as a queen? 

She rested her head against a column, thinking through the short five moons since her marriage. The palace was running smoothly, even with her health still frail. Eurynome and Ops were excellent at organizing and managing the staff, and were working on communicating with Penelope and Anticlea. It was a big change for them to be in charge, and she appreciated their efforts - and their results. Mentor was turning out to be a competent steward. He had trouble getting around the palace quickly with his injured leg, but Ops had assigned a young slave to him for errands and that seemed to be working out well.

Her real responsibility, her first responsibility, was to give Odysseus an heir. She had failed so far, she thought with a pain in her chest that still left her breathless, but she would prevail. She was certain. Somehow.

Odysseus must have felt her gaze because he turned and waved at her with the lazy half grin that she loved so much. She raised her hand in return. Odysseus turned back to talk with the man he was spreading manure with, then jogged across the field until he stood underneath the balcony where she sat. “My lady, you are looking radiant this morning. What are you doing?”

“You are a flatterer, my lord.” She knew quite honestly that she did not look radiant. Her skin was still sallow, there were dark smudges under her eyes, and even her hair managed to look lank in its braids. She thought Odysseus looked very well, however, even glistening with sweat. His hair was haphazardly pulled to the back of his head and held by a simple band, and he was dressed in a simple tunic that draped over one shoulder, belted at the waist, and then ended in a skirt falling to his knees. The clean lines of his chest and arms were already starting to darken in the springtime sun. She did not move her gaze from him. “I am simply enjoying the view.” 

Odysseus looked around, looking pointedly at the other men behind him and lifting an eyebrow towards her. “I certainly hope you are not, my lady.”

“Why, is there anyone other than you out here?” she asked with a smirk. Her humor was resurfacing as she grew used to feeling out of sorts. She could laugh or she could cry, she reasoned. She wished to laugh.

He returned her smirk. “I have an idea.”

She tilted her head, waiting.

“Maybe I should make it a surprise.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then why tell me that you have an idea?”

“So you’ll wonder what it is.” He bobbed his eyebrows up and down.

“Tease.”

He bowed to her and turned to leave, but stopped and turned back. “I think we should go to Sparta.”

She gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “My lord, truly?”

He held up one finger. “Just for a moon span or two, once the crops are in.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. She hated that her emotions were so close to the surface these days. She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. To go back home to see her family! 

“If you don’t want to, just say so…” he continued to tease her.

“You’re lucky I don’t have anything to throw at you, my lord. I would love to visit my family.”

He gave her a knowing grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Think it over. It’s a difficult decision.” And with that, he ran back to the field. 

She shook her head at his retreating form. His legs were beautiful, she thought as she watched him run. Or maybe she was just so happy at the thought of going back to Sparta, she was seeing beauty in everything - even Odysseus’s legs, covered in sweat and dung. 

Eurycleia exited the nursery, announcing that she was finished and ready to go back downstairs. Penelope held out her hands, and Actoris and Eurycleia helped her up and then each took an elbow as they descended the stairs. 

Penelope had initially felt better as Eurycleia began feeding her more, but she was still not getting well. In fact, she worried that even with the additional food, she was getting worse overall. Maybe a trip to Sparta would help, although a small part of her wondered if she would survive the difficulties of such a long journey.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Penelope motioned toward the circle where Anticlea sat with the remaining ladies. They were weaving strands of papyrus together for wicks; now that the weather had warmed, they could dip candles outside to replace those that had been used during winter. 

Penelope dropped into the settee next to Anticlea. “My lord has suggested a trip to Sparta!” She could hardly hold in her excitement.

Anticlea gave her a quick smile, then refocused on her work. “It will be a good change for you, I think.”

“You already knew?” Anticlea’s lack of surprise had Penelope pursing her lips in annoyance.

“My son and I have been turning over ideas, discarding most, to return you to health, daughter. Odysseus has also mentioned how much he would like to see your father and brothers again.”

Penelope huffed out a breath, but was unable to maintain any amount of displeasure while the prospect of seeing her family again loomed large in her mind. She grinned at Anticlea. “When do you think the crops will be in?”

Anticlea shrugged. “A few days, I would think.”

Penelope clapped her hands in glee. “I should start packing!”

Odysseus reined in her packing once he returned that evening. They would be travelling without wagons, and so they needed to pack lightly. 

He had received information regarding a port directly south of Sparta, where they could sail and be only a single day’s ride by horse to Icarius’s palace. The port wasn’t much farther by sea than the one they had used previously, and there wouldn’t be any mountain passes to traverse. 

Penelope had to rethink her packing, choosing only a few gowns and limited accessories. The ship had room for as much food as she wanted to bring, but it wouldn’t be coming with them to Sparta. She had the slaves add in a small bag of roots she had found in the storerooms, which Autonoe swore would help with her seasickness. Autonoe remembered the root from her childhood in the east, calling it adarak . Supposedly placing it in her mouth or chewing on it would help, and Penelope was willing to try anything so that seasickness did not detract from her already fragile state.

The only person who did not seem happy for Penelope to visit Sparta was little Sávra. She had progressed from terrified to respectful and quiet, but the news that Penelope was leaving left her wide-eyed with fear. “But, my lady, how will I get you this?” she asked, lifting her morning drink.

Penelope sighed. “If you bring me the ingredients, I will make sure it is consumed on our trip.”

The girl did not look comforted, but nodded, biting her lip. “I suppose…”

“If your father needs me to verify that you have done your best, please have him send word.” Penelope liked the girl and did not want her to be beaten. However, she was not going to stay simply for her daily morning drink. She took the cup from Sávra and swallowed the liquid quickly - it did not make her gag as often now - then handed it back. 

She wished again that there was more that she could do.

Once on the ship, with only Actoris and Kynna accompanying her, she and her ladies convened on the deck with the adarak . The root was about the size of a woman’s hand, and was knobbed, misshapen, and seemed to have appendages going every which way. They looked at each other with trepidation. Penelope took out her dagger and cut off three thin slices, handing one to each of her ladies. The slices were a pale yellow, almost opaque, and had a sharp smell, but once Penelope had cleaned her dagger, they all took their slice and popped it into their mouth.

Penelope chewed slowly, the pungent root sharp on her tongue. Kynna spit hers out into her hand, and ran to get them all cups of water. By the time she returned, both Penelope and Actoris had taken out their slices as well and welcomed a drink. They made faces at one another until they were laughing and tried to just place new slices on their tongue instead of trying to chew them. The men on board ignored them for the most part, casting irritated glances at their hilarity.

Autonoe had been right: the root did help with seasickness. Once they got used to the stinging taste, that is. Her ladies had no trouble at all adjusting to the rolling ship, and Penelope only vomited twice. Once the first bout of sickness had passed, she was quite comfortable, feeling no worse than she had on land. Eurycleia had gotten her accustomed to smaller meals throughout the day, and between the root and the small meals, her stomach seemed to stabilize.

On the second day, before her ladies had even risen, Penelope stole from the small cabin she and Odysseus shared, took the bag of herbs and barley prepared by S á vra, and walked to the railing, alone. “Poseidon, I am told this mixture provides health. I dedicate it to you, in thanks for safe travel on the waves.” She poured it into the waves on the side of the boat, shocked into laughter when dolphins arose and played around the trail of leaves and grain.

Odysseus startled her by grabbing her at the waist. “No jumping, my lady,” he growled.

She laughed again, letting herself be pulled against his chest. “Are you worried you’ll have to come in after me?”

“Not at all. I’m more worried that you would like the water so much you wouldn’t come back.”

She reached back and pulled his head to her shoulder, running her hand through his unruly hair. “I’d come back. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be difficult…”

He nosed along her shoulder, using his teeth to move her tunic out of the way. “I still have secrets for you.”

She didn’t know what made her shiver: the teeth? The promise of more secrets? He placed his chin on her bare shoulder and looked out with her at the dolphins. They were growing bored with the boat and were starting to swim away. She waved farewell to them, hoping she would see them again later.

“There are a few occasions happening in Ithaca while we’re gone.”

She tipped her head back so she could see more of his face. He was considering the water, thoughtful. “Important occasions?” Anticlea had told her that everything was under control, but she wondered what they would be missing.

“Two weddings, actually. Important to the bride and groom, I imagine.”

She just waited. He hated that she didn’t try to pry secrets from him. Either he would tell her or he wouldn’t.

When she didn’t rise to the bait, he continued. “Fine, if you’re going to cry…” he kissed away an imaginary tear at the side of her eye. “The first is your lady, Autonoe. Ops needed a wife, and they seem well-suited.”

“Odysseus! I would have wanted to know that,” she protested.

“I wanted to give them time to get to know one another, and with us gone, they have time.”

Autonoe would be much better off married. The lady could hardly pass a male slave or guard without a suggestive comment. Ops was a steady man who would care for his wife well. She had even heard Autonoe gossipping about him in excited tones, so she was hopeful that Odysseus was right, and they would make a good match. “I would have liked to provide an opinion on a match that would affect me,” she complained.

He tilted his head and kissed her jaw. “I’ll remember that the next time one of your ladies needs marrying off.”

She wanted to pinch him, but refrained. 

He was quiet for a moment, and she squirmed as he bit her earlobe. “Did you say two weddings?” The ship was starting to wake and she was a bit uncomfortable having him nibble on her for all to see. She pulled her tunic back onto her shoulder.

“I liked that shoulder.” He nosed at it again, but left off when she pushed his head back a bit. “Yes, two. The second is Sebasteia’s wedding. I thought you might like to miss that one.”

The side of her mouth tucked up into a small smile. “Yes, thank you. Who is she marrying?”

“I doubt you know him, Eupeithes?”

She shook her head.

“He owes me his life, so he should be loyal to the crown - and keep Sebasteia in line. And he doesn’t mind that she isn’t…” He trailed off.

Penelope raised her eyebrows. “A virgin?” She turned to see his eyes shift away from hers. “Regretting starting that sentence?”

“A bit.” He sheepishly met her eyes.

She turned back to view the waves. “Before we met?” 

“Yes.”

She sighed. “I do not fault you for what you did before we met, my own. But Sebasteia?”

“A naked girl in my bed…what can a man do?” 

“Please, no details…”

“You do taste so much better…” He went back to nibbling her ear, and she pushed him away again.

“Do not compare us,” she begged. “I’m going to see if my ladies have anything for a morning meal.” 

She started away from him, but he kept her caged in his arms. “Penelope mine,” he whispered in her ear, “We can always eat in our cabin.” 

She allowed him to pull her back to their small cabin. She was feeling slightly better this morning, even being on a ship, and was happy to spend more time with him.

Penelope was enjoying this ship much more than the last one, where they had slept on the open deck. The difference in ships was minimal, having the addition of only two small cabins, one at the foredeck and one at the afterdeck, but Penelope appreciated having a bed instead of a hard wooden floor. She wondered idly why Odysseus hadn’t brought a ship with sleeping cabins when he was searching for a wife, but when she asked him, he only replied that he hadn’t actually anticipated bringing a wife home.

They docked in the early morning hours of the third day after leaving Ithaca. The winds had been kind and the waves gentle. Perhaps Poseidon had enjoyed her offering, she thought with a grin. At least someone was enjoying that nasty brew. Penelope and her ladies rested on shore - under guard, of course - while Odysseus and his other men tracked down and rented horses for their party.

They ate a small morning meal and mounted their horses. Penelope had asked to ride with Odysseus, telling him that she would ride behind him so that his arms were free if he needed to wield a sword. He was uncertain it would be safe for her, but was persuaded eventually. Her ladies were each placed in front of a guard.

This early in spring, Penelope expected to be chilly, but found that she was almost too warm with Odysseus’s cloak in front of her and her own cloak covering her. When they stopped to rest the horses and have a midday meal, both she and Odysseus removed their cloaks.

They rode north through the valley, keeping the mountains to their left. The hillsides were just starting to green, and hints of purple and blue peeked playfully through rocks and scrub as the grape-like muscari straightened and the blue stars of scilla opened in the warming sun of day. 

They reached Icarius’s palace just before sunset. They dismounted, grateful to have reached their destination safely and without any untoward surprises.

“Penelope!” A red-headed blur flew out of the palace and into Penelope. Odysseus quickly steadied her and Aletes started laughing. “You weren’t centered! I finally got you!”

Penelope pushed him gently away and knelt down to see eye to eye with her brother. “You did. You’re getting so strong.”

He looked at her closely, his grin turning to a frown. “Are you sick, Penelope? What’s wrong?” He looked at Odysseus and narrowed his eyes, his frown turning into a grimace. “Did you do something to her?”

Penelope expected Odysseus to laugh, but hurt filled his eyes. She quickly turned to Aletes and explained, “I’m just a little sick. I’ll be fine. I think I just missed you.”

He responded fiercely, “You better be fine.” He hugged her again, but this time was a bit more gentle. “Cause it doesn’t count if you’re sick.”

“I wasn’t ready, it absolutely counts.”

With that, he grinned a little. “Come on, father wants you to join us for our meal.”

She stood up and followed him, holding out a hand for Odysseus. They made their way into the courtyard where the family was indeed just sitting to eat. She sighed with happiness; the evening meal, as trying as it could be, was one of her favorite parts of the day.

“Penelope!” her father boomed, getting up and greeting her with a tight embrace. “Lord Odysseus, thank you for coming and bringing your wife. We have missed her terribly.” 

Each of the boys hugged her in turn, and she happily accepted their welcomes. They acknowledged Odysseus as well, and they all sat to eat. 

Penelope found that she was legitimately hungry. It’s so good to be home, she thought. Then she glanced a little guiltily at Odysseus. When she thought of home, wasn’t it Ithaca she should see in her mind? Odysseus was studiously digging into his meal, and she remembered the hurt that had crossed his expression at Aletes’s accusation. He didn’t really believe he was responsible for whatever was ailing her, did he? 

Icarius smiled at them both, visually pleased to have them back in his palace. “Boys, I know you all have much to share with your sister,” he said, heading off the excited chatter that Penelope could already see bursting from several of them - Aletes and Semus especially, “But our guests are tired from their travels. We will let them eat, in peace, and then rest before we overwhelm them. Yes?”

The three younger boys looked dismayed, but Perious and Thoas just gave Penelope resigned smiles. 

“Thank you, father,” she said with a small smile. She wouldn’t have been able to keep up with their chatter this evening. But tomorrow? Tomorrow she would be ready.

Early the next morning, Penelope awoke with a start. She realized that a bird’s call had woken her, and was surprised at how bereft she felt as she listened for the call of the ocean. They had left the ocean behind the previous morning, and she already wished for it again. She sat up, feeling more awake than she had in many, many days.

“Are you okay?” asked Odysseus sleepily, yawning in the early morning darkness.

“I miss the ocean,” she whispered with amazement. 

He stretched. “The sound becomes so much a part of you, you don’t even realize how much you love it until it’s not there.”

She looked at him, her eyes bright. “Yes,” she agreed. “Exactly.”

He got up and started getting dressed. Here in Sparta, training started at dawn, and of course Odysseus would remember. She got up and started dressing as well.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She stopped and turned to look at him. They stared at each other with the bed in between them. All of a sudden, she realized that the rules of her father’s home would only apply if her husband agreed. “Would it be okay with you if I train with you and my brothers this morning? I should have asked…”

Odysseus looked even more confused. “Shouldn’t you be resting? I…you are welcome to join us, but…Penelope mine…are you feeling well enough?”

She grinned. “I’ll only join you until I get tired, I promise.” She put on her sandals and tied her hair back into a simple braid. It was getting far too long; she liked to keep it only as long as her back and it was past that now. She grabbed a handful of mint leaves from the bowl next to the bed and passed some to Odysseus. 

Odysseus caught her hand as he took the leaves and tossed them in his mouth. “As soon as you even think about getting tired,” he stressed.

“Okay, okay, come on, let’s go -” she tugged at him and he left with her, still barefoot. 

They were the first out to the playing fields, and the chill caused Penelope to shiver. Odysseus pulled her into an embrace and rubbed her arms, trying to warm her. She looked up at him and said, “Once we start moving, I’ll be warm enough.”

He took a deep breath. Was she worrying him so much? She kissed him briefly, just as the first rays of Dawn’s fingers began to comb through the air. “Let’s get started, yes?”

He nodded, his eyes dark and unreadable in the early light. 

“Do you want to call, or shall I?” she asked.

“You. Then I can tell when you get winded.”

She huffed but started calling out each position as they loosened up their sleep-stiff bodies and went through the fighting positions they both knew so well. The sun was fully up when Aletes and Perious stumbled out to join them.

Penelope triumphantly exclaimed, “Three!”

Aletes looked around and Perious rubbed his face. “Were you two late, too?” Aletes asked.

Penelope rolled her eyes. “No. But you’re so late I have to start higher. I knew you were all getting soft without me here to pull you out of bed each morning!”

Perious just groaned and joined in. Aletes grimaced. “Not fair, you should still start with one!”

She shook her head and continued calling the positions. As she started to get winded, a pointed look from Odysseus had her excusing herself and sitting on a nearby bench to watch.

Semus and Damasippus showed up about halfway through warming up. Thoas was so late that he had to start with sparring, which put him at a distinct disadvantage. Penelope paired him with Aletes, kept Semus and Damasippus together, and put Odysseus with Perious. She knew that Perious would have difficulty keeping up with Odysseus, but the competition would show him how far he had to go before he was truly ready to be a warrior. Perious was 16, almost old enough to be called a man. He needed to spend more time training with men, and less with the boys.  

She called out the forms from where she sat, but soon was walking between them to fix their positions. She was surprised that Perious was holding his own - just barely - and praised his improvement. She reveled in being able to correct Odysseus as well. Not that he needed much correction, to be sure, but being able to touch him at will was a heady experience. The last time she had led them through sparring, she was not married and had tried - mostly unsuccessfully - to not watch him. Today he kept pulling his shoulder a bit too high when he went for an overhead strike, so she stepped behind him and pushed his shoulder down as she had him repeat the movements over and over.

Her brothers watched with barely suppressed amusement. Odysseus thanked her and worked through the movements again and again until his shoulder stayed where it was supposed to. He ignored the boys completely.

Then it was time to run. Penelope watched them all go, sad that she didn’t have the strength to run.

Watching them is a joy all its own, she reminded herself, trying to be pleased with how much she had been able to do that morning. At least I’m not in bed. She studied her brothers, noting how Semus had shot up another inch or two, how Damasippus was watching out for Aletes. Perious was getting very fast - Odysseus was still not at full speed, but he was getting a decent run in with Perious running next to him. Thoas was keeping to himself, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he was tired or if something was wrong. Or perhaps it was something else, a distance that had grown between her boys while she was away. She continued to watch him, and finally he caught her eye and winked at her. As small as it was, the gesture reassured her.

Perious was the first to finish running, having made good time and only having three additional laps. Aletes was struggling with the extra laps, so Odysseus joined him and shouted encouragement as they both ran.

“We really have slowed pace since you’ve been gone,” he said as he stretched out the back of his legs. “Father is considering having us rejoin the soldiers.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Penelope approved. “If for no other reason than getting to know your soldiers. We only trained as a family for my benefit,” she ruefully admitted. “So…” she spread her hands wide.

“I’ve started training with the soldiers every third day already,” Perious said seriously. “They aren’t as…precise…as you are in your corrections. Penelope, you know that father didn’t just have us train with you because you wanted to train, don’t you?”

Penelope sat stunned. Compliments from her brothers were rare. It was…nice…to know that her efforts were also useful. “You’re getting much better,” she said, serious as well. “I should have known you had started working with the soldiers.”

He grinned. “I think I’m teaching them more than they’re teaching me. But that -” he looked at her pointedly, “- is because…you remember when you told me that you knew so much because you were teaching it?”

She nodded.

“It’s true. Teaching a thing really makes you learn it well.” He looked out over the playing field. It was trampled into dust and weeds, but there were also a few wildflowers in bloom. He planted a kiss on her head. “We were lucky to have you.”

“Hey!” she said indignantly, giving his shoulder a playful push. “I’m not dead, just married!” She saw the brief look of worry spark in his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” she said bracingly. She was getting tired of reassuring others when a tiny part of her wondered if she would actually be fine at some point. She set her jaw. She was going to reassure everyone - including herself - until it was true. “I’m fine.”

Odysseus and Aletes finished their run, Semus and Damasippus just behind them. Thoas still had a lap left. Odysseus gave her a searching look, and she nodded to him. She was ready to go rest. 

Her ladies woke her for the midday meal. She didn’t leave her bed, but just nibbled on spring berries as she lay in her bed. She asked Kynna to send for Nysa, the old housekeeper, if she was available. Kynna nodded, and left with a quick curtsy.

Penelope had just decided she was full when Nysa entered. Her dark face wrinkled into a smile that was edged with concern. “My lady, how can I be of assistance?” she asked politely.

“Nysa, pull up a chair, I wish to speak with you,” she said formally, then dismissed Kynna. 

Kynna said softly, “Actoris and I will be in range of your voice, my lady. Please call us if you have need,” and then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Nysa and Penelope chatted like the old friends they were, catching up on each other’s life. Nysa was pleased to hear that Penelope was starting to like Ithaca. She was the perfect audience, shocked at Anticlea’s biting comments and pleased that the two women had learned to work with one another. Penelope was saddened to hear that Nysa continued to slow in her work, but Nysa was not concerned. “I wish my mind would slow at the same pace as my body,” she smiled, “But I am fated to know well what I cannot do anymore.”

Eventually they talked about Penelope’s health. She told Nysa everything: the dizziness, the tiredness, the nausea, the slow decline that had started when she moved to Ithaca, and had sped up drastically after Odysseus’s illness. 

“Is there something on the island that is making you ill?” Nysa mused. “All that sea air?”

They shared a long glance. It was well known that sea air was very healthy, so the idea was laughable. And yet, what else was different? Why would she be so ill?

“There’s something else,” Penelope said slowly. “I don’t know that it means anything, but…” she shrugged and pulled a blanket close. She met Nysa’s sharp gaze. “A couple of times since I’ve been married, in the middle of the night, I wake up with this terribly sharp pain -” she pulled out a hand and showed Nysa where this pain originated, on the side of her abdomen. “It was not in exactly the same place the second time. It only hurts for a while, and then it goes away…” she pursed her lips. “I’m not sure what it means.”

Nysa sat back in her chair and breathed deeply. “May I ask about your courses?” she asked.

“Yes,” Penelope replied. “Still every moon, not as regular as they used to be. I…miscarried just a moon ago as well.”

Nysa nodded and scooted her chair closer. She took her hand and leaned close to her. “My sweet child, that pain is a babe attaching itself to your womb. And the uneven courses are those babes releasing their hold on you.”

Penelope felt tears threaten and swallowed hard. “I’ve lost more than just one baby?” She choked out. “I didn’t think…Nysa, are you certain?”

Nysa nodded. “I am so sorry, my lady. I would not say anything if I weren’t certain. It is quite common, especially very early in pregnancy. You and your lord are very fertile…”

“I just am not able to keep the babes.” The tears that were threatening started to fall, and she sniffed. “Thank you, Nysa. I knew that you would know…” she looked lovingly into the old slave’s eyes. “And would tell me.” 

Nysa placed a worn hand on Penelope’s head and gave her a quick kiss on her temple. “Perhaps your body just needs to rest. Even one miscarriage in a half a year is difficult on a body, even a young body such as yours, brimming with health.”

Penelope placed her hand on top of Nysa’s. “Not so full of health right now, I’m afraid. Rest sounds good. Thank you for coming to see me, Nysa.”

Nysa stood and curtsied a little, the effort obviously uncomfortable. “Call for me anytime, my lady. Day or night. You will recover. You’re too stubborn to do otherwise.”

They smiled gently at each other and Penelope closed her eyes against her new knowledge. She had lost two babies. It tore at her heart and she willed sleep to come between her and her increased pain. Luckily the extra exercise from the morning had exhausted her, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

After the family dinner that evening, which Penelope felt well enough to attend, Odysseus asked her if she would like to walk with him. Still in low spirits from her earlier conversation with Nysa, she decided a walk would probably help her mood - and after resting all day, she was not keen to return to her bed so soon.

They were walking past the training yard, and she wondered out loud, “Odysseus? Did I do wrong, correcting you at training?” 

She knew by now that Odysseus was a very proud man. He had a generous spirit, but she was not entirely certain where the two aspects of his personality conflicted.

To her relief, he shook his head. “It was helpful,” he said thoughtfully. He pulled away from her, running through the same movement she had corrected earlier. His shoulder still wanted to pull up, but he quickly corrected and pulled it down again.

She placed her hand on the inner side of his arm. “This is what you are leaving unprotected with that shoulder going up - a quick strike there and you would bleed out too quickly.” He went through the motion again. With the additional information of where to protect himself, the movement was perfect. She smiled. “I have a strong interest in keeping you alive, you know.”

He chuckled and tucked her hand into his arm. “I didn’t mind your corrections. You’re probably one of the best trainers I’ve seen. Pity that you cannot train my men…” he sighed. “I cannot wait for you to teach our children.”

A sharp pain spiked her heart. She thought of the children she had already lost. The ones that she hoped to have. She loved children - raising her brothers had been difficult, but she loved them so much. “Odysseus!” she exclaimed, a thought striking as quickly as the pain in her heart.

He stopped, alarmed, looking about them quickly to make sure he hadn’t overlooked any potential threats.

“The children!” She looked at him with hope in her eyes. “I could train the children! How are the children being trained on the island now?”

As understanding hit, he also smiled. “We usually wait until the boys are ten or so to start training them officially - before that, they only receive training from their fathers or uncles as time allows. Hmmm,” he mused. “We would need a location…”

Then he looked at her sharply. “I worry that you are taking too much on, Penelope mine. You are managing the household. Trying to meet with and learn about every family on the island. And…you need to get well.” He placed his hand on hers but wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Mentor has almost completely taken over the storerooms, Ops and Eurynome are running the household. And I’m already feeling better,” she said confidently. “Perhaps I am really a secret daughter of Antaeus and Sparta is my earth.” The god Antaeus received his strength from the earth and could only be defeated by being lifted from the ground. Odysseus looked worried. She squeezed his arm. “I am just joking, you know. Ithaca is my home, and I will be well there, too.”

She hoped her voice held the conviction she did not feel. 

Odysseus took a deep breath. “I actually wanted to talk with you about the kingdom,” he said, changing the subject. He started to outline some of the issues that commanded his attention: piracy, defense, and hopes for a good harvest that year. The previous year had provided a good yield of olives, which were in high demand and their current source of ongoing wealth. But they would continue to provide wealth only as long as he could keep the trees safe from pirates killing the people who would harvest or setting fire to the islands and ruining the fruit and possibly the trees. “I am thinking, then, that we need fortifications at the natural ports - so they are difficult to breach and difficult to burn.”

“Excellent idea, my lord. I suppose you wish to build them yourself?” Her immediate thought was that he would be leaving again, and regularly. She tried to keep the wistful note from her voice.

“I would certainly like to supervise it. That is why I wanted to bring it up with you, since it will require me to be off island quite often in the next few moon cycles.”

“My lord, would you have any objection to me accompanying you?” she asked, with little hope. He had just approved her forays into town, but this would require more time around strangers; Achaean men were ridiculously paranoid about their women being glimpsed by other men. Penelope believed that Odysseus was more paranoid than most.

“You would be interested in going?” he asked, not sounding much surprised. 

“With you? Anywhere,” she answered quickly. She would much prefer to be out with him than stuck behind the doors of the palace. 

He laughed. “It may be uncomfortable lodgings,” he added, “And you would have to be well in order to come…”

“Oh, I will be.” She was determined.

“May it be as you say. What would you do while I am working at the fortifications?” 

“The same as what I do on Ithaca: get to know our people.” The thought actually made her smile. That had been the best part of her time thus far on Ithaca; that and her improved relationship with her mother-in-law.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I have been truly impressed with how you care for them. As has my mother.” He glanced sideways at her with a wink. “My mother is not the easiest person to win over, but she is worth it.”

“I’m noticing that, my lord.”

They spent the next moon cycle training and planning, meeting with several builders from Sparta for ideas and thoughts about proceeding. If the craftsmen were surprised at Penelope’s presence, they hid it well.

Each day found Penelope a bit stronger. By the fifth day, she was running a full lap after training, but she was incredibly winded afterwards. Far from making fun of her, the boys cheered her on, and sweet Thoas swung her around as she finished. When had he gotten big enough to pick her up, she wondered. She could barely choke out a laugh and Odysseus made her sit until she had her breath back.

After a full moon cycle, Odysseus announced that they would only stay another half moon. His announcement, made at dinner, was met with moans from the boys. Penelope knew the announcement was coming, and so was able to contain her disappointment.

There remained one item that they needed to accomplish: a visit to the other side of Sparta to see Menelaus and Helen. They decided on a day trip, since it wasn’t far and Odysseus stubbornly refused to accept Penelope’s assurances that she was perfectly fine. Perhaps because she had said the same thing when she was almost too ill to move , she thought wryly.

Helen was as beautiful as ever, and dressed in the softest linen Penelope had ever seen. She was also draped with jewelry, which seemed to just add to her brilliance. Penelope had not gotten over her first disastrous evening in Ithaca when she attempted to wear jewelry as well, only managing to make herself look pathetic instead of imposing. 

She told the story to Helen, who delighted in the retelling. “You’ve always been more beautiful without adornments,” she said kindly. Penelope gave her a quick hug; they both knew that Helen could outshine her with or without jewelry.

Helen showed her the many changes that had been wrought in the palace. Uncle Tyndareus had decided he would abdicate once Menelaus and Helen produced a child. They had not, unfortunately, been blessed with one quite yet. Penelope listened quietly as Helen bemoaned no pregnancies to show for their half year of marriage. 

She did not share with Helen her own trials; they seemed so personal, so frightening. Especially since she had awoken early just days ago to the now-familiar sharp pain in her abdomen. Knowing what it was at this point, she pressed on it in welcome. Odysseus’s hand had somehow ended up just there as well, so she pressed his hand too. He had sleepily asked if anything was wrong, but was assured and back asleep before he had taken a few breaths. As far as she knew, he didn’t even remember it the next morning.

She did not tell Helen, preferring to keep her small secret to herself and worrying that the pregnancy wouldn’t last long enough to produce a living child. She hadn’t even talked to Odysseus, which was another reason not to tell Helen. 

So the girls talked instead about managing a household, trying to engage other women in their social circle in meaningful pursuits, and Clytemnestra. Clytemnestra had sent a few messages to Helen through messengers, saying how pleased she was to be a queen, how lovely Mycenae was even throughout the winter. Both Helen and Penelope doubted that she was expressing her true feelings. How could she, when she had to dictate her message, and it could be repeated to her husband or her brother-in-law? They worried about her, and Penelope could see that Helen was agitated. 

“Why don’t you request a visit?” she suggested timidly. 

Helen waved off the suggestion irritably. “I would, but Menelaus has been instructed by Agamemnon to keep his distance from Mycenae, and Agamemnon and Clytemnestra can’t leave Mycenae. The trouble over that throne hardly seems worth it.” Her irritation turned to bitterness.

Penelope was quiet on the ride back to her father’s palace. Odysseus didn’t comment on it, but pulled her aside when they returned. “Walk with me?” he requested.

She tucked her hand into his and followed him into the orchard. When they had gone far enough into the trees to be unseen, Odysseus pulled her into a tender embrace. 

“Please tell me we never have to see them again,” he complained.

She laughed. “I doubt we will be visiting Sparta regularly, my lord. Do you not enjoy the company of Menelaus?”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “All he can talk about is treasure - look what I have! Look what I might get! Does he actually do anything with his time other than count his possessions?”

She giggled. “Helen and I had a much more interesting day, I assure you. Perhaps next time, I will go with just my ladies, because you are ‘detained’. I’m sure my father can help us with a suitable excuse.”

He huffed out a laugh, then rested his head on her shoulder before turning his head to kiss her neck, and then her earlobe. Then he asked into her ear, softly, “When are you going to tell me?”. 

There could be only one thing to which he referred. She felt as though small pieces of ice were travelling through her veins. She wasn’t ready to give up her secret yet. But…it was his secret, too. “Odysseus mine, I am with child.”

His eyes were burning, his expression one of pure joy. “Why did you not tell me as soon as you knew?”

She sighed. “I am terrified…I have been so ill, and…” There were tears in her eyes but she didn’t try to stop them. “What if I lose the baby?” she asked with a sob. “I just wanted to keep this a secret for a little while…”

“But you know I would want to know. Why did you not tell me?” he asked plainly.

“Besides the obvious fact that most men don’t want to hear such things, or so I’ve been told,” she laughed brokenly as he shook his head in mock distress, “I am having a difficult time even thinking of it, much less discussing it.” 

He kissed her then, tenderly. “The other babe was lost because of your illness,” he whispered. “Nothing more. Now you are much better, almost back to full health. You and the babe will be fine.”

She found herself searching for surety in his eyes. There was doubt, but also hope. She would focus on the hope.

Traveling back to Ithaca passed without incident. Penelope once again saw relief on the ship once her stomach had settled. Her ladies mentioned her condition only once as they boarded, and she swore them to secrecy. It wouldn’t be a secret long, but she wanted to keep it close as long as possible

Chapter Text

Anticlea was waiting for them on the steps of the palace. Not for the first time, Penelope felt a rush of jealousy that Anticlea could be wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

Anticlea met Odysseus with a hug that he returned fiercely. Their attachment was strong, and Penelope felt another pang of jealousy, this time for Odysseus having a mother he loved and respected. And knew. Anticlea patted his cheek and released him, then embraced Penelope as well. 

This wasn’t the first time Anticlea had embraced Penelope since apologizing, but repetition had not made it less awkward. This embrace was no exception. Penelope did not know how to embrace this woman; she had been so caustic when Penelope had hoped for acceptance. Now that she was offering acceptance, even affection, Penelope found herself skeptical. Penelope’s return embrace was more perfunctory than genuine, but Anticlea seemed pleased enough.

“We have news, mother,” Odysseus said with a wink. “Come inside.” He offered his other arm to his mother, and swept inside with his mother on one side, his wife on the other. Penelope hadn’t wanted to tell Anticlea about the pregnancy immediately, but Odysseus said he couldn’t wait. He had promised that she could determine when and how the news was shared after Anticlea, so she had finally agreed. She bit her tongue and tried to look pleasant as she met the eyes of their slaves in the large courtyard.

They stepped across the threshold leading to the throne room, and as the doors closed behind them, Odysseus motioned the guards and Actoris to go ahead of them and shut the door to the workroom. Alone with Anticlea and Penelope, he turned to his mother. “We are going to have a child, mother.” He could barely restrain his excitement, picking his mother up and swinging her in a circle. 

Penelope felt strangely left out, an outsider in this news that included her so intrinsically. She backed up a step, frowning.

“Odysseus,” Anticlea was weeping as he set her on her feet. She placed her hand on his cheek. “This is the best news.” They were so similar; their hair was the same shade of oil-rubbed bronze, their eyes dark and flashing with joy.

Penelope backed up another step, feeling like an intruder. 

Anticlea turned to her then, drawing Odysseus’s attention as well. “My dear daughter,” she sniffed with emotion, holding her arms open for her. 

Penelope took her hands instead and gave her a small smile.

“Of course, this will mean that the Queen needs to stay indoors, resting as much as possible -” Odysseus started.

“No!” Penelope interjected, appalled. Just as she was returning from Sparta, where she could roam within the outer walls at will. Just as she had earned the right to visit their people outside the palace walls in Ithaca.

Odysseus gave her a stern look. “Yes. And no training.”

“Odysseus, a strong body means a strong infant -”

“That is Spartan nonsense,” Anticlea chimed in.

“That is Spartan knowledge , not nonsense,” Penelope returned. Her face was reddening and all she could think was no, no, no, no .

“No. No training, no visiting outside the palace.”

“I can bring ladies to visit you,” offered Anticlea, trying to placate her.

“You can walk the balconies and corridors, the palace is quite large,” Odysseus seemed to think he was being quite reasonable.

Penelope knelt at his feet, tears springing to her eyes. “Please, please don’t do this,” she cried.

“You need protection,” he added.

“Especially after the last miscarriage,” Anticlea added.

“What is the difference between protection and imprisonment?” she moaned.

“You are emotional, it is typical of pregnancy,” Anticlea soothed, reaching down to pat her head.

Penelope scooted back and stood, backing against the wall. Odysseus and Anticlea traded a look that clearly said she was overreacting. 

“May I have leave to pray, my lord?” Her voice was small, as inconsequential as she felt.

Odysseus smiled. “Of course, Penelope mine.”

She turned and fairly fled to the temple room, kneeling at the empty plinth as she listened to Odysseus and Anticlea happily chattering as they moved into the workroom.

There were no prayers, just as there were no gods or goddesses in the temple. Odysseus had commissioned a statue of Athena to grace their temple, but it was not complete. Penelope preferred this, as she could pray to anyone and everyone. Once Athena was present, she would not feel so free in her devotions.

No training the children, no training herself. No visits outside the palace. Walking the corridors! The balcony! She placed her head and hands on the stone floor and wept. Welcome home, she thought. 

Once she had regained her composure, she exited the temple. Dymas and Actor were standing guard at the door, waiting for her. She nodded to them and let them open the large doors into the workroom. Her ladies surrounded her, happily congratulating her on the pregnancy and welcoming her home. Apparently she would not be allowed to choose how everyone else heard of her pregnancy.

“Autonoe, how are you liking married life?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation. The last thing she wanted to discuss was her pregnancy. She was barely as far along as the last time, and she dreaded losing the child yet again. Odysseus couldn’t have waited even a day to tell his mother?

“Ops is a good husband,” she replied, her dark skin reddening.

“You told us he was a great husband,” Thebe added suggestively to giggles from Kynna. The other ladies tried to suppress their laughter with varying success.

“I am so happy you are pleased,” Penelope said, feeling her spirits lift a little. “I am only sad that I did not hear of your nuptials until I was onboard the ship and headed away from Ithaca.”

Autonoe smiled and curtsied. Autonoe had always been graceless without a musical instrument in her hand, but she seemed older, more sure of herself. Penelope gave her a quick hug. “I’m so happy for you,” she repeated.

Penelope looked beyond her slaves to where Anticlea was seated, working on stitching a mound of fabric. Penelope couldn’t tell if she was hemming a new sheet or working on a tunic, and didn’t really care. She gave her a half-hearted smile, barely able to make eye contact. 

“I think I will nap,” she said quietly. “It will be nice to rest without the movement of the ship.” Her ladies parted, and Penelope walked to her room. Her guards passed her quickly, ready to open her door for her.

Her bed looked newly made. Comfortable. She sat in the corner of the room, inexplicably as angry at the bed as she was with Odysseus and Anticlea. Was she being unreasonable? Was she just an emotional mess because of the pregancy? She didn’t trust herself. She pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her head on them. She closed her eyes and sighed. Maybe she could think more clearly with some sleep.

Odysseus woke her that evening, surprised to find her curled in the corner. He was carrying a tray of food for her, since her ladies had not wanted to interrupt her sleep.

“Penelope?” He placed the tray on the table and picked her up, depositing her on the bed. 

Sleep had only muddled her thoughts. She tried to decide: should she return to the corner? Should she sit up? Should she care? If she did not respond, Odysseus might just assume she was being childish and work around her, eventually ignoring her completely. She decided to sit up. She was hungry, after all. She started to eat but did not look at her husband.

He sat next to her. “Why are you angry?”

She chewed the seared beef slowly, giving herself extra time. “I did not realize you would tell Anticlea the moment we arrived,” she started.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Does it really matter?”

She shrugged. “I suppose not. But perhaps you should have told her without me, since it seemed that it was not news I had part in.”

He tilted his head but did not speak.

Odysseus preferred logic to emotion. Penelope tried to think rationally, but her brain seemed to be stuck, just as locked in as she was. “I need to be outside at times, Odysseus. Being inside the palace all of the time will drive me mad.”

“The palace will keep you safe.”

“Again, I say: imprisoned.”

He huffed in frustration. “Safety is not a prison.”

“What is the difference?” she exploded.

He got up and walked to the door, considered, then turned back to her. “The balconies are outside, capturing the breezes. They should be sufficient.”

She jutted out her chin, grinding her teeth. “I need more.”

His lips thinned. “More rest.”

“May I go outside if you accompany me?” The words grated out of her.

“Of course.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his feet in a defensive stance, waiting for her next attack.

She nodded, putting another cube of steak in her mouth. He was not going to budge. “We will need to take walks often.”

He nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

He watched her as she continued to eat. “That’s it?”

She shrugged, noncommittal. 

He took off his sandals and reclined on the bed. Quiet and watchful. She finished her meal, feeling self-conscious with every bite, each swallow. When she finished, she stood and took a pillow and a blanket from the bed. “Good night, Odysseus.” She walked to the door and opened it.

He sat up. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be in the workroom. Sleep well.”

She walked past Polites, who raised an eyebrow, and Timnes, who looked beyond her, face impassive. She placed her pillow and blanket on the settee. As she laid down, she noticed Odysseus had joined the guards. They were talking in low voices.

Surely they were speaking of her. She gritted her teeth and turned away from them. She heard them laughing. Swiftly, she took her pillow and threw it as hard as she could, but it flopped to the ground ineffectually a few feet in front of them. Tears pooled in her eyes as they laughed harder. Odysseus picked up the pillow and started to put it back on the settee. She snatched it from him and curled into a ball. He kissed her head and she swatted him away. “Go away.”

“Yes, my lady.” She couldn’t see him, but knew he bowed before walking away. 

She could hear the guards reposition themselves in the workroom and she let a few tears fall. At least she could go for walks with him. If he were available.

Penelope had only lasted in the workroom for a night before moving back to her own bed. She had decided that being uncomfortable only inconvenienced herself. She was still angry with Odysseus, and when he joined her that second evening and had reached for her, she had pushed him away. 

“How long are you going to be angry with me?” he had asked, resigned.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She had curled into her own blanket and turned away.

Several days later, he was still humoring her, which pricked at her pride. 

Had he and Anticlea decided they needed to coddle her? Whether they had or not, the barbed interactions between herself and her husband wore on her like trapped sand in her sandals. 

She did not rise from bed until late in the morning. What was the point of waking early? What was the point of even being awake? 

Penelope went through the motions of getting ready for the day, knowing Sávra would be waiting for her when she finished her bath. 

Penelope had stubbornly refused the liquid barley drink when she first returned, but Sávra’s genuine dismay had her reaching for the cup and sipping a bit. Looking over the girl, Penelope was glad to see that Sávra did not show any signs of being beaten again. She returned the cup, still full, watching as the girl’s face fell. 

“It will be all right,” she said, patting the girl’s shoulder as she left the room.

She had slept late enough that the midday meal was being served in the workroom. She sat next to Anticlea, and decided to broach the subject again. “Anticlea, I would like to speak to you. The slave that delivers that barley drink for my morning meal is being beaten if I do not finish it. And I just despise both the drink and her being punished for my dislike. This cannot go on.”

Anticlea gave her a long look. “That is ridiculous. Slaves are not beaten in this household for things you do or do not do. She must be derelict in her other duties. And truly. It is just a drink. And a healthy one, at that. Why do you oppose it so? Have something to eat, I have news to share.”

Eurynome had already put together a tray with spring berries, tart cheeses, sliced sausage, and breads for her, and she placed it in front of Penelope. Penelope took a berry and popped it in her mouth so both Eurynome and Anticlea would not pester her.

“Glyke came this morning; it seems that Sebasteia is already expecting a child. You missed such a lovely wedding for them. Odysseus was quite severe in not allowing them to use the palace for their nuptials, but Glyke’s home is also quite grand - as you know.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, glad to know that Sebasteia had not been married in the palace. She was shocked - though not surprised - that the suggestion had even been made. No one married in the palace except the royal family.

Anticlea went on to describe the many guests, the long tables set with flowing linens and piled high with fruits and olives and baked sweets. The days of feasting, the gifts, the wine. Penelope struggled to stay attentive.

“Oh, Chloe also visited this morning, she heard you were back on the island. She wanted me to ask if you would allow her to bring the children tomorrow morning.”

Penelope considered this. “Let her know I will wake early enough to receive her and her children.”

Anticlea’s face broke into a large smile, and Penelope suddenly wanted to be elsewhere. Penelope put down her bread and stood.

“Are you already finished, daughter? You haven’t eaten hardly anything.”

“Eurynome?”

The slave looked up from her meal at the sound of her name and swallowed quickly enough that she started choking. It took her a moment to regain her breath, then she stood. “My apologies, my lady.”

Penelope waved away her apology. “Please gather some food to snack on this afternoon and follow me to the weapons room when you are ready.”

“The weapons room?” squeaked Anticlea.

Penelope could feel how blank her face looked as she responded, “Yes. It needs work. And I need something to keep me occupied.” She turned and left the room, knowing her guards would follow immediately. Eurynome would soon join them.

The guards set to lighting the room as soon as they arrived, and Penelope just waited against the wall. As the torches illuminated the rusting weapons, the edges of her mouth turned upwards and she breathed in the smell of metal, leather, and old sweat. She started gathering arrows and feathers from the ground, then sat at a table and began to sand the arrows smooth, then fix the fletching. She could attach arrowheads later.

The work calmed her, and when Eurynome joined them, they sat and worked on arrows for the remainder of the afternoon. Penelope nibbled at the food Eurynome brought, knowing that if she stopped eating for too long, nausea would find her.

Odysseus came to find her in the late afternoon. “My lady, you said you wished for a walk,” he said without preamble from the doorway of the weapons room.

This was the first time he had made himself available for a walk; he had already gone and returned from Same, starting the fortifications there. The remainder of the days since their return had been spent overseeing fields and orchards, helping his subjects with troubles and arguments, checking on the fishermen and their catch. 

She did not hesitate to grab at the opportunity, whether or not she was still angry with him. She walked past him, ignoring his outheld hand. He sighed, and followed her, guards behind him.

He caught up with her as they exited the palace. “Let’s walk down to the beach. I have something to show you.”

She nodded, turning sharply in that direction. They walked quickly and quietly, Penelope trying to enjoy the day while holding onto her anger. He reached for her hand again, and she primly clasped both her hands in front of her, looking off into the scrubby trees. The spring bloom had come and gone, and their feet crushed the discarded petals that lay in their path.

“Penelope mine, you haven’t let me touch you in days,” he stated. She could hear the undercurrent of hurt even as Odysseus tried to keep his voice even.

“Prisoners aren’t usually friendly with their jailors.”

“You are not a prisoner.”

“So you say.” 

He huffed, then was silent until they reached the beach. This was where he trained with his soldiers every day, and she could see the disheveled sand where they had sparred, the ruts from where boats had been dragged out to sea for fishing, the targets at the edge of the beach for shooting. The large boats were stored at a different beach to be out of the way, since they were not used as often.

She swallowed a lump in her throat at the sight of the training area and walked to the edge of the wet sand where it sloped away into the waves. She looked out to sea.

Odysseus jogged away from her, and she relished the small moment alone. He was back too soon, but surprised her by handing her a bow - her bow - and a quiver of arrows. She looked at him, uncomprehending. He held out the bow and quiver again, and this time, she took them.

“I have to show you something.” He tilted his head back up the beach, where a table had been erected with a display of weapons on it. She moved towards the table, interested despite herself, slinging the quiver onto her back as she went.

As she neared the table, she realized that the weapons were just axes, all arranged in a line. Brow furrowed, she turned to Odysseus. He was holding a strange bow, one that curved backwards, and had a quiver already on his back. He gave her a tentative smile. 

“I thought you might appreciate this,” he said, stepping to one side of the table, so the axes were in a line in front of him. She now saw that there was a target at the end of the line of axes. She bit her lip and watched as Odysseus strung his strange bow with the help of a brace and then stepped inside it to bend it into position. He removed the brace and tested the string, then set it aside to strap on his arm guard. Then he stepped into position, feet planted, back straight.

He nocked an arrow and pulled the string back, muscles taught beneath his tunic, eyes focused on the target. He took a breath, then released it as he released his arrow.

She watched, astonished, as the arrow flew through the holes on the axes and hit the target dead center. “Oh,” she said, wide-eyed with respect.

He winked at her, then motioned to a boy to retrieve the arrow. She looked at the boy in confusion: when had he joined them? 

“I asked him to meet us here so we wouldn’t have to retrieve our arrows,” he answered her unspoken question. Odysseus nocked another arrow, and as the boy moved out of the way, he shot again. The arrow’s feathers swished through the holes of the axes again, and the head hit just to the right of where his first arrow had pierced the target. “Would you like to try?”

Penelope shook her head. “There’s no possible way I’ll make that shot,” she admitted. “But I would love to see that bow.” She moved to him and he allowed her to trade him bows. She methodically reviewed it, marvelling at the tension in the wood and the string. She brought it up and tried to pull back on the string, not surprised when she could barely move it. She handed it back to him, accepting her small bow in return. “Impressive,” she said, realizing how insignificant the word sounded.

His grin grew. “Try with your bow,” he encouraged.

She strung her bow with much less effort than his bow had required, and took his place. She stood tall, nocking an arrow in a fluid movement that seemed instinctive, and relaxed into her first shot. Her arrow stuck in the middle of the axes, and she scrunched up her face. “Not enough power in this bow,” she noted.

He nodded, then went to extract her arrow from the axes. “Want to try again?” 

She shook her head. “But I will use the target.” She moved out of the line of axes and set up her next shot. This time, her arrow hit the target. It was barely on the target, but she was pleased that she had at least hit it; she hadn’t shot in many moons.

“Good shot,” he approved.

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly, but it was acceptable.”

They practiced until she admitted her arms were tired, then unstrung their bows so the wood could relax. As she handed the bow back to Odysseus, she met his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

He gave her a small smile, handing the weapons over to the house boy who had been retrieving their arrows. He sent him off to return the weapons to the palace, then turned to her, stretching out his hand again.

She looked at it, biting her lip. Then she lifted her hand and placed it in his. He brought it to his lips. Her shoulders tensed. She wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive him. She was definitely ready to stop being angry, though; she didn’t resist as he pulled her closer and embraced her tightly.

“I’m truly just trying to keep you safe,” he murmured into her ear. “Please let me.” 

She nodded, ducking her head into his shoulder. He took a deep breath, and she could feel as his muscles relaxed under her hands. “I can’t promise I’ll like it,” she warned.

He laughed with relief and kissed her. “As long as you are safe, I don’t care if you are furious.” He nuzzled her neck. “Okay, I really do care, I hate it when you are furious. Let’s go back to not furious, yes?”

“Okay.” 

Odysseus left again the next morning, this time to Zacynthos, to start them on building fortifications. He spent the next moon traveling back and forth from island to island, constantly on the move to improve their security. 

He was also kept busy with skirmishes. With Persephone back from Hades, the days were warm - sometimes hot - and perfect for sailing. And piracy. Odysseus told her that Ithaca itself was not often targeted because of its small size. Penelope believed their extra safety was due primarily to Odysseus’s reputation; he was merciless when someone attacked his home. The few times they were attacked, the shelves in the storerooms grew heavy with the loot pulled from the defeated ships while the raiding sailors were all summarily killed and dumped into the ocean.

The other islands did not fare quite as well. The islands of Same and Zacynthos were larger with much more trade and concentrated wealth than Ithaca, and received raiding parties and pirates more regularly. Odysseus had men on each island ready to protect each community, but they did not always prevail. He returned from visiting these defeated villages looking worn and depressed, mourning the men who were killed and worried about the women and children that had been sold into slavery. She could see why he was so anxious to get back home last summer, when he was stuck in Sparta courting Helen.

Little Sávra could not meet Penelope’s eyes. It had been two moons since they returned and Penelope had probably only had one full cup altogether in that entire time. “My lady,” she whispered, “Please. My father supplies the palace with the barley…and he is so mad when you don’t like it…”

The poor little thing was crumpled into the corner again, growing more agitated daily. Bruises had started appearing again - not on her face, but on her neck and her upper arms. Penelope bit her lip. It was not right for a child like this to be punished because she did not like her drink. She took one sip, then another. Then quickly just downed the entire thing. “There,” she said, pushing it to the girl. The girl lit up like a candle and left, thanking her profusely.

Once she left, Penelope vomited the contents of her stomach into the chamber pot. She sat next to it, feeling drained. What was one cup of nastiness against the wellbeing of a child? She wondered if Odysseus would have a solution - he seemed to have one for everyone else. She strongly suspected he would tell her to banish Sávra from the palace and let her father take out his ire on the poor girl. Odysseus would not interfere in a family matter. And so, she resolved again to help the girl by drinking her morning meal daily once again.

Three moons, stuck in the palace. Odysseus was home, and Penelope smiled as she wandered through the warren of servant rooms. Her belly was starting to round a bit, and she would place her hand on it, whispering prayers to Hera, whenever she was out of sight of her ladies. The rooms upstairs were well-suited for this, since the slaves and guards couldn’t keep her in sight at all times.

She found herself at the top of the stairs again, and sighed as she walked back to the workroom. Perhaps she would work a bit on her tapestry. It was progressing nicely, the blues of the ocean rippling along the base, ships were being “built” up from the water line, some with small sailors occupying the deck. 

It had been ages since Odysseus had last accompanied her outside of the palace, and Penelope was determined to get out. When Odysseus retired that evening, he found his wife waiting for him. Penelope wasn’t in the workroom as usual; she was waiting in their room. She met him with a kiss and knelt at his feet, untying his sandals as he removed his cloak and tunic.

As always when she chose to do something out of the ordinary, he just watched her without comment. Waiting.

She led him to the side of the bed and had him sit, then pulled out a basin of warm water from underneath the bed to bathe his feet. He had just bathed, so they weren’t exactly dirty, but lines of grime lined the sides of his toenails. She scrubbed them thoroughly, then wiped them dry on a length of cloth. Then she pulled out a jar of olive oil and started to rub the oil into his feet. 

FInally he couldn’t take it anymore. “Penelope, while this is wonderful, I could have slaves do this…”

She smiled up at him. “You work so hard, I wanted to do something for you,” she said simply.

“Really.” His eyebrows had disappeared into his hair.

“Mmhmm,” she replied. “I think you could also use a day off, my lord.”

He plopped back on the bed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Is this another tactic for you to leave the palace?”

“You said I needed to be with you to leave. I thought this would be a nice break for you as well,” she said soothingly. “When was the last time we went for a walk? When did you last take a break from your many duties?”

He sighed. “I took a moon cycle and a half in Sparta.”

“Yes, true.” She dug into the base of his foot and massaged up through his toes. “I have lovely memories of us in Sparta. Not so many in Ithaca,” she mused innocently. “I would love to see more of the island…”

“Woman…” he groused.

“Weren’t you telling me of a pirate cave?” she asked, moving to massage his calves.

“That would mean going across very rocky terrain -”

“Beloved, I am pregnant, not ill.” She had made this point several times over the past moon to no avail, but she tried again. “Not anymore. And you will be there to help me across any truly treacherous paths.”

She pushed the basin back beneath the bed, and placed the oil there as well so they would not be accidentally spilled. Then she removed her tunic and lay next to him, pulling her hands through his unruly hair. She took one of his hands and placed it on her hip, swinging a leg over him. “Please, Odysseus, just a day.”

He looked at her, then groaned in frustration. She grinned wickedly. She had won. 

It took a few days for him to clear his schedule, but the morning finally arrived. It was late summer again, almost a full year since they had met. She dressed in a simple tunic over a plain skirt, hoping they would be going over rocks and down dusty paths. She missed being outdoors.

Odysseus was waiting for her at the large doors between the women’s workroom and the throne room. He was still looking a bit disgruntled to have been “tricked” - his word - into taking a day off to be with his wife. She knew it would melt away, though, as the day progressed. He really did need a rest from all his work.

She took his offered hand and smiled brilliantly at him. Her ladies had already packed them food for the day, and they fell in line with the guards as they walked through the men’s courtyard and out of the palace.

“Tell me about the cave again,” she invited.

He gave her a sideways grin. She knew how he loved to tell stories, and inviting him to talk was one of the best ways to get him to relax and enjoy himself. It had the added benefit that she was able to hear a story - and Odysseus was excellent at telling a story.

He told her how the cave had naturally been shaped out of the limestone that formed the base of the island. Once created, it was the perfect place for a ship to set anchor - it was deep, in relatively still waters, and even at full tide could be accessed from outside. As far as a sailor was concerned, it was a safe harbor. 

It had the added benefit of having a beach inside the cave and holes that showed light from above, making it naturally lit during the day, and fires could vent into the open air at night. Pirates had used it as a lair for longer than anyone knew - maybe hundreds of years, maybe thousands.

As a boy he would look for hidden treasure in the cave. These efforts were mostly in vain: pirates did not leave treasure for anyone to take. The tide pools that existed at low tide were treasure enough for a young boy, and he went to the cave as often as time would allow. 

They wound their way away from the palace, Penelope basking in the sunshine and enjoying the sound of her husband’s voice. It was almost musical, containing a depth to it that she could feel in her bones. They reached the fountain and chatted with the townspeople drawing water for the day, then continued on their way to the cave.

To reach the cave, they had to take a route that went around the mountain the palace was built upon. They turned away from the town and started up a brief incline that took them high enough to see the ocean over the many olive trees. They stopped and breathed the salty air, and Penelope encouraged her husband to continue his story.

His unwillingness to lose a day was already gone, and he threw himself back into the tale. He had come out to the cave - alone, of course - when he was a teenager, only to find it occupied. He had spied on the ship docked in the cave and realized it was full of pirates. He listened to them talk, which was hard to make out at first due to their slightly different dialect and the echoes the cave added to their speech. 

Eventually, he was able to make out enough to know that they were lacking in some of the promised goods they needed. They were planning on attacking the nearby town - his town - in order to procure them. However, Odysseus knew that the goods they wanted weren’t available in the town. 

He left quietly, sneaking out of sight before running back to his father’s homestead. His father and he spent the night gathering what forces they could. They surrounded the cave at first light, when the pirates had anticipated attacking. They surprised the pirates completely, and the fighting was quickly over and the pirates captured.

Laertes had wanted to kill them outright, but Odysseus had been enthralled by the life of a pirate - as young boys are - and spent hours talking to the leader. His men had been tied and placed back on the ship, unable to set sail, unable to feed themselves, unable to do much other than grumble. The leader begged for his own life and the life of his men.

They eventually reached a compromise. The pirates could use the cave as a safe harbor, and could trade honorably with the townspeople. However, they had to pay a tribute to Laertes and announce themselves when docking. In exchange, they could sail with Odysseus for a full year as free labor.

“You sailed with them!” Penelope exclaimed, shocked. 

“Oh yes.” He stated this without emotion, just a fact of his life. This piqued her interest - if it was dangerous, Odysseus loved to brag about it. Yet he was matter-of-fact about piracy. 

They had sailed the Ionian sea, he said, looting and sacking cities. He had learned much about warfare from them, admitting that not much of it was honorable. He had been on the ocean since he was a toddler, but he really learned to sail on that pirate ship, being required to fill any and all positions. 

The leader, named Leocedes, had become a friend and ally, and now was often used as a primary trader for Ithaca. “We have several sailors in trade as well, of course,” Odysseus hopped over a boulder and extended a hand to help Penelope across, “But Leocedes tends to go farther and acquire more hard-to-get goods.”

As an example, he began to describe a rock that was a pure white, and could be sliced very thin. It would be translucent when prepared that way, and could be used as a skylight in rooms, while keeping the rooms dry and warm. Odysseus was contemplating using it on an addition to the palace; if he used it as paneling for a northern wall, it would add natural light without adding much heat.

They arrived at the final descent to the cave, and took a break with their entourage to eat a small snack before climbing down to the cave. Odysseus looked at the rocky path narrowly, and before he could say anything Penelope brightly told him that it looked like fun. He grumbled a bit, but didn’t add any comments about how she shouldn’t go down to the cave. He did, however, make her take the path especially slowly. She found it a bit annoying and entertained herself by making faces at him. 

They had timed their arrival at low tide, which made the path wider and easier to see. It also exposed slimy rocks that would send a misplaced foot sliding without notice.

They made it to the cave without trouble, and followed the small path into the cave itself. As promised, small holes in the top of the cave provided light. The light fell in shafts across the water, turning small portions of the sea into transparent pools of blue while leaving the vast majority of the water deep in shadow, almost black.

Odysseus led her to the shallow tide pools and she crouched beside one to watch the life within. A miniature anemone swirled with an imagined current while a tiny crab scuttled in and out of a hole at the top of the pool.

“These pools aren’t very common on this sea,” Odysseus said, sitting next to her and picking up a crab around its middle. He smiled up at her and teased her with the crab, which was trying to pinch but couldn’t get to the fingers at its sides.

“It’s amazing.” She reached a finger to touch the crab and recoiled at the alien texture of its shell. “Aletes would be enthralled with all the creatures.” 

The ladies and guards spread out around the small pools, entranced by the sea creatures and plants within. When they started to get hungry, they ate along the beach inside the cave, perching on rocks and listening to the effect their voices made as the cave bent and swallowed the sound.

After the meal, Odysseus led her to the back of the cave, which led to a small stream. She bent to touch the water, exclaiming, “This is freshwater!” 

He raised his eyebrows. “How could you tell without tasting it?” he asked.

She stopped, blinking. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. It feels different? Perhaps it is the smell?” she mused. “There is a water god in this cave, did you know?” she asked him.

He considered her. “I have heard legends. But again, how do you know? Or are you guessing?”

She shrugged. She could observe that the sky was blue, the rocks were inflexible, the water was a home to a god. It was something she knew, but couldn’t explain it. She placed her toes gently in the water and murmured, “Oh god of these waters, what can we give you to thank you for being able to view the treasures of your lovely cave? We have enjoyed its space and the creatures within. Will you show yourself and allow us to provide you with a drink?”

Odysseus watched her for a moment, then jogged over to where they had eaten their meal and grabbed a jug of wine that was still half full. He returned and started to hand it to her.

She motioned for him to add the wine to the stream, and he poured a small amount into the water. 

They both watched in awe as a man unfolded gently from the stream from the waist up, his head coming almost to their shoulders. His hair was the green tendrils of water grass, his eyes the worn silver of a river rock. “Daughter of a Naiad, welcome to this cave. Ruler of this island, welcome. Your wine is delightful.”

Penelope glanced at Odysseus, who had a respectful and watchful look on his face. He bowed and Penelope dropped into a small curtsy. Odysseus said, “We are glad it is to your taste. May we ask your name?”

The man smiled a little and reached out to Penelope, who reached out as well. Odysseus immediately stepped in front of her, pushing her backwards and away from the god. The god’s smile disappeared. “I would not hurt one of my own,” he said sternly. “I am Nereus, the father of the Naiads.”

“Grandfather,” Penelope said, kneeling at the side of the stream with her head bowed. He reached out again, and Odysseus allowed it, placing a possessive hand on her shoulder. The man placed his hand on Penelope’s head in blessing.

“You may have need of my help some day, daughter. I am here when you sorrow, when you are troubled, or when you are in distress,” he said softly. “There will be much sorrow in your life; you will know when you need me.”

With that, he flowed back into the water and was gone.

Odysseus helped her back up, a measure of respect in his eyes that was not there before. “I honestly did not doubt that your mother was a naiad,” he said slowly. “But that was unexpected.”

She held out a hand, and he took it, eyes questioning. “Odysseus, my own, I…” She stepped closer. “Why did he say that?”

Odysseus just shook his head. “The future is something we cannot fight. All we can do is be ready when it comes.”

She allowed him to pull her back towards the ladies and guards, who had finished packing up their meal and were looking anxious to return. Penelope could have spent the entire day in the cave, but it was best to leave while the tide was still low.

The one good thing about being confined inside, Penelope thought, was that her tapestry was finally complete.

The tapestry depicted an ocean full of boats. At its center was one large ship, captained by Odysseus, with an owl flying on his right. The sky had sea birds flying towards the right as well, a lucky omen. She thought it was a decent rendering, even if the boats weren’t scaled quite correctly.

Odysseus was pleased. Anticlea and he decided that it should adorn the walls of the room opposite the throne room, which they explained was not a waiting area, but a dedicated temple room that had not been outfitted quite yet. The tapestry would be a fitting decoration in honor of Athena.

Once she was finished with the tapestry, she started on baby clothing. She figured she was about halfway through her pregnancy, and it was beginning to feel like she might actually carry this baby through. Anticlea was enthralled with being a grandmother, and daily placed her hand on Penelope’s stomach to “see” how she was doing. 

Penelope endured it, but was annoyed by it all the same.

She had also found that she was starting to feel ill again. Most of the women who came to fill her workroom reported that the first few moon cycles had been the worst of their pregnancy, but here she was halfway through it, starting to feel sick again. It wasn’t so much nausea, either, but a weariness that came with dizziness and was strangely reminiscent of the illness before they went to Sparta. 

In response, she was again diligent about eating small meals throughout the day. She would often walk or pace the halls of the palace, too, hoping that moving around would help her lose the mist that seemed to swallow her mind each day. She stubbornly refused to say anything, telling her ladies that she was stopping to think. It was definitely not because she was so dizzy she was about to fall. No.

She reminded herself often that she wasn’t just lying about like she had before. She was diligently weaving each day, spending time with the women in her town as well as Anticlea. She was walking each day. It wasn’t as bad. Perhaps it was not the same.

Odysseus was back to sailing to check on the fortification work throughout the kingdom. Penelope was glad she had forced him to take at least one day to spend with her. The routine of work quickly swallowed him whole, and he would kiss her goodbye one day only to return several days later.

As long as he said goodbye, she told him, she didn’t mind him leaving. He would return.

The seasons turned colder, and Odysseus left on what he said would be his last excursion before winter. He was off island only a day when Penelope woke in excruciating pain. Her sheets wet with blood, she screamed for her ladies, then asked frantically for her mother-in-law and a midwife.

By the time her mother-in-law arrived, she knew the baby was lost. The midwife arrived just a few minutes after Anticlea, but there was nothing they could do.

Anticlea held Penelope while she sobbed. All traces of awkwardness were gone, banished by the shared sorrow. The midwife and her ladies cleaned her up, scoured her room, and tucked her back into bed. Penelope slept fitfully, waking only to be stunned that once again their baby had been lost. She hadn’t carried her child into life; she had failed again, bringing forth only death. When she was awake, she sobbed or stared at the wall. When she slept, she dreamt of Odysseus taking her back home, unable to provide an heir. She would wake with tears in her eyes. It felt like it would never end.

Then she opened her eyes and Odysseus was sitting next to the bed. How many days had it been? Three? Seven? She sobbed out apologies that must have been incoherent. He knelt next to her, taking her hand and holding it against his heart. She realized he was weeping as well. She pulled her hand back weakly, motioning for him to get in bed with her.

He pulled off his sandals and cloak and climbed in beside her, still dressed in his tunic. His mother must have been in the room, because Penelope could hear her protests, but he shooed her away, promising to be careful. She barely felt the bed move as he laid down. He pulled her into his arms and she moaned in pain. Had she moved at all since she lost the baby? She must have, yet each movement felt new and weak, accompanied by a pinch or a tug of pain. 

Tucked into Odysseus’s arms, she felt stronger, more able to bear it all. She started sobbing again, softer, and she felt his own sobs join with hers.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” 

She shook her head. “I’m glad you weren’t…it was…better this way.”

He placed his hand over her now-empty abdomen. “I hate this. I cannot fight this for you,” he mumbled.

“This is enough,” she said, placing her hand over his. “This is enough.”

He assigned Actoris to stay at her bedside constantly, and was often there himself. He tried to eat with her, feeding her as much as she would take from his hand. She would chew whatever he placed in her mouth or drink when he placed a cup to her lips. Then she would pray for a quick return to the oblivion of sleep. The nightmares didn’t seem so real now that he was here.

She woke to Odysseus slowly stroking her arm, the room covered in darkness as thick as the blankets that lay over her. She could tell that Odysseus did not have a blanket; it must be warm in the room, then. She always felt cold. So, so cold. She blinked, and sleepily asked if he was okay.

He took a deep breath. “Penelope, maybe I made a mistake marrying you.”

The tears started flowing again, filling her eyes and leaking down the side of her face. She remotely wondered that there were still tears left to fall.

He continued, “I took you from a happy home, where you were safe and healthy. I bring you to Ithaca, and you become so ill you can barely move. Sparta revived you for a while, but then…Ithaca is killing you. I am killing you.”

“Noooo,” she moaned. She was able to turn a little, to bring their foreheads together. “Don’t give up on me, Odysseus, please…”

His hand moved to her face, stroking her jawline and pushing back the hairs that had escaped from her loose braid. “I can’t. I can’t let you go. I love you. So much. You must know that. But I’m killing you -” his voice broke into a sob. 

She shook her head. “Whatever is happening is not your fault,” she assured him. “Remember our dream?”

He nodded, his sobs quieting as she feebly wrapped her hands around his shoulders.

“A shared dream. It must have been prophecy. Perhaps I have fallen…and you will be able to help. Or perhaps this is not the true test. But I have to be around to help you return to the path. We’re not at the end, yet, Odysseus. I know it.”

He kissed her softly, then turned her so her back was against his chest again. They fit so well together, she thought. So well. The tears wouldn’t stop leaking from her eyes, so she tried to close them again to stem the flow. It took a few tries, but eventually she managed it.

“Penelope?” he asked again, his voice husky with emotion. “Will you tell me a story?”

She smiled a little, the tears slowing. “You hate my stories,” she said softly.

“I love your stories. I love the way you interrupt yourself and turn the story into a conversation. I just…want to hear your voice.”

“What kind of story would you like?” she asked. 

“Tell me the worst thing you have ever done.”

“Too serious.”

“Please.”

She sighed. “You are not responsible for this, Odysseus,” she said as solidly as possible.

“I’ll tell you mine,” he promised.

She thought for a moment. “It’s pretty awful,” she warned.

“I’ll beat it.” He sounded certain.

“In Sparta,” she began, “all children start training to be warriors as soon as they can walk. Or just about,” she amended. “It seems very early, especially now as I see the little ones train.” The thought of the lost baby having grown enough to join such training caused a lump in her throat, but she resolutely swallowed it away. “There isn’t any different training for boys and girls - we are all put together and trained.”

“No wonder you are so skilled,” he murmured. “This doesn’t sound bad.”

“Mmmm. As the girls grow, they are removed from training as they show aptitude for domestic skills. They just spend more and more time on ‘appropriate’ activities. They are encouraged to train just enough to stay strong - to have lovely bodies to attract their future husbands.” 

“Makes sense,” he added. She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t want to stop.” She took a deep breath. “I had started wearing full tunics when Semus started training with us instead of just the small skirts that children wore - because Semus was so fair,” she explained. “His hair was so light, his skin burnt so easily…I didn’t want him to be singled out because he couldn’t stay out in the sun as long as everyone else. Or at least, that’s what I told Father.”

“And me.”

Ah, he remembered. “And you. The real reason is that I needed a way to keep looking like the boys so that I wouldn’t be pulled from training. Perious started wearing the tunics too - I believe his reason really was Semus - and then it seemed to catch on. If the princes and princess were wearing tunics, why wouldn’t everyone?” She laughed bitterly. “The one time I influence fashion.”

“So your terrible thing is influencing young impressionable minds to wear too much clothing while training during the heat of the summer.”

“Hah, I wish. No, the terrible thing happened as I grew and needed more people to cover for me so that I could continue training. The boys were in on it, of course, but also a few of my ladies - as father assigned them to me - and some of the slave boys that helped set up for training.”

“Still not seeing why this is so terrible.”

“Hush. My father eventually found out that I was still training, even going so far as to use weapons, well into my teens.”

Odysseus gasped in mock horror. “Scandalous…”

“When my father found out, he pulled the boys and I into the courtyard, along with everyone who had helped us with the deceit. Then he made the boys and I watch as each of them were whipped…and whipped…” she closed her eyes. “I can still hear the whistle of that whip. And there is a very specific sound it makes, when it shreds flesh…” she shuddered. “He had me care for them as they recovered, and none would even acknowledge my apologies. Needless to say, none of the slaves would do anything for me without father’s approval from then on.”

Odysseus was silent. Finally he said, “But they were slaves…”

“They are human.” She was forceful in her conviction. 

“Perhaps you won’t want to hear my terrible thing.”

“Oh no, you said you would.” She wasn’t sure, actually, that she did want to hear it. But he wouldn’t have brought it up unless he needed to say it.

“Remember when I told you I sailed with the pirates for a year?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t actually tell my parents I was going.”

“Odysseus! You just left, for a year?” She started turning around again, but he held her gently in place.

“And that’s not the terrible thing.”

“You just left. Without saying goodbye. I hope you had fun.” She wanted to pinch him, but settled on reaching back to yank his hair. “I hope you have learned not to leave without goodbyes.”

“Yes, Penelope mine, I won’t do so again.” He kissed her neck, then sighed, placing his head against her back. “I didn’t, actually. Have fun. I would never say it was fun .” He almost spat the word. “I did learn a great deal.”

“About what?”

He was silent for a moment. “How to kill. How to enslave just the women and children, but only those without fight in them. I couldn’t sleep for almost a moon after the first town. Leocedes was severe when he told me to learn to live with it - as a king, I would have to be responsible for the lives and deaths of many. There would be many that would die at my command, and some at my hand. I had to be able to live with it, or I wouldn’t be able to live. He was right about that.” 

She felt a chill in her bones that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

“That wasn’t the worst.”

She had decided: she didn’t want to know. She stayed silent, though. If he needed to say it, lance the festering wound, she would let him. 

“At the last of the towns we destroyed, the men told me I needed to be a part of all of it. Take the honor and glory due a warrior. I had killed, looted, enslaved…but I hadn’t taken a woman.”

By taken , she knew, he meant raped . She stiffened.

“That is why I couldn’t lay with you unless you were willing,” he explained quickly, as if to lessen the blow. “The screams…”

They were both silent for a moment.

“It is easy to destroy,” he commented. “It is difficult to build. I decided then that I wanted to build for honor. Not to destroy.”

“The fortifications,” she realized.

“The fortifications,” he agreed. “You. You have done nothing but build since you’ve arrived. Building relationships, strengthening my people. I am trying to learn from you. It goes against what I have been taught. Where did you learn that, Penelope mine?”

She shrugged. “My father would have been furious.”

Odysseus snorted, then started laughing. He let her go, so he wouldn’t jostle her as much. It took him a few minutes to stop laughing, and by then, Penelope was smiling, too.

He snuggled back up to her, still trying to contain his amusement. “I suppose you did warn me, back when you listed your faults for Menesteus of Athens. Opinionated and stubborn, didn’t you say?”

“I did,” she said sullenly. 

“Please don’t change,” he whispered. “But do listen, please, and be careful - there are some times you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“That is true.” She thought about all that had happened since she came to Ithaca. What she had just learned about her husband. Were they awful people because of the awful things they had done? Or honorable because they had chosen to move in a different direction going forward? 

She had no idea when she married what she was getting herself into.

And yet, she thought…she would do it again.

Chapter Text

Penelope woke to the sound of rain against the window shutters. Soft, peaceful rain. She was facing Odysseus, who was still asleep. She studied his face, wondering at him sleeping so late. Perhaps unburdening himself the night before had allowed him to relax, lessened the frenetic energy that constantly coursed through him.

His face was smashed in sleep, boneless. She could easily imagine him as a young boy looking for adventure, a teenager taking a boat to nowhere on a whim. Anticlea still treated him at times like that young boy. Penelope wondered if that was one of the reasons Odysseus loved his mother so much: she remembered him and loved him as a boy first, before he was a king.

Would she be like that with her children? Fiercely protective even when they were grown, convinced they still needed a mother protecting them from the world? From a daughter-in-law? 

Would she ever have children?

She placed a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a small sob. The action, small though it was, woke Odysseus. Always the trained warrior, his eyes opened with a sharp awareness of his surroundings, his ears pricked for anything amiss, his body taut and ready to respond to any threat. Then the relaxation as he recognized he was safe, he was home. Finally, he focused on her, and his eyes crinkled in worry. “What is it?” he asked, reaching out a hand but then dropping it before it reached her.

She cradled his hand between both of hers tenderly, not sure how to answer his question.

“You still let me touch you.” 

“How many times have you gone looking for adventure only to find torment?” she wondered.

“Too many times.” His hand closed over hers.

“I’m still choosing you, Odysseus,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Whatever that may bring.”

His eyes searched hers. “You know what I miss?” He bit his lip and took a breath before continuing. “That fierce girl I met in Sparta. Have I…have I killed her?” His voice broke.

Penelope shook her head slightly. “She’s behind walls, buried under veils and restrictions, but she’s still here, my own. You can let her out any time you choose.”

His eyes shone with unshed tears. “I don’t know if I can. I’m scared of what might happen. What has happened already…”

“A life lived in fear is no life.” 

He raised his eyebrows.

“I didn’t come up with that on my own, don’t be too impressed.”

One side of his mouth tilted upwards. “Can’t help it, Penelope mine. Can’t help it.”

She recovered from the miscarriage, but slowly. At first, Anticlea walked her around the women’s workroom at intervals throughout the day. Then, as she grew stronger, Odysseus showed up after the evening meal and took her for a walk outdoors. First just around the palace, and then to the fountain. Then to the beaches.

He told her how the fortifications were coming along, how the harvests were progressing - it was a good year for wheat - and what he had traded from the passing merchant ships. He told her a story of his men breaking an oar on their last trip to Zacynthos - the helmsman had been so angry, he had tossed the oar and the sailor overboard. As a result, they needed to perform a heave to, stopping the boat by turning the sails into the wind, to retrieve the floundering sailor. The maneuver lost them time and the helmsman was warned that he would be the next one in the sea if it happened again. 

He told her stories of the gods, especially stories of Athena. She still had not asked him about the goddess and he had never brought her up in conversation. Sometimes, she knew, dealings with gods were too personal to share. She could see his eyes linger on her tapestry, and as she spent more and more time in their temple room praying for health, praying for a child, she was often joined by Odysseus and heard his fervent prayers to the goddess. 

One morning as her ladies were finishing up her hair, Odysseus burst into her dressing room. He looked like a child keeping a delicious secret. Penelope gave him a quizzical look; mornings were spent on training and island business.

He huffed impatiently at seeing that her ladies were still readying her for the day and began to pace as her hair was tied. He then sighed in frustration as Sávra entered with the morning sludge. Penelope took a sip, and Odysseus watched as the slave girl studiously ignored him, moving anxiously from foot to foot. Penelope made a face at him and went to take another sip.

“Leave us,” he said to the ladies and the girl. Penelope’s ladies immediately obeyed, bowing out of the room. 

Sávra protested, however, speaking not to him but to Penelope. “My lady…”

Odysseus’s excitement seemed to fizzle as he repeated, “Leave us.” 

Again, she looked to Penelope, eyes wide in supplication. Penelope shook her head, looking at Odysseus pointedly. He was the master.

After giving her another few seconds to move, he went to the door and told the guards to take the girl to a room to wait for him. There was no lightness about him now, and Penelope looked at the girl in pity. Once again, she tried, “My lady…” but Actor entered and pulled her away. The girl struggled and Actor just picked her up and physically removed her from the room. Since she was so small, it was not difficult.

As the door closed, Odysseus pointed at it, saying, “What was that?”

Penelope sighed. “She insists on staying until my sludge - I mean, barley drink - is finished. She says her father, who supplies the palace with barley, will beat her otherwise. I’ve seen the bruises. Odysseus, I cannot let a child be beaten on my account. I know, family business is not our business, but if I can help…” 

She went to take another drink as Odysseus’s brow furrowed. All of a sudden, her hand was empty, and Odysseus was tugging her into their bedroom and slamming the door. She looked on in surprise as Odysseus first smelled and then tasted the cup. “My lord?”

He went to their open window and spat out the contents. “That is foul. What is that?” he said, rinsing his mouth with some water from the ewer. 

“I was told it was an Ithacan drink, tradition.”

“Not like any I have ever tasted.” He tipped out the water that was in the basin and poured her cup into the basin instead, swirling it around. 

Confused, she went to look at the basin, careful not to touch him. She had learned he didn’t like to be touched when he was angry. She looked carefully, noting the barley and several leaves of mint. She touched a small leaf that was only partially torn. Mint, she recognized. Another looked similar, but the veining was different, the edges serrated instead of scalloped.

She turned and went to the small bowl of mint next to her bed. Odysseus watched her as she tossed the bowl onto their sheets and started sorting them. She found a similar leaf in the bowl, one that was not mint, and returned to him with it in her hand.

“Odysseus,” she whispered. Their gazes met. Odysseus knew as well as she what she held in her hand. He placed his finger at her lips. He pointed to the mint bowl and she refilled it and gave it to him. He smashed it into the wall, making her jump. Then he took the basin and washed out the contents onto the floor, smashing it, the cup, and the ewer next to it. The pottery smashed into tiny pieces, and a few sliced into Odysseus’s bare legs.

“Ready?” he asked as he strode to the door. Her eyes opened wide. They were meant to be in a fight, apparently, to make sense of all the broken earthenware. She turned her eyes to the floor, trying to look cowed as he nodded and slammed open the door.

“My lady,” he sneered, and then he left her. She did not even have to try to cry - tears came quickly as she sobbed for her ladies to clean up the mess.

After everything was clean again, she sat in her room, alone. She waited. He would come for her. 

Her thoughts were in turmoil. Like most ladies, she was taught the properties of important plants as part of her domestic training. There were many that grew wild and were useful for food and ailments. There were also several that looked similar to those that were useful, but were actually poisonous. 

The mint that had been seasoning her morning meal and the mint in the bowl, had been supplemented with a very similar-looking herb that also had a minty taste: pennyroyal. Pennyroyal was not only poisonous but was also used as a way to rid pregnant women of unborn babies. 

The lost pregnancies were not her fault. 

Her mind couldn’t make it any further: she was not responsible for her lost pregnancies. She didn’t have trouble becoming pregnant. Her body was not to blame for what had been happening afterwards. 

It was only as morning started to wane that she was able to think beyond that one overwhelming thought. The next thought was equally astonishing: someone was poisoning her and making sure that Odysseus would not have an heir. Perhaps even trying to kill her in the process.

Who?

It was as she finally came to this that Odysseus returned. He had changed into a fresh tunic and washed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that meant.

His eyes were stormy and his face a mask of fury, but he held out his hand calmly, and she took it without hesitation. He pulled her close, saying softly in her ear, “Let us walk, yes?”

She nodded into his chest. He took her hand again, placing it in the crook of his elbow and covering it with his hand. They went into the women’s workroom, where his mother sat with several women from town. They stood at the sight of the King and Queen, curtsying deeply.

“Mitéra , I require your assistance.”

Anticlea immediately turned over her spinning to Thebe. “Excuse us, ladies,” she said to her guests as she followed Odysseus and Penelope out of the room. He dismissed Actoris and Eurynome, who had followed automatically, as they exited into the men’s rooms, leaving the palace with only Penelope, Anticlea, and Penelope’s guards.

“Where are we going, Odysseus?” asked his mother. Penelope was wondering too, but was glad Anticlea had asked first.

“Where would Laertes be this time of morning, mamá ?” he asked in return. Penelope frowned at him. He knew full well where to find his father at almost any point of the day; Laertes was a very predictable man.

She realized as Anticlea lifted her chin and answered why he had asked her. It was to allow his mother to be the expert in this regard, to show her respect. Such a small thing, asking his mother a question. And yet, it meant everything to her.

“Laertes will be at the homestead, ready for his midday meal. He was having a very good day today,” Anticlea replied. Odysseus turned in the direction of the old homestead where Odysseus’s parents lived. It was much simpler in construction than the palace, but still contained separated rooms for men and women. There was a second story over just the women’s rooms, giving the homestead a stepped appearance. Porches lined the outside, allowing the sea breezes to cool the home in summer. It was a lovely residence, with grape vines trained up columns and across porches, certainly Laertes’s work. He loved working with plants, especially those with edible fruit like his orchard trees, the olive trees, and these grapes.

Odysseus asked his mother if she would be agreeable to gathering a lunch for the four of them while finding Laertes. He and Penelope and the guards would wait outside for her. She agreed and, patting his cheek, went indoors and started calling to her slaves.

Odysseus walked Penelope underneath a large sycamore tree standing to one side of the house, motioning to the guards to set up a perimeter. Then he drew her close, and whispered, “Can you forgive me?”

She looked at him in shock. “For what?”

“I never once considered that you were being poisoned. It makes so much sense. How did I miss it? You were always so well in Sparta...”

“I am just so relieved!”

Now it was his turn to be shocked. “Relieved? To be poisoned?”

“Pennyroyal is not just a poison, Odysseus - it is used to prevent and end pregnancies. Do you know what this means?” She fisted her hands in his tunic, joy rising in her like a tide. “We can have children!”

“You are probably the only person I have ever met that would be happy to be poisoned…” he muttered.

“I’m not happy that I was poisoned…but to know the cause of my illness… and I don’t have to drink that awful barley stuff again!” 

His lips twitched, but he wasn’t ready to be laughing quite yet. His parents emerged from their home and Laertes joked loudly, “Are you two still newly wed? Do you need us to go back inside for a bit?”

Odysseus didn’t look at him or respond, but kissed Penelope soundly. She had a difficult time trying to decide whether to return the kiss or laugh at her father-in-law, so Odysseus ended up kissing her teeth as much as her mouth as she giggled.

They ate in the orchard under the apple trees, now bare of fruit and most of their leaves, the fallen leaves creating a cushion under their feet. Penelope could feel the sadness of autumn as the earth itself mourned the return of Persephone to Hades. 

Slaves from the homestead brought small tables and chairs for them to relax upon, and stood out of hearing so the four could talk candidly. Odysseus explained to his parents how Penelope had been poisoned. Again, she pointed out that their unborn children had borne the brunt of the poisoning. She also added that Odysseus regularly used the mint in the bowl, so he had consumed small amounts of the poison as well. Laertes and Anticlea listened carefully, Anticlea pressing Penelope’s hand as she learned that the morning drink she had so roughly encouraged was the source of the poisoning. 

“My question for you, father,” Odysseus finished, “Is who would try to end our line? Why Penelope instead of removing me directly?”

His father laughed without humor. “Remove you? How? Dueling? You would win. Enter the palace? With all those guards? Penelope,” he looked at her with an apology in his eyes, “Is probably your weakest point and the easiest to strike at. Or someone wants her gone to replace her with a different queen.”

Odysseus nodded, thoughtful.

“Did you question the slave girl?” asked Anticlea.

“Yes. She was able to give me the name of her father, and I questioned him as well. The father was being paid to provide herbs that were mixed, the girl was threatened to deliver them. Both were engaged through messengers that changed often and never provided names.”

“In such a small town, would it be possible for him to not know the messengers?” Penelope asked. Granted, she still did not know everyone in town after a full year, but that was due more to her illnesses and the isolation of being a married woman than anything else. Penelope supposed she should replace “illness” with “poisoning” in her thoughts. 

Anticlea answered, “Very possible. The slaves do not mix with townspeople. We keep our slaves as isolated as possible, as do the elders in town.”

The men agreed. Penelope pursed her lips. This was a common method of dealing with slaves: the more isolated they were from townspeople and other slaves, the less likely they were to group together and revolt against their masters. In this case, it would severely hamper their investigation.

“Did you ask him for a description of any of the messengers?” Penelope asked. “Can I?”

Odysseus’s mouth went thin and anger flared again in his eyes. “They are beyond questioning at this point.” 

She remembered his fresh tunic and took a deep breath, trying to stem tears at the injustice of poor little Sávra being punished - killed - for being used by men older and stronger than she. “Without them, whoever initiated the poisoning will know we are aware of it, and will try to find another way.”

“ With them, the persons responsible would still know.” Odysseus’s voice was hard. “They could not be trusted to provide information after what they have already done.”

Penelope dropped her eyes. He was right. 

“Think on it,” Odysseus directed his father. “We will need to come up with a plan.”

Laertes and Anticlea both agreed, and they signaled the slaves to come remove the meal, along with the furnishings they had moved outdoors.

Odysseus and Penelope returned home without Anticlea, guards trailing not far behind. Odysseus’s mother had decided to stay and talk further with Laertes, leaving Odysseus and Penelope to walk back to the palace with the guards.

Penelope was silent, her thoughts jumping from her last miscarriage to her little Sávra. Penelope doubted that Sávra even knew what was in the cup, although she probably did know - or had at least guessed - that it was the cause of Penelope’s sickness.  

Odysseus was also silent. Holding her hand, moving his thumb restlessly over the back of her hand. His touch was gentle, but she could feel the tension in his hand.

They were almost back to the palace when Penelope remembered Odysseus’s excitement before they had realized she was being poisoned. “My lord,” she asked tentatively, “What were you going to show me this morning, before we were so distracted by…other matters?”

Odysseus stopped, then started heading a different direction. “I completely forgot! Leocedes is here and I need to introduce you to him.”

The pirates! Penelope did not know whether to be excited to meet someone Odysseus obviously held in high esteem - or to be worried about meeting the person who had provided opportunity and lessons for Odysseus on how to steal, murder, and rape. 

Leaving the guards outside the cave, Odysseus helped Penelope down the rocky embankment to the same pirate cave where she had met her grandfather. Inside was a large ship with sailors - pirates, Penelope reminded herself - swarming like ants on an anthill. One of them noticed Odysseus and called, “Hoy! Odysseus!”

At this greeting, another man climbed from the ship into a small rowboat tied to its side and quickly rowed to the beach where they stood. He jumped out, embracing Odysseus, who introduced him as the captain, Leocedes.

Leocedes was, to Penelope’s eyes, odd. He wore just a loincloth, even though it was near the end of autumn and the weather was not warm, and his sun-lightened brown hair and beard were matted into long ropes. He didn’t talk in full sentences but rather bounced from one topic to the next. Odysseus seemed to understand him without issue, but Penelope found him very difficult to follow. He said Odysseus’s name with the stress on the third syllable: “O-dis-SAY-us”, and the pronunciation of many of his other words were also stressed strangely, making him difficult to understand even when she knew what topic he was discussing. He was also constantly moving. Most of what he said yelled from a distance as he remembered orders for his men, tossed over his shoulder as he retrieved something he needed - a rag to wipe his face or a rope from the rowboat to tie it to a nearby boulder - or gasped out when he returned to them, out of breath from all the activity.

He was polite enough, bowing extravagantly to Penelope and congratulating Odysseus on his…did he say conquest ? Then he was talking about the fortifications on the other islands and warning Odysseus about a group of people on the sea. Pirates? The word he used sounded like he was choking. Odysseus was familiar with it and seemed a bit concerned, which probably meant she should be very concerned. 

There was also news: Tyndareus had died in a hunting accident, leaving Leda a widow. Menelaus had ascended the throne in his stead, but Menelaus and Helen were still childless. The loss of her uncle did not hit Penelope very hard, as she had not really known Tyndareus well. She did worry for Helen and Clytemnestra and their brothers, though; even the idea of losing her own father was painful, and she hoped her cousins were able to grieve together and find some comfort. 

In Mycenae, Clytemnestra and Agamemnon had celebrated the birth of their first daughter. Penelope could not properly make out the daughter’s name on Leocedes’s tongue. He had other news of people Penelope had only met briefly at Helen’s palace and kingdoms that Penelope had only heard of, but she could see that Odysseus catalogued each piece of gossip carefully.

Then the trading began. She understood this much better, and with an arm at Odysseus’s elbow, was able to provide the same service for him that she had for her father. Their steward Mentor had been taught how to keep records, and she reviewed them regularly so that she knew exactly what stores they had and needed. Odysseus drove a much harder bargain than her father ever had. She was impressed with the outcome and truly grateful that she was only required for information. She had known and seen that haggling was a skill, but her husband turned it into an art.

The men bowed to each other, and Odysseus led her out of the cave. He helped her back up the embankment, pausing to look carefully at the horizon. Motioning to the guards, he told them to start the beacons and to watch for incoming ships. Then he mentioned there were pirates coming and they scattered to set up watches.

“Who are  these pirates? What makes them different from any of the others?” she asked as they reached the path taking them back to the palace.

“They are dangerous pirates.” He smiled at her look. “Yes, I suppose all pirates can be dangerous - but these cannot be bargained or traded with - they are not ever guest-friends or travelers looking for help onwards. They are a scourge, and we will need to be ready for them.”

“How can I help?”

He put an arm around her shoulder. “By staying safely in the palace.” 

She huffed in annoyance. “We will ready supplies for wounds and make sure there is plenty of food for the guards,” she replied tartly. At his stern look, she added meekly, “And stay inside the palace.”

He kissed the side of her head and gave her a quick squeeze. “My father is correct: you are my greatest weakness. Not that you aren’t a force in your own right, but because I will do anything to keep you safe. Please don’t make yourself a target.”

The women did not have time to start preparations for the attack, as Odysseus decided the next day to visit Same to warn them of the coming danger. Penelope had asked - without hope - to come with him, since it was a short trip and so close to home. To her surprise, he had agreed, and so she had asked if Anticlea could come as well. They would stay with Ctimene, his sister, and her husband Eurylochus. It would mean much to Anticlea to see her grandchildren.

Once again, he agreed. 

Now Penelope stared out at the ocean, the spicy yellow root tingling in her mouth. They would be on the ship for just an hour or so, and she was determined not to lose her morning meal today, not with Anticlea standing just beside her on the deck. They watched as Ithaca grew more distant, Same coming closer. 

Kynna and Thebe also stood with them, the other ladies left behind to help Eurynome run the household with Ops. Nominally, Laertes was in charge. Odysseus hoped to be back home in two days, so he thought everything would be well without him or Anticlea.

It wasn’t until now, watching him constantly scanning the waters, that she realized that he had probably planned on taking her and Anticlea, to keep them close in the face of the imminent threat.

“I think you will like Ctimene,” Anticlea said.

Penelope did not wish to speak; she was afraid that opening her mouth would end in her bending over the railing being sick. Her training asserted itself, however, and she found herself replying, “I am sure I will. Is she much like Odysseus?” She swallowed, hard, accidentally swallowing the slice of root she held in her mouth. She quickly added another from a pouch at her side.

“Very like, which is why they have such trouble getting along,” Anticlea said with a laugh. “Which is why I think you will like her. They could have been twins in looks and temperament, but they would have torn my womb apart if they had been forced to share.”

“And Eurylochus?” Penelope had heard Odysseus and Polites talking about him every so often, but usually as part of a story. They did not comment on him specifically.

“Hm.” Anticlea thought a moment before continuing. “He is a black and white person - he does not believe in shades of gray like my Odysseus. Everything is right or wrong, nothing in between. He is more of a follower, but questions everything, critical of any idea regardless of its merits. He is skilled at warfare, and from an old family on Same.” She was quiet for a moment, and Penelope could see her turning over his character in her mind. Then she seemed struck by another thought and her eyes lit up with mischief. “Did I ever tell you about the time Odysseus and he decided they would learn to sail on their own?”

Penelope shook her head slightly. “Weren’t they raised on separate islands?”

“Oh, Eurylochus’s father asked us to raise him alongside Odysseus for many years. It was a good thing for both boys, I think. Eurylochus is one of Odysseus’s most loyal subjects.”

“How old were they?”

“When they decided to learn to sail? Five, perhaps? Six? Much too young, but that never stopped Odysseus.” Anticlea smiled fondly. “They woke up early, earlier than the fishermen, if you can believe it, and took one of the fishing boats. Without permission. Somehow they were able to launch it between the two of them - it should have been too heavy, but they were determined. They managed to get in without upsetting the boat but couldn’t decide between the two of them which way to go, so they ended up rowing in a circle in the bay. Yelling at each other the entire time, I must add.”

Penelope grinned.

“The owner found them when he came out to fish and gave them an earful, then dragged them to Laertes. Oh, was he mad.” Anticlea shook her head, shaking with mirth. 

“My father called me ‘sparrow’ because I was always flying away…and yet I think Odysseus was far worse. Fishing boats, pirates…” The root was finally having an effect and she was feeling a bit more settled. Or perhaps the story was having a calming effect on her. Either way, she smiled in relief. Sailing was getting easier.

“He told you about the pirates?” Anticlea was astonished.

“You must have been furious when he just disappeared.”

“You have no idea. We were so worried, so angry, so…” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps we should have nicknamed him something…slippery…”

“Like an eel?”

Both ladies started, then giggled as they recognized Polites standing just behind them.

“Perfect,” Anticlea laughed.

“My lady.” Polites bowed slightly to Penelope. “Lady Anticlea,” he bowed again. “My Queen, the King wishes to know if you are well.”

“He could come ask her himself,” groused Anticlea, rolling her eyes. “It’s not a large boat.”

“The King is currently occupied with steering, my lady,” he said politely.

“I am well, Polites. I am more worried about you - how long have you been awake?” He had guarded their room all evening and then attended them all morning on the boat as well.

“Long enough, my lady. I will sleep after we dock, never fear.” He bowed again. “We should be there shortly.”

“An eel!” Anticlea repeated. “How did I never think of that?”

Horses awaited them as they docked, along with a wagon. Penelope arched an eyebrow at Anticlea.

“Eurylochus keeps a few horses here with the fishermen - he pays one of their boys to look after them - so that he can ride home or so that messengers can reach him more quickly. They saw our ship and are ready for us.” she explained.

Penelope scanned the beach, picking out a few homesteads set back in the fields. This island had fields, many of them, stretching as far as she could see, laid over the soft rolling hills and almost up to the sea itself. They had left the rocky hillsides behind in Ithaca, and Penelope was entranced by the differences in terrain. 

They disembarked and waited patiently while their legs regained some steadiness and while the sailors loaded the wagon with gifts for their host. While they waited, Kynna and Thebe busied themselves placing veils on Penelope and Anticlea. Penelope’s veil was a fine linen cloth she had woven herself while recovering. Odysseus had requested her to bring them for her safety. She had reluctantly decided that if he felt she was safer with a veil when she ventured outdoors, then she would wear a veil. Unlike her wedding veil, this one was woven to allow light and air, with much greater spaces between the threads. She had verified with her ladies that her face was still hidden, but she was able to see very well. It was also long enough that she could attach it with ribbons to her belt, so she would not have a band constricting her head throughout the day.

Odysseus loped over to where the ladies stood and bowed extravagantly in front of his wife and mother. “My lady, mamá , you have the choice of riding horseback or in the wagon.”

“Horseback,” Penelope immediately replied, and Odysseus winked at her; he had known her choice before he asked.

Anticlea and the other ladies voiced a strong preference for the wagon, so the wagon was rearranged to allow for the three ladies to ride in relative comfort. 

“Odysseus, I could ride my own horse,” Penelope suggested as Polites handed the ladies into the wagon.

“You could,” he agreed, “but then one of the men would need to walk. There aren’t enough horses, Penelope mine, so you will have to content yourself with riding in front of me.” He gave her his lazy half grin. “If that would be acceptable?”

“Of course, my lord.” 

They left the beach and traveled along a wide dirt road with wide ruts from frequent travel. Since there were so many fields, there weren’t as many trees, and those that were shading the road were not bearing olives or figs or apples - they were oaks and beeches, willows and plane trees. Penelope had gotten used to the smaller trees on her island, and let her eyes follow the branches of these trees high into the sky, seeming to almost hold the sparse, fluffy clouds in place.

After a few hours, the wagon began to slow and those riding began to bunch together, which told Penelope that they had arrived. The estate of Eurolychus and Ctimene was at the end of a long road winding at the base of a hill, far from the ocean. She could not even hear the water. Their home was quite large, almost as large as the palace on Ithaca. Odysseus had told her that Eurolychus was quite wealthy; he had paid a very large bride price to obtain Ctimene about five years prior to her own marriage to Odysseus.

The palace walls were limestone, much like her own home, but the gates were worked from metal instead of lumber. A considerable expense, she noted. There were gardens here, late flowers fading as the year grew colder. She would have to see if Ctimene would allow her to gather seeds; she would love to have more of a garden area in Ithaca. 

A tall man that Penelope imagined would be a match for a large bear came to meet them. His face was scarred and lined, his form warrior-like, but his manner noble. He stood at least a head over Odysseus, yet deferred to him easily. 

“Eurylochus! Brother!” Odysseus jumped off his horse, then helped Penelope dismount. “May I introduce Penelope, Queen of Ithaca?” 

Eurylochus bowed and offered her a hand. She placed hers in his and he gave her hand a perfunctory kiss. “Welcome to my home, my Queen.”

“Good morning, Eurylochus,” Anticlea added, having alighted from the wagon immediately. “Do you know where we would find your wife this beautiful morn?” 

“Welcome, Lady Anticlea. She is in the nursery, as she is most times.” He rolled his eyes towards Odysseus. “You are lucky, my lord, that you have no children as yet.” 

Penelope was glad for her veil as she flinched involuntarily. Odysseus maintained a calm expression, but she could see his eyes tighten incrementally. 

Oblivious to their reaction, Eurylochus continued, “She does not seem to remember that she has a husband.”

Anticlea took Penelope’s arm and they began to walk away. 

“She has children,” Polites inserted himself into the conversation. “They take a lot of time, I’m told.”

“That is not the point,” Eurylochus snapped. 

“Is it not? Or is the point that you aren’t pressing your point often enough?” Polites laughed and Odysseus joined in.

“It only gets worse from here on out,” Anticlea murmured to Penelope, “Perhaps we should walk faster.” They picked up their pace. “I have spoken to Odysseus about making a law that requires those three to be separated at all times, but he refuses to listen.”

“Now why would he doubt the wisdom of such a law, especially coming from his dear mitéra ?” she asked. The ladies tittered behind them, amused.

“Exactly.”

“Anticlea, why is the house so far from the beach?”

“It is harder for pirates to get to it. Most islands have their main towns and residences far from the beaches to make attacks less appealing.” Anticlea was matter-of-fact, but the comment only served to heighten Penelope’s appreciation of the danger of living in the islands. 

“We are truly at the edge of the world,” Penelope said softly.

“Yes, daughter, we truly are. We enjoy the good, endure the bad.”

They walked into the estate, through large wooden doors into the main open-air courtyard of the men’s rooms. They walked across tiles shaded with every color of blue, which reminded Penelope of the sea. The walls were yellow with green tilework that looked like snaking vines. It was quite pretty, she thought: certainly more ornate than their home, but not gaudy or outlandish. 

Anticlea chose a corridor, ignoring slaves as they went about their daily work. The slaves ignored their party as well, so Anticlea must have been well known in these halls. The corridors were almost blanketed with tapestries, plain in design but helpful in insulating the estate from heat in summer and the cold in winter.

They passed into the women’s rooms, which were not as elaborately decorated as the men’s rooms. Penelope wondered if they hadn’t been decorated yet, or were not going to be decorated, and what that might mean about her sister and brother-in-law.

A short wisp of a woman bustled into the corridor ahead of them. Her hair was dark and tied back into a cascading hairstyle bound by small braids, and her small pointed features were softened by a brilliant smile. “ Mamá !” she gushed, rushing to hug her. “You must be Penelope. I’m so glad to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you!” She reached for Penelope as well, giving her a bracing hug.

Penelope undid the ribbons holding her veil in place and tucked the veil back over her head.

“Ctimene, this is Odysseus’s wife, Queen Penelope of Ithaca. Penelope, my impulsive daughter, Ctimene.”

“A pleasure, Ctimene,” Penelope said with a nod.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, I’m so glad Odysseus let both of you come!” She maneuvered in front of them and led them into a large room that was bright and sunny. Penelope noted several wide windows high in the wall bringing in light as well as torches and a large hearth lit and merrily burning. 

Two small dark children were splayed on the rug in front of the hearth playing with several blocks of wood. They smiled shyly at Penelope, then stood and curtsied to their grandmother. 

“Give your giagi á a hug, my darlings,” Ctimene encouraged, and the two carefully walked to Anticlea and gave her stiff embraces. “Gah, she won’t hurt you, sillies, like this!” and Ctimene took her mother into an embrace that almost knocked them both to the floor. The children started laughing, as did Ctimene. Anticlea tried to remain stern but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Ctimene, you are raising your children to be heathens.”

“Yes!” Ctimene kissed the heads of her children. “Children, this is your new Auntie Penelope. Would you like to say hello?”

The older of the two, looking to be about five, bit her lip and gave Penelope a small curtsey. “Hewwo, Auntie.” The smaller of the two, a young boy, perhaps two or three, just shook his head and hid behind his older sister.

Penelope bent down to them and smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. What are your names?”

Ctimene pointed to the older sister. “This is Gaiane, who is five,” The girl held up a hand to demonstrate, “and the younger boy is Adamantios, who is almost three. And,” she said, breezing over to a small cradle and picking up a sleeping infant, “This is Sophos, and he is only about 6 moons.”

“He’s sleeping!” Penelope protested.

Ctimene placed him in Penelope’s arms and she watched, entranced, as the little boy stretched a little and snuggled back into his wrapping cloths and went back to sleep.

“Anticlea has yet to hold him,” Penelope protested, handing him to her mother-in-law but yearning to keep the little body close. Anticlea pressed him back into Penelope’s arms.

“I will get my chance, never fear,” she said.

“He’s in a rhythm right now where nothing can wake him during certain naps - this is one of them.” She winked at Penelope. “I love it - even the other children cannot wake him unless he is ready. So much easier than either of those two barbarians…” she grinned at her children, who were now ignoring them both, having returned to their toys. 

Penelope traced the curve of the boy’s face - her nephew, she thought as a lump filled her throat - and watched as the boy’s mouth curved into a slight smile before relaxing back into sleep. “Oh, he’s precious,” she cooed. The longing that welled up in her chest was almost unbearable for a moment, and she bit the inside of her cheek.

“I’m surprised you and Odysseus don’t have a child yet,” she said lightly. 

Penelope didn’t look up, and Ctimene took a sharp breath as Anticlea remonstrated, “Ctimene!” 

“Don’t mind me, I’m too forward, everyone says so. I’m sure the goddess will bless you with children. Oh, I’m the worst.” She gave Penelope a side hug.

The hug only served to release a tear from Penelope’s eye, which she had been valiantly trying to blink back. She smiled at Ctimene, though. “It’s been a rough year,” she said.

Ctimene’s expressive face showed nothing but concern. “If Odysseus is not being good to you, you just let me know. I’ll hurt him for you.” 

At that, Penelope snorted, then started laughing in earnest. As Ctimene had predicted, the baby slept on, which made Penelope laugh even harder. Anticlea just grinned and found a seat on a nearby settee. Ctimene looked a bit affronted. “I can take him, trust me.”

Penelope shook her head. “I’ve tried tackling him, it doesn’t work,” she giggled. “Not even when he’s ill.”

Ctimene’s dark eyes flashed with approval. “I knew I liked you.”

Ctimene didn’t seem to need to breathe, but lived just to talk. Penelope immediately adored Ctimene, and happily spent the afternoon holding the baby - until Anticlea enforced her grandmotherly rights and took him gently from her - and speaking with the children once they warmed to her. 

The children happily let her tell them stories and didn’t complain about her storytelling abilities at all. Ctimene and Anticlea, who had not heard her stories yet, both groaned aloud every time she diverted from the main story, but Penelope ignored them. This also amused the children; they were unused to anyone ignoring their mother.

Once the children were fed and put to bed, she and Ctimene curled up before the fire and compared stories of growing up in a royal household while Anticlea sat next to Ctimene and undid her hair. Their stories were very different: Penelope had been raised in a city, Ctimene in the tiny town on Ithaca; Penelope had so many younger brothers - “How do you stand it?” cried Ctimene - where Ctimene only had her one older brother. 

It was only inevitable, perhaps, that the conversation would drift back towards children. Penelope shared with her the trials of being slowly poisoned over the course of their marriage, and Ctimene listened in shock. “Oh, Odysseus must be furious,” she said in an undertone. “No ideas about who - ?”

Penelope shook her head. “The slave girl and her father were both…unhelpful. But at least we know the cause…” The words that had brought her so much comfort since she had learned she was being poisoned did not bring her their typical solace. Her courses were back to normal, but no pregnancy had occurred since, either.

Anticlea added, “And I hold some of the blame, my dear Ctimene. I encouraged her to keep taking the drink, even when I knew she did not like it. I did not so much as grant her a simple wish to have a different sort of morning meal.” 

Ctimene looked thoughtful. “ Mamá , you did not put the poison there, how were you to know?”

Penelope caught a glimmer of a tear on Anticlea’s face in the firelight. 

“Ctimene, you would have been so disappointed in me,” Anticlea confessed. “I was…unjustly worried about Odysseus and Ithaca and misplaced my unease in tormenting Penelope.” Anticlea met Penelope’s eyes. “I don’t know how you can forgive me, but I still wish it.”

Ctimene looked from one to the other. “There are always noble families that believe the crown should reside in their family,” she mused, going back to their original subject. “I wonder if any of them have a daughter they wanted Odysseus to marry instead. I’m not sure who the crown would go to if…” She broke off the thought, seeing Penelope’s distress. “Not that it will happen. I would look at those families, though. They are in a good position to get to know your slaves and bribe them.”

“Odysseus surely thought of that,” Penelope said.

“You’d be surprised what people will overlook. Odysseus grew up with these families. It is possible that he wouldn’t even consider them.”

Anticlea pulled her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “Maybe more than possible.”

Penelope bit her lip again. She had turned the problem over in her mind so many times, it felt worn and threadbare. Could he have overlooked the nobles he met with and dined with regularly? She supposed anything was possible.

Ctimene showed Penelope to her room, explaining that Odysseus and Eurylochus would probably be awake talking for hours. “Unlike Eurylochus, I’ll be awake with the children in the early morning, or I’d stay up with you as well.” Ctimene introduced a soft cheeked girl who would help Penelope’s ladies should she need anything and left her to sleep. 

The maid stayed only to undress her and make sure the coals were banked in the hearth before curtseying and leaving. She went to the window, which was shuttered against the night, unlatching the shutters and throwing them open. The night was chill, and a mist was descending over the rolling hills between the estate and the sea, almost as if the sea were reaching for her. She reached out her hand as well, meeting the mist. The cool droplets seemed to calm her, and she closed the shutters again, feeling a measure of peace.

If Odysseus was her sun, Ctimene was the breeze playing through the trees, demanding her attention, reminding her to be amazed at what the world had to offer. This, she thought, was why people had friends: to wake them up, to remind them they were alive. 

Ctimene chatted with Anticlea while Penelope played with Gaiane and Adamantios, who forgot to be shy when she arrived for the morning meal the next morning. The wet nurse was feeding sweet little Sophos, and Penelope could almost see Anticlea’s fingers itching to hold the boy again. Truth be told, her own fingers longed to be clasped in his tight fights and to see him blink warily out of his new eyes.

Penelope felt enveloped in this small family as she rolled on the floor, lifting Adamantios over her head and listening to his shrieks of delight. This is what she wished for, she thought. Family. Odysseus was her home, but she wanted - needed - children as well. She caught Anticlea laughing at her antics and returned the grin. Perhaps she could forgive Anticlea. Perhaps.

Odysseus returned from reviewing the fortifications with Eurylochus and Polites late that evening, and joined her in the nursery. She was walking Sophos around the room, narrating everything she saw for the little one: “See how the curtains drape along the side of the window,” she whispered, “keeping the sun from being too bright, the winter mist from reaching you and giving you a chill. Your mother clothed this room as she did you, to keep you safe and warm…”

She startled a little as Odysseus came behind her and placed his hands on her hips. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

“They were just here,” Penelope said, turning to see that Ctimene and Anticlea had indeed left with the children. “It must be time to put the children to bed. Anticlea has been telling them stories to go to sleep, and I think Ctimene loves to hear them as well.”

Odysseus wrapped his arms around her waist, underneath the precious little boy that she held. “I love seeing you with a babe in your arms,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

She hadn’t seen him at all since they had arrived at Eurolycus’s estate; her only clue that he had been to bed were the rumpled sheets when she woke. She did not wish to shed more tears, so quickly changed the subject. “Ctimene thinks we should look more closely at the noble families and the elders on Ithaca for my poisoner. There might be someone who wishes you to marry into their family so that their children are on the throne in coming generations.” She hadn’t meant to say it so baldly.

Odysseus took a deep breath and she felt it throughout her own body, relaxing her. “We can look into it, but…” he tucked her more firmly into his chest. “I just don’t know, Penelope mine.” He reached one hand out to smooth along the side of his nephew’s face, and the baby turned into his hand.

“One day,” he sighed. 

She nodded, unable to speak. They swayed with the infant to an unheard melody, pretending to one another that they were not heartbroken, that the tears that leaked from their eyes was just tiredness, that they were not absurdly jealous of Ctimene and Eurylochus and their small treasure.

“Do you know what we should do?” he asked, sniffing a little.

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“Borrow babies.”

She was torn between laughing and crying. She tipped her head back with a sob onto his shoulder, and their wet cheeks met. “Odysseus my own?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

He pressed a kiss on her cheek. “I love you too, Penelope mine. I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

Saying goodbye to Ctimene and the children was a wrench, but Penelope felt stronger for visiting them. She told Odysseus that they should visit much more often and he agreed, though she knew full well that agreement did not always translate into action - there were just too many things that he needed to do.

Anticlea actually teared up as they left. She, too, wanted more time, more visits with her only daughter and grandchildren. 

When they returned to Ithaca, the two women immediately went to work preparing for an imminent attack from the pirates that Leocedes had warned them about: tearing strips of cloth for binding wounds; having slaves gather herbs; creating poultices; preparing blankets and rooms. They had a good store of willow bark, and Penelope made sure it was ready to use. They also dried any fresh food they could, so that the soldiers and guards would have food readily available should they be unable to leave their posts - first as they waited, then as they fought. 

The men cataloged and sharpened their arms, as well as entreating the smith to fix what hadn’t been attended to but still needed mending. 

Without a daily dose of poison, Penelope was recovered enough to be able to keep up with her mother-in-law and her slaves. Penelope hoped for a few false alarms, as she knew that they all needed the practice.

The palace also continued trying to figure out the source of the poisoning, but with their two best leads unwilling to provide more information before they were executed, and the noble families seemingly beyond repute, they were at a loss. In response, Odysseus doubled Penelope’s guard whenever she was awake and required a slave to test all her food for poison. She agreed to the extra security measures even as she chafed under the additional restrictions.

It seemed the entire palace slept with one eye open and spent every day drooping with exhaustion. All except Odysseus, that is, who seemed energized by the emergency. Penelope just hoped his strength would hold out until the emergency actually materialized.

The alarm, when it came, was deep into the night. Odysseus was up and giving her a quick kiss before Penelope had wiped the sleep from her eyes. She wandered to the window, pulling a tunic over her head and opening the shutters to look into the darkness. The tunic was too large - she must have grabbed Odysseus’s tunic by mistake. She grabbed a handful and buried her face into it, breathing in his scent. He was headed into battle without her; she could not watch, could not do anything but be ready to help those who were wounded. The thought of Odysseus being wounded struck her viscerally and she hugged herself tightly. She dared not even think about him being killed. He would be fine, she thought again and again, the repetition turning it into a prayer.

She couldn’t see anything out the window; her window looked at the hill behind their home, shielding the palace from the worst of the storms, providing coolness to the lower levels of the palace, and sheltering their room from the worst of any weather. Tonight was brisk but not cold, one of the few last warm autumn nights that teased while falsely denying winter was just around the corner. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, leaving primarily starlight illuminating the night.

There was a faint smell of pitch from the torches, and she knew that there would be guards at the edges of the palace to keep anyone from coming back in this direction. The hill behind the palace had sheer cliffs on the other side, so her window could only be accessed from the paths where the guards stood. She could hear calls in the distance, and the sounds of the nearby willow tree drifting against the stone walls in the breeze. 

There was a disturbance in the women’s workroom, and she started to walk towards her door. She could hear her guards running into the room and she wished she had her dagger on her. As it was, she was weaponless. And alone. She stood behind the door, hoping to at least have a bit of warning if someone came in.

After several minutes with nothing happening, she took a deep breath and told herself it was only her imagination. She went back to her bed, curling as small as she could and listening. 

She must have fallen back asleep - perhaps this was the false alarm she had been hoping for - when her bedroom door opened and closed quickly. She could tell immediately that it was not Odysseus who stood inside her room. His steps were always sure, whereas this person was halting, perhaps waiting for their eyes to adjust to the depth of the darkness.

Penelope knew the darkness was deep enough that the intruder wouldn’t be able to see much even after their eyes adjusted. Though she had no weapon, she decided she was not going to just sit and wait for whoever it was to make a move. She stood and heard her intruder make a small adjustment. “Who dares invade my room?” she asked as coldly and proudly as she could, amazed when her voice did not crack. She had spoken loudly enough to warn the guards outside her door. She worried about Polites and Timnes, who should have been able to stop the intruder before they entered the room. Where were they? Where was Actoris? She was always near, routinely sleeping in Penelope’s dressing room.

The intruder moved closer without making a response. Male or female, she asked herself. Weapon or no? It would only make sense for them to have a weapon, but lately so few things seemed to make sense. A small chair stood to her left, one where she always sat to do or undo her hair. A table next to it with ribbons and a hand mirror. She moved quickly and took the chair in one hand and the mirror in the other. If nothing else, the mirror would shatter on impact and the chair could be used to keep the attacker at bay. Depending on what weapon they had.

Now the intruder moved steadily, trying to corner her. Penelope backed against the wall next to the window. The window! The shutters were still open to the breeze, so there was nothing keeping her from jumping into the frame and out into the path around the back of the palace. She dropped the mirror and threw the chair in the direction of her attacker, pleased when it made contact and the attacker grunted in pain. Male.

She hopped up into the window, and her intruder caught her by the ankle. He was fast, she thought with a curse. The grasp on her ankle unbalanced her and she fell gracelessly out of the window and onto her shoulder. She gasped with the pain, twisting back onto her feet and starting to run. She wouldn’t make it to the edge of the palace - where she hoped a guard was standing - but she might make it up into the nearby willow tree.

“Athena, if you aren’t helping Odysseus right now, I could use a hand…” she muttered as she ran. She had a feeling she was on her own.

She scurried up the trunk of the willow, going as high as she dared before peering below her. There. A blotch of black against the slightly lighter ground where the path would be. She wanted to yell, but if her attacker had even a fraction of her own aim, she could be making herself a target. She took hold of a nearby branch - too thick. She kept searching, letting the willow move gently around her with its many long branches. She hoped the movement looked more natural from on the ground than it did from her vantage point. There - a thin, long branch. Then another. She twisted them off carefully, trying not to make enough noise for her attacker to pinpoint her in the whirling leaves. With the branches held tightly in one hand, she continued moving. This time, she was headed downward, but away from the intruder.

She jumped, estimating she was at least five cubits away from him and whirled with a willow branch in each hand. She hadn’t practiced with whips for years - it was a form of weaponry forbidden for women - but the movements came back to her as she whirled the branches in front of her to keep her attacker at bay, and to hopefully obscure herself as a target.

Moving slowly, she backed towards the edge of the house. Now that he knew where she was, there was no benefit to staying silent. She screamed with each movement, only to quiet when her attacker started laughing. She slowed her whips but then picked up pace again.

“Guards!” she screamed, incensed as he started laughing harder.

“There are no guards,” he chuckled. “They are busy at the beach. Pirates, you know. There also might be a fire in the wheat fields.”

Her willow branches stuttered in their movement. “And you are?” She was growing hoarse and he could hear it.

“Ha. Perhaps I will tell you, but not until I cut through your pretty neck.”

She moved up the hill now, towards the cliffs. He followed, occasionally using an opening to try jabbing at her. A sword, then. He had a sword. Which meant he was just letting her wear herself out. 

Help was not coming. No one would hear.  She circled so that the willow was between them, then dropped her branches and ran. Back to her window. Over the sill, through her room and out the door. 

He was fast, but she knew the palace better. She was into her dressing room in a flash and had her knife in her hand. A dagger wouldn’t be anything next to a sword, but it wouldn’t tire her the way the branches had. She dashed back into the corridor as the intruder reached her bedroom door. They raced into the dark women’s workroom. Penelope could see a spark of light at the top of the stairs and headed for it; perhaps she could widen her lead by using the palace obstacles to slow her pursuer.

Though she hadn’t run in quite a while, her body remembered. She gasped with the pain of running after so long a time - her legs were cramping and her lungs felt empty - but she kept going. The intruder tripped over one of the chairs in the workroom, and only got to the stairs as Penelope reached the top. Should she head towards the men’s room where she would have to struggle with the heavy piece of wood barring the door, or head into the warren of sleeping rooms? She was certain the warren would confuse or at least slow him, so she headed into those, aiming for the door into the men’s room on that side of the palace. Hopefully by the time she got there, she would have time to fight with the identical bar on that door.

She wove in and out of the sleeping rooms, the jagged path familiar. When she had first come to the palace, they had confused her with their seemingly random placement, but she thanked Odysseus inwardly for making them so confusing. The rooms were sparsely furnished, leaving no place to hide - although she probably wouldn’t have tried hiding at any rate, she thought. It would be too simple to get trapped.

The far corridor opened before her and she looked behind her, not seeing any sign of her attacker. She could hear him, cursing as he ended up at another dead end. She sprinted towards the door to the men’s room and heaved the wooden bar out of the way.

She threw the door open, greeted by a flicker of light from the courtyard. The men’s guest rooms flew past as she fought for breath. Her attacker had managed to make it out of the slave women’s rooms and was starting to follow her along the corridor. The stairs loomed and she bolted for them. In the courtyard below, one of the large hearths in an outer wall was blazing, providing plenty of light. All it showed her was that she was completely alone.

Finally alone, for once wishing she was not. 

She dashed down the stairs, missing the last step and turning her ankle. She limped into a corner, and thought about throwing her dagger at the man as he came down the stairs. If she missed, if he ducked, she would lose her weapon. She could use torches, but they were more dangerous to her than her opponent when he wielded a sword. She continued to move, looking for a shadowy spot. 

There, by the hearth. The light was radiating outward, leaving the sides in shadows. She managed to get into the shadows before the intruder got to the base of the stairs and had a chance to look around.

Not seeing her, he walked silently through the room, listening for breathing. She slowed her breaths, hoping the crackle of the hearth fire would cover any of the small sounds that happened to escape her. She placed her hand over her own mouth, trying to stifle any noise. 

The intruder was not tall, perhaps only the height of Penelope herself. He was lean, much like her brothers Perious or Thoas, reminding her of a youth. She was somehow certain, though - perhaps by the way he held himself - that he was not young. His arms were corded, his black hair pulled back out of his face with a ribbon. His eyebrows were heavy, his nose hooked. She might have thought him handsome in other circumstances. He was favoring his right knee - from where he had tripped in the women’s workroom or from where her chair had hit him.  

He walked past the spear stand and she mentally cursed herself. There were only a few spears there - the men would have taken as many as they could carry to fight the Turks or pirates or whomever was at the beach - and they would be the poor weapons that no one wished to use. But they would be better than a dagger against a sword.

Assess, assess, she heard herself tell her boys, her brothers. Strength is never your first asset. Use your brain. She thought again of throwing her dagger. Perhaps making a run for the spear stand. Her eyes scanned the remainder of the room only to see that there were not any weapons lying about. There shouldn’t have been, so this was good as far as housekeeping went, but it certainly didn’t help her at the moment. Chairs or stools could help, but with him only having a sword, it left him with one arm available to grab at anything she could hold. And he would have the advantage of strength if they were tugging at a chair or stool.

If she could get behind him…she began to look about. Draw him close to the hearth, then have him turn away. He was still pacing through the room, looking in every corner. Eventually he would come to the hearth. 

She almost tsked with disapproval. She would have started her search at the hearth, since the shadows were deepest there. He wasn’t being very systematic. He had relied on her being easy to find, trap, and kill. 

The man straightened and glanced again around the room. “You are in here, Queen. You are outmatched.”

You have no idea , she thought, what I am capable of . She set her jaw. She looked at the outer door. Should she make another run for it? She wasn’t sure her ankle would allow her to run very quickly, and he was faster than her before she had injured her ankle. There was no telling what she might find outside. She would make her stand here then.

“Come out, Queen. I could always make this more difficult - I was planning on a clean kill, but I find that patience should be rewarded, don’t you?”

She shuddered. Handsome or not, the only way she was touching this man was to kill him. 

“Wondering how I got everyone to leave their posts?” He pitched his voice differently and continued speaking. “I am an excellent mimic. And assassin.” He sounded exactly like Odysseus. “No one would dare go against a command from their king. The good King Odysseus.” He snarled, his voice returning to his own. “His line will end with him. When he is distraught over your death, surely he will make a mistake that will be his downfall. He is so…devoted…to you.”

His weakness. She was nothing but a weakness to be exploited. She shook herself mentally. This man was playing with her. She was not weak. She was a match for her brilliant husband in many ways. Her eyes kept roaming. How to bring him close to the hearth? She might just have to be patient. 

The wood in the hearth cracked and settled, sending sparks up into the open sky above the courtyard. It had drawn his attention. He was coming closer, finally noticing the deep shadows around the hearth. Now she needed a way to distract him so he turned, just enough so she could spring…

She let her hands drift over the floor. A rock, a few pieces of sand, anything. In the back of her corner she found what she was looking for: a piece of stone or pottery that had been swept into the corner instead of being picked up and thrown away. 

He paced toward the hearth, then tensed, eyes scanning the room quickly, sensing something, perhaps hearing her breathing.

She sent the stone out and away from herself, pitching it so it wouldn’t hit until it had gone almost to the other side of the room. He turned toward the sound, as she had hoped he would, and she made her move. She launched herself onto his back, knife in hand. She slashed across his throat as he threw her back, straight into the hearth.

The heat was intense, and her tunic and hair caught fire immediately. She grabbed at the edge of the hearth with one hand and jumped back out of the fire, hissing as she placed her weight on her feet, finding only coals and sharp edges of wood with her tender soles. She rolled away, trying to put out the fire in her tunic, in her hair. She bumped into tables and chairs, changing direction but always moving, trying to extinguish the flames. It took her several minutes to stop the burning, several minutes before her thoughts even turned to the man again. Where was he? Did she need to keep moving, running? Was her cut sufficient to bring him down?

She was back on her feet, the pain almost making her lose consciousness. The intruder was sitting in front of the hearth, looking as if he was staring into the flames. She could only see his back from where she crouched, and she carefully moved across the room on her knees, keeping her distance, until she could see his face. Eyes wide, still a bit of lucidity in them, his neck and garments soaked in blood. Her cut had been accurate. He would not live much longer.

He caught sight of her and winked audaciously. “Until next time, Queen.” Blood bubbled at the edges of his mouth and he allowed his head to roll forward.

Penelope took a gasping breath and sat back, crying out as her burned skin touched the ground. She quickly turned back onto her knees, not sure what to do next. Her hair was still smoking, her tunic ruined and probably indecent. It was probably for the best that she had taken one of Odysseus’s tunics - the extra fabric might have saved her skin, which would surely be covered in burns, but hopefully nothing serious. Just painful, so painful. She was afraid to look at her feet. She decided an inventory of her hurts could wait. 

In the distance, she heard a cheer. Perhaps the pirates had been defeated. Perhaps the fire in the fields was put out. The fields! Tears welled up at the thought of all that food, their hope for a winter with plenty. They had harvested much already, but there was still some plenty left to burn. Would there be enough?

She looked again at the man. Who was he? He had said he was an assassin. She didn’t think she knew him - perhaps he was from one of the other islands or…the pain made it difficult to think. She began to crawl. She couldn’t be found like this - charred tunic hanging off her back in shreds. She stopped for a moment and turned the tunic around so that the burnt edges were in front, cringing at the weight of the fabric against her burnt back and buttocks. If anyone came in to see her crawling, at least the worst of her injuries would be hidden.

She made it to the threshold between the courtyard and the throne room before resting heavily on her elbows. She could make it, she told herself. She could. She just needed a moment to rest. She laid her forehead on the cool wood of the threshold, wishing for a rug that would soften her resting area. They needed to add rugs.

The thought made her mouth turn up, just slightly. She couldn’t be too badly off if she was thinking of decorating. She accidentally moved her foot and grimaced in pain. So much for smiling. 

It took her a while, but she was eventually back in the dark women’s rooms, where she climbed on a settee and pulled the edges of the tunic closed around her. She didn’t know if she could sleep with the pain, but she was so tired. She hoped her hands, which she had vainly thought beautiful, would not be scarred. Only one was burned badly - the other was just singed, she hoped. She hoped her feet would be able to run again. She hoped everyone would come back from the beach, from the fields, safely.

Sleep, or perhaps unconsciousness, finally gave her some peace.

She was awoken by a hand on her shoulder. It felt like she had only just closed her eyes, though there was natural light leaking into the room. Morning, then. She blinked to see Polites, still in his guard uniform. He brought with him the smell of fire, or perhaps that was her? 

“My lady?” he asked carefully. Timnes was behind him. They had been stationed outside her room for the night. They had left her. 

She felt betrayal, anger that flared with the renewed agony of her burns. The fire. “The pirates? The fire?” she asked. She tried to sit, but fell back against the settee quickly - her backs of her legs were aching with burns she had not even realized were there.

“Pirates have been routed, the ships confiscated. The fire took out much of the remaining crops - “

She let out a small cry.

“ - but everyone is safe. There are only a few wounds from the fighting. My lord asked us to find you to help with the wounded. But - what happened here?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t explain it twice, and she knew Odysseus would want details. “I cannot help with the wounded. Can you find my ladies?” she asked. She realized how hoarse she sounded. She glanced down - at least she was covered. She had tucked her legs into the tunic. Her feet peeked out, and she could easily see how injured they were. White, in places. Black, in others. She took a steadying breath. One thing at a time.

“Immediately, my lady.” He bowed, and went in search of her ladies. They arrived quickly, and were alarmed at the state of her tunic and her hair, not even realizing that the worst of her injuries were hidden under the tunic. Actoris looked exhausted - she apologized for not being in the dressing room. She had heard the guards called to the fire and had also ran to help, thinking Penelope safe. Tears started down her face and Actoris ordered the ladies to start attending to their mistress.

Penelope admonished her ladies to tend to the wounded from the battle first, asking for only Kynna to stay. Actoris covered her in a light blanket, soft but so painful, before leaving to help the wounded. Penelope pulled her feet free again, unable to stand having anything touching them. She asked Kynna to start by untangling and cutting away her burnt hair. 

Kynna didn’t ask what had happened, for which Penelope breathed a sigh of relief. She brought a blade and a comb, and set to work on Penelope’s hair. Penelope just closed her eyes. It was silly of her to be upset that her hair was being cut, but each cut of the blade seemed to pierce her. She sniffed, angry to find her vanity so pricked.

Once her hair was cut and neatly plaited back again - it was now just barely longer than her shoulders - Kynna brought a basin for her feet. She allowed Kynna to work on them, but found herself gasping and moaning in pain. And, of course, that is when Odysseus came in.

His tunic was ripped, a wound was seeping slowly at his collarbone. His hair had been pulled back severely but was coming free of its constraints, wisps curling wildly about his face. His skin was smudged with blood and ash, another cut on his sword arm, this one gaping slightly. She started to rise, but Kynna gently pushed her back to the settee. Even that small movement had reminded Penelope how little she should be moving. 

“Can this wait?” he asked, gesturing to her maid. A look at her feet had him reconsidering before she had time to answer. “I’ll come back.”

She didn’t want him to leave. He must have seen this on her face, because he gently cupped her cheek in his hand. “You need tending. And I probably need a bath. We will talk later.” He tried to grin at her, but the exhaustion of the night had taken its toll.

She bit her lip for a moment, then was able to say, “Yes, my lord,” in a small voice. He leaned over her and placed a kiss at her temple. Pulling away, she saw his anguish and wanted only to placate him, but knew now was not the time. She yearned to touch his face, though her hands wanted nothing but cool water or air - even the thought of warm skin underneath her burned fingers made her fingers throb.

News continued to filter in throughout the morning as her ladies returned from tending the wounded. With her feet cleaned and splinters from the firewood removed, Actoris and Kynna were able to carefully move her into the bath and scrub off the remains of the fire. Willow bark tea was brought to alleviate some of the pain, and she was covered in salve and bandages before being dressed and placed back in the workroom. 

Anticlea came as usual that morning, full of news. She stopped at seeing Penelope, swaddled into her settee as she had been so many mornings while ill. “Daughter? Are you well?”

“Burned, but she will heal,” Kynna responded after looking to Penelope for permission to answer for her. 

“Were you helping in the fields? Oh, Penelope, you should have left that to the slaves and the guards,” Anticlea admonished, but then launched into her news: the pirates had been ambushed just offshore, then driven into the bay where more boats - and soldiers - were waiting. It was a quick battle, as the pirates only had three boats and just over fifty men per boat. Odysseus had twice that number and the pirates had not been expecting a full force of fighting men. Once they had been defeated and the ships pulled onto the shore, the soldiers had run to help the townspeople and the palace staff with the fire in the fields. 

“There should still be plenty for the winter, daughter, never fear.” Anticlea was quite chipper. For her, the threat was past. Very few had been hurt. Penelope did not tell her of her adventures the night before, not wanting to relive it more than she needed to. She would wait for Odysseus.

Odysseus himself came for the midday meal, clean and bandaged. He waited until the meal had been tasted for poison and then excused the ladies, leaving just the guards and Anticlea to hear her story. She noticed he had her dagger in his belt, and she held out her hand for it. “You retrieved my dagger. Thank you.”

He held it out to her and watched as she placed it on the settee beside her. “I think I have changed my mind in regards to that,“ he indicated her dagger with a nod. “Perhaps it does belong with you always.” He sighed and sat near her as the meal was laid on tables before them. “How is it you manage to find trouble each time I leave you in the safest place imaginable?”

Anticlea looked between them, confused.

Penelope was offended. “I don’t find it, it finds me!” She reached for her wine. “Is this watered, or can I drink it straight?” she asked. A little bit of drunkenness with the injuries she had sustained might be welcome, she thought.

“Unwatered wine, Penelope?” He gave her a disapproving look. “You don’t know how strong it is.”

Even Anticlea gave her a severe look. 

“Just hoping,” she sighed and took a small sip. Very well watered indeed. “I prefer it this way,” she indicated her cup, “But was hoping for something stronger,” and indicated her wrapped feet.

Anticlea was on her feet at once. “You did not tell me you were injured -”

Odysseus motioned for one of the guards. “Please bring us a flask of unwatered wine.” The guard nodded and left. “ Mamá , sit. Just listen, let me ask the questions. ” Anticlea sat as Odysseus studied his wife. “Penelope, how did you get back here? We found the attacker in the main courtyard.” 

“Attacker?” Anticlea squeaked. She covered her mouth as Odysseus glared at her.

“I crawled,” she answered. “Should I, perhaps, start at the beginning?”

He nodded, then listened without comment. Anticlea also kept her thoughts to herself, but couldn’t restrain herself from the occasional gasp. For once, Penelope did not stray from her story with side notes and tangents.

“Until next time. They’re not finished, whoever ‘they’ are.” He thought for a moment in silence. “By the way, that was a good cut,” he approved. “I’m guessing he thought you would be easy prey.”

“He said as much.” She took a bowl and started to eat, having waited until the story was finished to start. It was just a bit of fish with greens and lentils, but she relished every bite. “Do we have enough wheat for the winter? Did the fire spread?” 

“I already told you -” Anticlea started, affronted, but Odysseus held up a hand to silence her.

“There is plenty from what we have already harvested, and the ships we took tonight are also full and can help replenish our stores. Once we determine if there are shortfalls, we can also ask Leocedes if he has anything to trade.”

“The olive trees?” Penelope asked.

“They are fine. If he had wanted to really harm the island, he would have started there. Interesting that he would start with the wheat…”

“It burns more quickly,” Anticlea said, lips thin. “And if we didn’t get it out in time, it would have taken the trees.”

Penelope sighed in relief: the island would have plenty for winter. 

“It is a setback, true, but not one that will harm us.” He sat back and thought, sipping his wine. “Whoever is after you - “ she pointed at him and he amended his statement, “Us - “

“Your line,” she said pointedly.

“Through you, is still out there, trying. I did not recognize the man. He must have been hired, which means there are still no leads. And how did he get on the island? He couldn’t have walked…”

“Now they know I am not easy to kill,” she said firmly. “And I cannot live in fear, Odysseus. Trouble may come. I will train and prepare for it as best as I can.” At his raised eyebrow, she amended, “As best we can. I continue to assert that locking me in the palace will not help.”

“Obviously it did not last night.” He sighed heavily. “Thank the goddess you pursued your training as well as you have. We will sacrifice this night.”

That night, after the feast celebrating the island’s victory from the attack, Polites and Timnes came to beg her forgiveness. They would be flogged for leaving her, which Polites was not concerned about, saying cheerfully that he deserved the punishment. Timnes was not as cheerful about the prospect of flogging, but more apologetic, worry for her evident in his gaze. The two promised they would never again leave their post without actually seeing Odysseus ask them to do so - they had been fooled by the intruder’s mimicry.

She easily forgave them. She had heard the mimic as well, she assured them. It was uncanny how much he had sounded like Odysseus. 

They bowed low to her, then took their place in the workroom. She was relieved that Odysseus had not stripped them of their post.

“Penelope, I have something I want to show you.” To her surprise, Odysseus had appeared in the workroom midafternoon; they must have finished plowing the burned fields earlier than expected.

Penelope was working on her stitching, still hoping that he would have time, someday, to learn a few of the characters. The fact that she still hadn’t finished stitching them spoke to her own inability to sit still and finish the project, so she supposed she could hardly blame him. Since she could only sit resting on her hip, and walking was painful at best, stitching was the only activity which could occupy her time. 

It had only been a few days since the attack, so her poor feet weren’t in any shape for her to venture out, and she indicated them silently. He couldn’t possibly mean she would be walking.

His face creased into his lopsided smile and he squatted down with his back to her. “Climb on, Penelope mine, today I am your horse.”

She placed her stitching on the settee beside her, grinning at Anticlea across the room. Anticlea gave her a small smile; she seemed to be saddened by Penelope leaving her alone with the ladies for the remainder of the afternoon. 

“I’m sorry, Anticlea. Do you want me to ask Autonoe to play for you?”

Anticlea waved away her concern. “I can ask her myself, girl. Go and see what your husband wants.”

Scooting forward, she placed her arms around Odysseus’s shoulders and her knees at his sides. He grasped her thighs and stood, the sudden movement making her laugh again. “I haven’t done this for such a long time, and the last time I think I was the horse for Aletes.”

He grinned back at her and started walking.

“You aren’t going to trot?” she teased.

“Sorry, you have a staid old horse today, my lady,” he replied. “Horses that are also kings cannot be seen trotting their queen about the countryside.”

She hugged his shoulders with glee. “Are we really going out and about the countryside?”

“Yes. I told you, I have something to show you.”

“We should bring a cloak then.” She motioned to Actoris, who smiled and went to fetch a cloak. Her ladies had been spared the flogging the guards took for leaving her alone, but they were all being extremely solicitous, apologizing at every opportunity for leaving her alone to be attacked.

Actoris stood on the settee and carefully placed the cloak over Penelope’s shoulders, and Odysseus was off and out of the palace in no time at all.

Instead of going down the path they normally took into town, Odysseus walked towards the back of the palace, passing the willow tree and their bedroom window, then started climbing the hill. Someone had picked up her willow branches, she noted. She looked away from the outside of the palace, then tucked her head into Odyssseus’s neck when she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched, stalked. It’s fine, she told herself. Everything is fine.

Like all of Ithaca, there were rocks and scrub brush everywhere, broken by small trees that were struggling to survive in the small patches of soil that the rocks allowed them. Penelope peeked over Odysseus’s shoulder, impressed with his stamina as he climbed without a path but with additional weight on his back. She supposed she wasn’t extremely heavy, especially with the sickness she had endured over the past year, but she still was larger than a child. She would have been winded after a few steps carrying even just a child, given the steepness of the hill behind their home. 

He used a few scraggly trees as handholds as they crested the peak, then carefully stopped in front of a large boulder so she could sit. She tucked her feet to the side so she could rest on her hip, balancing on one hand. He sat beside her and they gazed out over the ocean. From here, they could see only ocean, that wide and unfathomably large river, to the west. They could also see the large island to the east, and islands both north and south; including the one they were on. They could see four of their six islands from here. 

Pointing to them in turn, he named them: Dulichium to the north, Same to the east, Zacynthos to the south. Then he pointed to Same again, noting that Krokyleia was just behind it; between Same and Dulichium, Aegilips was almost to the mainland, and on the mainland itself just beyond Dulichium was Nericus. “Our kingdom,” he said. He pushed his hair back, only slightly sweaty from the climb. The wind god Notus was against him; his hair went back into his face immediately. Her hair was braided back tightly, but even then Notus pulled strands out to fly into her eyes. She turned so that the wind was in their faces, keeping her hair out of her eyes. He turned with her, and they faced the south wind, looking out towards Zacynthos.

“Do you know why I am King?” he asked, leaning back on one elbow. 

“You are a king’s son,” she answered automatically, as she would have when Icarius provided her and the older boys with state lessons. “Line of succession.” Uncomfortable sitting, she laid next to him on her stomach on the enormous rock.

His eyes traced a cloud that was passing overhead as he slowly shook his head. “Not really.” He squinted at her in the late afternoon light. “It certainly helps. Did you know Zacynthos rebelled a few years ago?”

She nodded, looking out to the dark shape on the horizon, far to the south. “I think you told me about that when we were crossing to Ithaca that first time,” she remembered.

“That was before I was king. My father sent me to put down the rebellion.”

“A test?” she guessed.

“Yes and no. The reason I am King is because I am willing to fight for what I have. If I were to show the slightest weakness, lose a fight or two…I would probably lose the kingdom as well. My father knew he might not be able to put down the rebellion. He was tired, his mind already starting to wander in the past. If I couldn’t put down the rebellion, then we might as well have anointed another king - we wouldn’t keep the kingdom for long after that.”

She looked at him and watched as the drifting clouds cast their uneven shadows across his face, which was stubbled though he had shaved just that morning. 

“This is our kingdom, as long as we can fight for it. If we cannot, we will lose it. This is our challenge, my challenge, every day.” He nodded towards the sea. “These waters are infested with pirates - I should know, having been one - and we are constantly readying for an attack, or recovering from one.” He met her eyes then. “I imagine Sparta is not always wondering when the next attack will happen. They are ready,” he quickly added as she opened her mouth, ready to defend her childhood home, “But they don’t have the constant threat that we have here.

“Again, I wonder at how selfish I have been, bringing you here.” He stopped for a moment, his mouth thinning into a line.

“I did want to come,” she reminded him.

“But did you really know what you were getting yourself into?”

She shrugged. “Do we ever truly know?” 

He turned toward her and took one of her hands in his, turning it and examining it slowly. He was very gentle, but still she bit her lip as he traced her burns. She tucked her fingers into her palm, protecting it as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I wanted you since you first pulled that dagger on me in Tyndareus’s garden.” He was still studying her hand, running his thumb along each of her fingers. He kept his touch away from her palm, ever gentle. “You were all I ever wanted: beautiful, strong, loving, so clever…and the more I knew you, the more I wanted you.” He looked up at her. “And then you came here. I thought I loved you, but when you spent night after night watching over me, caring for me…welcoming me back even when I had hurt you…” He bent over her hand, resting his forehead against her curled fingers. “I told you my worst moments, wondering if it would make you turn against me. And yet,” he looked at her with wonder, “you are still here.”

“Where could I go? I would constantly be thinking of you, worrying for you, looking for you.” She pulled her hand away, and stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand. 

“Truly?” He looked again to the sea, towards Zacynthos. “I know you have felt trapped here, stuck in the palace day and night -” again she started to speak, but he continued, “I know this place, Penelope. I know it well. Perhaps too well. I wonder when the fight will come that I cannot win. And I worry. More about you, probably, than the kingdom.”

She felt the bitter taste of guilt fill her mouth. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”

He put his finger on her lips. “Not because of anything you have done, my love, though you do make keeping you safe much more difficult than it has to be…maybe…” He laughed a little, and she tried to smile as well, but her smile felt stiff and insincere. “Because I don’t know what I would do without you. If you were taken from me, I wouldn’t have any fight left.”

“But…”

This time he stopped her with a brief kiss. “My turn. I’m not trying to lock you away. I know now that would kill you as certainly as an assassin would. And I know I’ve been…overprotective. I’m just trying to explain why.”

“And I know I’ve been…impulsive.” She knelt, then swung a knee over his torso so she could lay on him, resting her head on his chest. He sat, keeping her against him with a hand on her jaw, resting his cheek on her head. They sat for a moment, breathing together.

“Some days…” he said into her hair, “I just feel so close to losing everything.”

“And yet you have Athena at your side.”

His head jerked up, alert and wary, hands at her shoulders and pushing her away to look at her face. “What?” 

This was his secret, she knew. But she wanted him to know that she knew as well, and he didn’t need to keep it from her. She reached out to his shoulder and said, “She is here, sometimes…”

“You see her?” His eyes went wide. 

“Don’t you?” With as often as she had seen the shadow next to her husband, he had to know that Athena followed him. Again the thought came that this was his secret, that he wanted to keep it close. “We don’t need to speak of her…”

He just blinked.

“Ummm…” she cast around for another subject, then gave up. “I only mean that, with a goddess at your side, there is room for hope, Odysseus my own.”

He pulled her back to his chest and took a shuddering breath. “Sometimes I forget you are half divine. There must be much that is not hidden from you.”

She laughed without mirth. “Oh there is plenty that is hidden, I assure you. Sometimes I get glimpses…it is enough and more than I want at times.”

“Hm.”

Then she did think of something else. “I do have some ideas that might help with the kingdom, if you are interested.”

He ran his hand up her side until it cradled her neck. “Of course.” He sounded far away, but Penelope pressed on.

“Okay, first idea. I think a throne day each month - perhaps on the full moon, since we have Apollo’s festival on the new moon? - where your people could present disputes or ideas. People could come from the islands to have your attention.”

He was shaking his head. “I am among my people all the time, Penelope mine. They always have my ear.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “There are those who would never approach you when you are busy - and you are always busy. And I would be willing to sit with you. I know how boring those days could be, but I really do think the people would be grateful. It provides the people a time they know they will have your ear; they won’t have to wonder when you will visit them next.”

He pursed his lips. “I suppose we could try it; one day is not too much to give to an idea. I saw this done in Sparta, but it seemed it was an excuse not to be out with the people.”

She thought for a moment. “That might have been one of the intentions behind it in Sparta. But it also had benefits.”

“Then we will have a day next moon, and send out messengers to all our islands and towns to let the people know. That is settled. Did you have another idea?” He looked at the position of the sun, which was starting to dip towards the ocean. “We should head inside soon for our evening meal.”

“What would you think of having a family meal in the evening?”

He shook his head. “Evenings are when the town elders are at the meal, and we need to discuss business. Not possible.”

“What about the morning meal, after the first round of training?” she asked, still hopeful. “We could invite your parents as well…”

He took a breath. “That might work.”

She smiled. “The last suggestion I have is…let me train the children.”

He was already shaking his head. “This I have thought over many times. It is a good idea,” he clarified at her frown. “However, the fortifications must come first, and you will need a building of some sort for training.”

“Outside is fine,” she disagreed.

“Outside is not fine,” he said sternly. “Outside, any man could see you. You are too beautiful to be available for them to see at any time.”

“Do men have so little self control that they would covet someone else’s wife?” She rolled her eyes. “That is ridiculous.”

“No, it is not. We live in a world where men can take whatever they can get - by force or no. And whoever poisoned you, sent an assassin…they are still out there.” he answered darkly.

She didn’t think she had ever heard it put so plainly. She was stunned, though she tried not to let it register on her face. She must not have been successful, though, because he nodded slowly. “It really is so, Penelope. I intend to keep you mine.”

Chapter Text

Penelope pulled another puff of wool from the basket, working it slowly as her thread wound longer and longer. Her hands were feeling better and she could finally sit comfortably - mostly - but she couldn’t stand without pain. She would prefer to weave, but weaving required movement. Not necessarily standing all the time, but the ability to stand. And she did not have that ability. So she was spinning next to Anticlea and their guests for the day, Glyke and Maiandria, Polites’s mother. She wished they had stayed home. Then she could talk unhindered with Anticlea and her slaves and possibly even nap, since spinning was putting her to sleep anyway. 

Maiandria was lovely, but she tended to go quiet around stronger personalities such as Glyke and Anticlea. It was easy to see that she relied on her daughter-in-law Chloe to coax her into conversation. As a result, Chloe’s absence felt like a rock stuck in their conversational shoe, tripping Penelope each time she tried to make progress.

“Maiandria,” Penelope tried for the fourteenth time to start a conversation, “Are you and Chloe coming to the new year festival?”

“It is a possibility,” she responded, tilting her head side to side. “Chloe has not felt well of late.”

Penelope, concerned, asked, “Is there anything we can do to help? I could send Kynna to look at her if there is any -”

“No, no, no,” she waved away Penelope’s concern. “I mean, she is just low in spirit. She is not ill.” She looked sideways, considering her next words. “I mean, she just needs time.”

“Speaking of the festival,” Glyke interrupted, “I am devastated that you will not be able to attend, Lady Penelope. We were planning on including you in our family’s dance. We have quite a lovely piece put together.”

Penelope was quite sure that she had been “invited” only because she could not move. “I will be quite happy to join you for the next festival, Glyke. How kind of you to invite me.” She successfully hid the smirk that lay behind her placid countenance as Glyke blanched.

“What happened to your ankle again?” she asked, recovering quickly.

“I sprained my ankle helping put out the fire in the wheat field,” Penelope lied smoothly, focused on the thread in front of her. “It should be well in a few weeks.” Her feet were tucked under her skirts, hiding the fact that both were bandaged and encased in woolen socks. 

“I wish you speedy healing,” Maiandria said, cutting off her thread and putting a full skein in the basket.

“Thank you, Maiandria.”

“Will you be receiving with the king at the festival then?” Glyke asked Anticlea.

“I will be there,” Penelope responded before Anticlea could say anything.

Glyke gave her a look of incredulity. “Just sitting?”

She nodded. “And enjoying the company of our subjects.”

Anticlea added, “Odysseus also has me to help, but we couldn’t have the festival without the queen.”

“Especially a festival to Hera, hm?” Glyke gave Penelope a small smile. “I am certainly grateful to Hera these days. Did you hear that Sebasteia had her lying in? She is delivered of a lusty baby boy.”

The women gave their congratulations. Penelope added a small “That’s wonderful,” to the chorus, but even those two words felt bitter on her tongue.

“Has his father named him?” asked Maiandria, always interested in family additions.

“Not yet. We assume the babe will get a name before throne day, since the happy parents will want to present him to the king.” Glyke gave her first genuine smile since she arrived. “He is such a healthy thing, a big boy for being just newborn.”

“Poor Sebasteia,” Maiandria interjected. “I do hope she is recovering well.”

Glyke lifted a shoulder. “She has done her duty. I’m sure she will be fine.”

Penelope blinked, completely at a loss as to how to respond to such an unfeeling comment. 

“We also have the throne day coming up,” Anticlea said, changing the subject back to upcoming events. Penelope thanked her with a glance, and Anticlea gave her a tight smile. For once, they were aligned in their thinking.

“That is quite a curious idea,” Glyke said. 

“How so?” Penelope asked. Odysseus had presented the concept as his own to ensure his people would support the introduction of a throne day.

“Asking his people to come to him.” She did not elaborate.

Anticlea raised her eyebrows. “Glyke, I thought you disapproved of Odysseus going out to see the people.” Penelope - and everyone else, with the possible exception of Odysseus - had heard Glyke dismiss the king’s activities among the people more than once.

“I do disapprove of it. Helping birth cows, pull in fish.” She sighed. “It’s beneath him. But a throne day where everyone, high and low, should come to wait on their king? The elders and nobility should not be waiting in line to see their king - he should be coming to us. He needs us.”

Both Anticlea and Penelope gave her a flat stare. 

“May King Odysseus’s reign be long and prosperous,” Glyke chanted to ease the sting of her previous words.

“Careful with your tongue,” Anticlea responded. “If Odysseus hears you, you might be parting with it.”

Glyke returned her look, all innocence. “Every king needs his nobles. They fight for him. They pay their tributes. They enforce the laws. It is a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“Or it should be,” Anticlea said. “The nobles also need the king, Glyke. Without a strong leader, they would be bickering and the island would fall apart at the seams.” She snipped off her thread, dropping her finished skein next to Maiandria’s in the basket and helping herself to more wool to start on another.

Maiandria was shifting in her seat uneasily. “I think I should probably get back to help Chloe with the children.”

Anticlea dropped her spindle and stood. “I do hope Chloe feels better soon,” she said. 

“Please give her our regards,” Penelope added, concerned that Maiandria did not meet her gaze but simply curtsied.

Glyke handed her half-finished spindle to Thebe, who had risen with Anticlea. “I suppose I should be off as well. Sebasteia might need someone to walk the floor with her little one. That baby does tend to keep the household at his beck and call.” She turned to Penelope. “May you be so blessed, my queen.” She curtsied as well, and the ladies left.

Anticlea sighed as the door closed behind them. “It may be a while before I invite her back,” she said, rubbing her hand over her eyes. “She gets more trying with every visit.”

“Do you think she tries to be offensive, or is it just natural talent?” Penelope mused.

Anticlea grinned. “Both, daughter. Both.”

The new year’s festival was well attended. Penelope sat to the side of the hearth keeping warm, and guests wandered over to greet her as they wished. There were several who raised eyebrows at Penelope sitting to receive them, but most were gracious when they heard the lie that she had helped save what was left of the wheat fields.

Glyke, of course, was not one of those, but she made a point of coming to talk with her. “My dear Lady Penelope. Now that I have had time to think on it, I am surprised you would go out to help with the fire. That is not the role of a queen. Lord Odysseus must have been very displeased with you.”

Penelope flattened her lips. “I assure you, Glyke, just as the king does not need your approval to visit his subjects or to receive them on his throne, I do not need your approval to help save our winter stocks from a vandal. What the king and I do is for Ithaca. Always.”

“Well. I assure you that youth is not always wise enough to understand what is necessary or right.” Glyke’s husband stood behind her, subtly underlining her words with a narrow look at his queen.

“I appreciate your counsel,” Penelope said, trying to be diplomatic but also to get her to move along. One of the pitfalls of being stuck in a chair is that she could not stride away. Glyke opened her mouth to continue, but Penelope decided to be forthright. “Please help yourself to the wine, Glyke. Bias.” She nodded to them both, dismissing them.

The couple shared an annoyed look, then turned away from her. Somehow they forgot to curtsy and bow, and Penelope noted the lack with a frown.

Seeing Glyke again reminded her of Chloe’s absence, and she spoke over her shoulder to her guard. “Polites?”

Polites moved to her side. “Yes, my lady?”

“Is Chloe feeling better?”

“My lady?” He sounded unsure.

“Your mother led me to believe she was not well a few days ago, and I meant to ask you about it. We missed her.”

“You are kind, my lady. Chloe is doing well. She is just…” he stammered a bit, shuffling his feet. “A bit upset.”

“At?”

“My punishment, my lady. I believe it was well deserved, but she…”

Penelope nodded. “Thank you, Polites.”

He stepped back. She understood why Chloe would be angry with the crown for punishing Polites. He had been tricked. She also understood why Odysseus had punished them: tricked or not, leaving their post had left their queen vulnerable. She felt a rush of hatred towards the assassin again, and whomever had sent him. He had injured not only her, but her guards who had been punished, her relationship with Chloe, and the islanders who had to make do with less after the fields burned.

He had mimicked Odysseus perfectly, so he must have heard him speak on multiple occasions. Hidden in plain sight, perhaps. She looked over their guests, wondering which would have betrayed them. 

Another guest curtsied in front of her, and she plastered on a smile. She needed to focus, not only to enjoy the festivities and keep a pleasant aspect for her guests, but also to honor Hera. After all, she truly did need the goddess’s blessings: Ithaca needed an heir.

It had taken two moons of agonizingly slow healing, but Penelope was back to training each morning in her workroom. She no longer hid her activities from Anticlea, so only Actoris and her guards watched her train.

They humored her. Actor and Dymas kept straight faces, but she was certain she could hear their dismissive scoffs as she left to change. Actoris did not bother to hide her dismay that Penelope was continuing to defy social restraints. Actoris had been among those in Sparta who were constantly trying to get her to give up training. 

She could feel their disapproval even as she raised her staff, blocking and parrying, lunging forward, stepping back, moving from offensive to defensive. She ran the room and the stairs, pushing herself, trying to outrun their objections. 

Even Odysseus. He was never available. She was allowed to walk outdoors and practice her archery - but only with him. If she waited for him, she might as well give up the whole idea.

She began another circuit of the run, angry with the obstacles between her and practice. Angry with Odysseus for not helping her find a solution. Wondering if she could talk Anticlea into practicing archery with her if they had approval from Odysseus, even despite Laertes disliking it. 

Odysseus burst into the workroom, and Penelope came to a stop, hoping that her frustration did not show on her face. Had her angry thoughts summoned him? 

“Penelope.” He was out of breath.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” He had left his own training to run to the palace. Something must be amiss.

“Yes, and I think you might be able to help.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Get a veil.” Actoris immediately left the room for a veil. He looked her over carefully. “Bring your staff.”

“My staff?” Actoris was already back, placing her light veil on her head and tying it to the sash around her waist. She also held sandals in her hand, which Penelope took and started lacing up her ankles. 

“Your staff.” He grabbed it from where she had placed it against a wall, then paced as he waited.

Actoris tied a cloak about her as well, and Odysseus sighed with impatience. “Come, come,” he said once she was ready, leading her through the courtyard and out into the chilly winter day. 

The sun was shining brightly enough that Penelope had to squint as she and her guards tried to keep pace with Odysseus. He stopped every few steps to wait for them - even with her feet healed, they were still tender, especially after a training session and on the uneven and rocky ground of the island. 

Usually when she held him up, Odysseus would just pick her up, but not today. Today she walked behind him, trying not to be amused at his impatience. 

He led them to the beach where the men were training. As they approached, Penelope grew more confused. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong; the men were partnered off in sparring, and a ship was visible in the distance, leisurely approaching their shore. She couldn’t think of any reason Odysseus would need her for training or for an arriving ship. 

She did understand why he hadn’t picked her up, however; he didn’t want his men to see her as weak. She straightened and tried to hurry her pace, but was still unable to keep up.

Odysseus finally dropped back to walk beside her. “I’ve been working with Polites on sparring and cannot figure out why his sword keeps dropping. It’s probably something simple that I’m overlooking, but it is bothering me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought you might have a look…”

“My lord!” She stopped in astonishment. “Thank you!” 

He gave her a rueful grin. “You know this goes against my best judgment.” 

“Yes, my lord.” She tried to sound submissive, but the huge grin on her face was difficult to mask even with the veil. Her every word was infused with joy. “I will do my best.”

“Just…” he sighed, and didn’t finish his thought. Instead, he took her hand and walked into the training, where the men were sparring with one another.

“Prosochí!” he called, bringing them to attention. He walked into the center, men falling away and gathering in a wide circle. “Polites! Cylon!” Polites ran to the middle of the circle, a shield in one hand and a sword in the other. Another man, similarly armed, also ran to Polites’s side. He was tall and dark with heavy brows and a scowl. 

“My lord!” they chorused.

“Brothers!” He was talking to Polites and Cylon, but pitched his voice so that everyone could easily hear. “I have brought a renowned trainer from Sparta in hopes she can see what I cannot.”

A few mutters ran through the warriors but Odysseus ignored them. 

“Show her the pattern you were working on just before I left.” Odysseus stepped back with Penelope as Polites and Cylon squared off in the center of the circle. Polites nodded, and Cylon brought his sword down towards Polites’s head. Polites blocked the blow, pushing his sword down and to the side. Cylon countered by bringing his sword quickly across his body and thrusting at Polites, who batted his sword out of the way. Polites attacked, but as Cylon parried, Clyon was able to slide his sword down the length of Polites’s sword, then thrusted forward into his chest, stopping just shy of his tunic.

“Stop!” Odysseus turned to Penelope. “Do you see? Cylon shouldn’t be able to strongarm Polites’s sword out of the way so quickly just there.”

Penelope nodded slowly, then said, “Again!”

Polites brought up his shield and sword but Cylon just looked to Odysseus, nonplussed. Odysseus returned his gaze, but when Cylon continued to just stand in place, Odysseus rushed to him, bringing his face to Cylon’s ear and yelling, “Did you not hear your queen? Again!”

The force of his words caused Penelope to flinch. She returned her attention to the combatants as Odysseus paced away, still glaring back at Cylon. The watching men shifted, murmuring to one another, eyes darting from Cylon to Odysseus and then to Penelope. 

Polites and Cylon ran through the same sequence, with the same result. Penelope started to pace around them, calling “Again!” each time they finished. As she reached a point where she could see the inside of Polites’s wrist, she called for them to stop. “There.” She looked at Odysseus. “Polites needs an arm guard, one that laces over his hand.” 

Odysseus raised his brows, but nodded to a nearby man, who took off to find one among the archery weapons that were stacked nearby. She could hear a man mutter, “We’re working on swordplay, not archery,” and several men laughed. Odysseus turned to them, but Penelope raised her hand, stopping him from responding.

“Polites, show me the position you are in just as Cylon parries.” Polites raised his sword arm. “You are holding your arm correctly now, but when you were sparring, you bent your wrist, just there.” She used her staff to indicate his sword arm’s wrist. “And you’re canting your blade at the same time. Both are working against you.”

The runner returned with an arm band, handing it to Polites. “Try the same sequence, but use the arm band to bind your wrist into place.” Polites handed his sword and shield to the runner and laced on the arm guard, then took back his weapons.

“Ready to go again?” she asked, and Polites nodded. Cylon rolled his eyes, making sure Odysseus wouldn’t see but Penelope would, but got into position. “Start when ready and repeat until I tell you to stop.”

They began to spar again, but this time, Polites kept the parry in place and was able to push Cylon back. 

“Stop.” Penelope looked to Polites. “Did you feel the difference?” 

“Yes, my lady.”

“Do you know why it worked?” Slowly, he shook his head.

“When you are holding a blade, you want your strength to come from your back and your arm, yes?” Using her staff again, she traced the muscles from Polites’s spine down to his hand.

The men muttered in agreement, and Odysseus’s mouth tipped up slightly on one side. “If you bend your wrist, your strength is only as great as your hand. Much, much less.”

“Ah,” Polites murmured. “Thank you, my lady.”

She nodded, then stepped back. “Again.” 

They began again, and she stepped back again, pacing closer to the men. She nodded, pleased, as Polites was again able to parry and continue the match. She continued to watch, pacing around the circle, keeping her eyes on the sparring.

All of a sudden, the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she felt movement just behind her. She whirled and her staff made contact with a sharp crack. The man behind her had been reaching for her, but he now cradled his forearm in shock. The attack in the center of the circle fell apart, and the men in the circle were gaping at her, silent.

“Do not touch me without permission,” she said, her voice carrying across the sound of the waves lapping at the base of the beach.

The man she had hit looked at her with simmering anger. “Bitch,” he began, and would have continued if it weren’t for Odysseus, who slammed his fist into the man’s face, pushing him back into the arms of two of his fellows.

Odysseus turned to the collected group. “Do not. Ever. Disrespect your queen.” He made eye contact with many of the men, ending with the man who was now nursing both his forearm and his jaw. “Her expertise is worth much, and yet you discount it.” He went to stand in the center of the ring again, excusing Polites and Cylon with a gesture. “I thought you wanted to improve.” He fixed his gaze on the hurt man. “You are showing me that you want to be the same. That you are content with being mediocre. Content with being dead in a fight. As you can see, Queen Penelope can defend herself.” He shot her an amused glance, then returned to being the forbidding king. “And she can make you better able to defend yourself, as she has just shown you. I believe in you, brothers. I know you can be better than this.” 

He looked around the circle again, as did Penelope. The looks were not welcoming - not yet - but they were not hostile. “Partner up, one more round of sparring.”

He walked to stand next to Penelope as the men partnered off. “Excellent hit, my lady,” he murmured out of the side of his mouth.

“You as well, my lord.” The men started to spar as they were ready, and she asked, “Did you want me to walk about and instruct, or would you prefer I remain here?”

He watched the men without answering her, glancing once or twice at the approaching ship. She waited, keeping her eyes on the sparring men. Her hands twisted on her staff. There were so many things she could point out. So many that he probably had already pointed out. 

She had to face the fact that he very possibly did not need her here. That he asked her to come to keep her happy, not to actually help the men. He had looked like he was in earnest, but did he really not see the problem with Polites’s grip? She looked at the ground. There was no point to her being here, really. He was just humoring her. She well knew he was one of the most accomplished warriors - he had proved it over and over again at Tyndareus’s palace. 

“Wait here for a moment,” Odysseus said to her. Her regular guards Actor and Dymas had joined the sparring on the other side of the beach, so he pulled Timnes, who was sparring nearby, to guard her.

“Timnes,” she acknowledged as he stepped just behind her.

“My lady.” He was out of breath but stood straight.

She watched Odysseus walk through the sparring men. As he reached the other side, he was joined by a much taller warrior in full armor. Penelope bit back a gasp. “Athena,” she mouthed.

The woman glanced toward her but her grey eyes did not meet Penelope’s gaze. 

Yet another reason why she was not really needed here. She twisted her lips, turning away from the sparring. She noticed the man who had tried to touch her still sitting off to the side, and she walked to him, ignoring the protests from Actor and Dymas.

“May I see your arm?” she asked him, kneeling in front of him.

Warily, he nodded and held out the arm she had hit. She could see the bruising already starting to swell, and she carefully prodded the area. She released his arm and looked at his jaw, which was also starting to swell.

“You won’t know for a bit whether or not the arm is broken. Keep it wrapped and try not to use it for a few weeks at least. You can put cold cloths on it to try and keep the swelling down. Are you married?” He shook his head. “Have servants?”

“A sister,” he responded.

“Have her come to the palace, we will give her instructions on making a tea that will help with the pain.” She stood then.

“My lady?” The wariness in his eyes was still there, but they also showed remorse and perhaps a smidgen of respect.

“Yes?”

“I apologize. My friends bet me…I shouldn’t have…well. I’m sorry.” He cast his eyes downward.

“I accept your apology.”

“I do not.” Odysseus said from behind her. “You are lucky I did not have a sword in my hand.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, gulping.

“Walk with me.” Odysseus held out his hand and she took it, biting her lip. They walked through the sparring men, Odysseus commenting on the fighting going on around them, occasionally stopping to correct someone. Occasionally he asked for her opinion, and she gave it quickly and quietly. When he agreed, he passed her comments onto the combatants.

After a few minutes, Odysseus called them to order again, dismissing all but a few to help with the arriving ship. He called Actor and Dymas to stand with Penelope and helped the men remove the weapons.

“My lady.” Odysseus offered his arm and she took it, leaving the men behind as they started towards the palace. “What did you think of my men?”

“They are strong fighters, my lord.”

“But?” he pressed.

“They rely on their strength more than they rely on tactics and leverage and…well…thinking.”

He nodded. “Anything else?”

She took a breath, biting her lip yet again. “You don’t have to humor me, my lord.” 

He stopped and turned to face her, but whatever he was about to say was replaced by a grimace at the veil covering her face. “How do you see through that veil?” he huffed in frustration.

“Not well, my lord. Better since I loosened the weave…”

He reached to her sash and untied the veil, tucking it back behind her head. “Humoring you?” His lips were pressed into a thin line.

“I appreciate you asking for my help, but…you have many men with so much more experience. You have you! You have Athena . If this is just to make me feel better…”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, starting to walk again. He was quiet and she didn’t know if she should pursue the conversation or not. Deciding to change the subject, she asked, “Do you know who is on the ship?” 

“The ship is from Nericus. I commissioned a statue of Athena - I did tell you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“There will be supplicants onboard for the throne day tomorrow as well, I’m sure. I’ll be glad to have Athena in her temple.”

She hummed her agreement, then they lapsed into silence again as they neared the palace. He escorted her through the courtyard and took her hand again as they passed the throne room and the temple room that would house Athena’s statue. He led her through the women’s workrooms and headed toward the stairs going to the basement.

Brow creased, Penelope inquired, “My lord?”

“Just a moment.” He turned to Actor. “Light one of the torches.”

“Yes, my lord.” Actor took a nearby torch and went to the nearby hearth in the women’s workroom to light it.

Penelope looked at the small circle of women in the workroom, spinning as usual. The middle of winter was the perfect time to catch up on making thread that would be used throughout the year. Anticlea glanced up at her and gave her a distracted smile, then returned to her spinning. Seeming to remember something, she looked up at Penelope again sharply just as Actor came between them, removing Anticlea from view. 

Actor handed the lit torch to Odysseus.

“Wait here. Do not allow anyone down the stairs.” Then he pulled her down into the basement and outside of the treasure room. “Wait here. Watch.” He placed the torch in the first holder inside the room, then carefully stepped across the room in a rough pattern. Penelope tilted her head, not able to see the reason for his halting steps or even a specific sequence. He stopped at the opposite wall, then reached behind one of the boxes and lifted a series of levers that hadn’t been visible with the box in the way. As he lifted each lever, one stone block on the floor would lift a few inches. He pointed at them. “These levers lift the blocks that are triggers.”

“What happens if I step on one?”

“Depends.” He gave her a wicked half grin. “Some drop things from the ceiling, some drop you, some just drop, leaving you stuck in the floor.”

She looked up to the ceiling, which seemed fairly normal: large tiles were spaced between strips of wood. “These just fall as needed?”

“They get smashed in the process. I have plenty more.” 

“Someone had a good time putting this room together,” Penelope noted from the doorway.

Odysseus gave her a wink. Then sighing, he said, “Penelope mine, I am not humoring you.” He held up a finger. “I take training far too seriously, as do you.” He held up a second finger. “You are, without doubt, one of the best trainers I have met.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Athena is above and beyond, of course.”

She smirked.

He held up a third finger. “I worked with Polites much too long today without figuring out what you did in a few minutes.” He held up another finger. “I respect you too much to pander to you. If I didn’t think you belonged there today, I would not have asked you. I would have found another way to make you feel better . And finally…” He opened his palm, exposing all five of his fingers. “Athena told me I was being an idiot by not asking you to assist.” 

“She did not even make eye contact with me.” Penelope groused.

He stilled, watching her for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know why it continues to surprise me that you see her.” He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “At any rate, there are many reasons to have you there. They override my wish to keep you safe - especially since keeping you in the palace has not actually kept you safe. My other reason for not asking you, which Athena believes is not valid, is that you are a distraction.”

“In my veil? I look like nothing but a heap of fabric. I doubt most of those men have enough imagination to get distracted.”

He laughed without humor. “I’m not talking about my men, though I’m sure many are quite imaginative.” He walked to her, jumping over the blocks that had been lifted, then leaning over to nip at her ear. “I’m talking about me. I don’t need imagination. Memory suits me very well.” He kissed her roughly. “And you are highly distracting.” He placed his hands on her thighs and tugged at her skirts, bringing them up to her ankles.

“ This is why you brought me to the basement?”

“You are distracting regardless of the location.” He bit her lip and then smoothed it with a soft kiss, still gathering her skirts with his hands. He focused on kissing her, his hands stilling on her hips, his thumbs slowly circling on the edges of her stomach.

They were both startled as Anticlea brushed past them with a cough. She muttered something about them not being able to be left alone as she started to pull out boxes.

He put his head down on her shoulder, shaking with mirth. “Apparently I need to remind Actor and Dymas what ‘allow no one’ down the stairs means.”

“That never means me, Odysseus,” his mother said, settling a box onto the table in the middle of the floor. “You need my help for this at any rate.” 

Penelope met Odysseus’s eyes, trying to force the laughter down. “For what Anticlea?” The words barely made it out before she lost control and giggled, making Odysseus laugh harder. He pulled away, taking her hand and pulling her to the table, watching carefully as she jumped each of the high stone blocks. 

Penelope watched as Anticlea opened the wooden box she had selected, then started to remove straw and place it on the table. She found what she was looking for and, shaking it off, raised it high. “The crowns, for throne day tomorrow.” She speared Odysseus with a severe look. “You did ask me to help find them when we talked yesterday.” He huffed in acknowledgement.

The crown she held in her hands was a full circle, a full four fingers high with points along the upper rim. Each point had a small clear stone - diamonds, she assumed, and beneath each point was a larger, dark blue sapphire cut into perfect circles. Filigreed goldwork was laced along the edges, curling over and beneath the stones, almost like waves. “This one is Odysseus’s.”

Odysseus was suddenly somber, and allowed her to place it on his head. Penelope had seen him look and act kingly many times, yet there was something about being next to a crowned king. She looked at him, awestruck. Her father had worn his crown on throne days as well. It seemed to elevate him to a higher status, causing him to walk taller, speak with more authority. She had always been a little frightened of her father when he wore his crown. Seeing Odysseus in his crown, she wasn’t frightened, but she could feel her respect deepen for his role in the kingdom. She reached out and tucked an escaping curl behind his ear.

Anticlea reached back into the box, removing more straw, and shook out the next crown. “This one, daughter, is yours if you like it.” This crown was also a full round, only about three fingers high, with the top a little higher than the back. The outer rim was wider than the lower rim, and the top had a thick gold rope instead of points. The center was very similar to the king’s crown: filigreed goldwork around lighter blue stones, clear like the ocean at a shallow beach. Aquamarines. She reached out a finger to touch one.

“It is beautiful.”

Anticlea placed it on her head and studied her before nodding approval. “It suits you. Although there are plenty more if you want to choose something different.” Anticlea raised her eyebrows expectantly at Penelope.

Penelope shook her head. “This is…perfect.” The crown was not light, but the weight of what it meant seemed heavier than the metal circlet itself. She looked at Odysseus, who was staring at her as well, his face inscrutable.

“With the throne day coming up, I figured we should dust these off.” He was nonchalant, but there was an undercurrent of feeling that she couldn’t quite decipher.

After a moment, Anticlea clapped her hands. “Yes, well. We should have these brought upstairs.” She motioned for the crown, and Penelope slipped it off her head and gave it back to her mother-in-law. Odysseus also took his off and gave it to his mother to pack back into the box, then took the entire box and placed it in the corridor. “ Mamá , would you ask Actor and Dymas to come retrieve this box and put it into my dressing room?”

Anticlea put the lid back on the box. “Trying to get rid of me? Don’t answer. Penelope,” she turned to her daughter-in-law, “You really can look through the others if you’d like. I know that my son would rather do other things -” she gave him a deadpan look, “- but you are entitled to see what is available before you make a choice.”

Penelope’s lips twitched. “I do really like that one,” she indicated the box now in the corridor, “But I would like to see the others.”

“Be aware, there are many. You may be here a while,” Odysseus warned.

“You should go on with your day,” Penelope urged. “We will be fine.” 

He considered the two of them for a moment, then sighed. “I’ll go get cleaned up and see how the two of you are doing at that point, yes?”

Anticlea sniffed then waved her hand in front of her face. “Good idea.” Then, as if she had realized something, she looked between Penelope and Odysseus again, her eyes widening. “You didn’t take her to train with the men?” she shrieked.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid, of course not.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you are blind and deaf wherever Penelope is involved.”

Penelope stood, mute, watching her mother-in-law. This reaction she would have expected from Laertes. But from Anticlea? 

Odysseus threw up his hands. “A plague on women! You tell me to respect my wife. Athena tells me to use her skills.” Anticlea stepped back as if slapped. “And yet, when I do, you yell at me and Athena…” he ran his hands through his hair. “I took her to observe and correct their fighting. Not to join in.” He huffed in annoyance. “I’m going upstairs. Be nice to my wife,” he commanded his mother through gritted teeth.

Anticlea sniffed in disapproval at his frustration. Odysseus gave her another severe look before kissing Penelope swiftly on the cheek. “Good luck,” he muttered. Then he was gone.

“Have them deliver our lunch to us down here,” Anticlea called after him. Penelope shook her head in disbelief.

Anticlea went to another shelf and pulled out a thin box, placing it on the table. Instead of opening it, she kept pulling other boxes off shelves. Even though they were not placed in any specific order that Penelope could see, Anticlea knew exactly where each piece was located. She waved toward the boxes. “You don’t need to wait for me, go ahead and open them.”

Penelope opened box after box, revealing many crowns and tiaras, some with matching necklaces and hair jewels, as well as bracelets and anklets. “There are so many,” she whispered, pulling out a seemingly fragile silver tiara that was nothing more than loops and swirls of metal, accented with small rubies.

“When Laertes took my bow, I demanded payment.” Anticlea turned to Penelope, a glint in her eye. “He called me ‘insatiable’. I called this ‘payback’.” 

Penelope looked at all the boxes cluttering the table. “I would say so,” she said, impressed. “Which is your favorite?”

“I hate them all,” Anticlea said. “But the one I showed you first is my least hated. And it matches the king’s crown.”
“You hate them all? They’re so beautiful.” She pulled out another one, a twisted circlet of gold, bronze, and silver with wrought laurel leaves twisting away from the central twist.

“That would suit you as well,” Anticlea said, considering the circlet. “I hate them because they are a sorry replacement for what I truly want. They are a reminder of what I cannot have.”

Penelope carefully replaced the circlet. “I would like this one upstairs, I think. Anticlea, we should work on getting you back your bow.” 

Anticlea waved her comment away. “I am past that now.”

“Are you?”

Anticlea swallowed. “Yes.” She pulled out another box. “Keep looking. Laertes will be happy to see someone actually using these.”

The next morning, Odysseus woke her early for their first throne day. Instead of training, they each immediately washed and dressed.

Odysseus was attired as a king, purple cloak over a brilliant white tunic, sandals that laced up his calves. She had tried to wear her best, but felt dull and uninspiring next to him. She had a bright blue dress with a saffron cloak, each worked with diamond shapes around the hem in purples and whites. She had a light veil fastened at the back of her head, leaving her face and much of her hair visible.

He held out his hand to her, and she was reminded of their courtship - always inviting, never forcing. She smiled and walked to him, taking his hand and kissing it with a curtsey. “King Odysseus.”

“Queen Penelope.” He kissed her hand in turn. He led Penelope to the workroom, where Anticlea stood with the crowns laid on a table. He took Penelope’s crown and placed it on her head with a grin, and she returned the favor. 

“I’m glad I don’t have to wear your crown,” she muttered. “It weighs a ton!” 

His grin widened. He leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek, causing her to tear up a little. She reached out and squeezed Penelope’s hand. “You both look very regal.”

Odysseus held out his arm and walked her to the throne room, stopping to show her the new statue of Athena across the corridor. The temple room was brilliantly lit, both with torches and large windows behind the statue on its plinth. The statue itself was tall, so both she and Odysseus had to look up to see the face of Athena staring down at them. Her gaze was fierce yet kind. Penelope compared her face to the one she had seen at the training field yesterday. “It’s a fair likeness,” she murmured.

“She said it was acceptable.” He knelt before the statue, and Penelope followed him. They prayed for wisdom, for kindness, for patience with their people and their pleas. 

Then Odysseus led her to the throne room itself. Though Penelope had passed it hundreds of times, she had never actually sat on her throne or even looked at it closely, and felt a thrill of discovery to realize it was the same workmanship as their bed.

“You created these as well?” she asked, impressed, running her fingers over the carvings.

He nodded, then motioned to the guards at the door. “Welcome my people,” he announced. They sat on their thrones, hands connected, as the first of the supplicants entered the room.

The first two men were neighbors from Dulichium, far to the north, with a dispute. The first man was angry that his neighbor was allowing livestock over into the first man’s fields. The second man argued that there was not enough grazing unless he used the other man’s land as well. Odysseus listened patiently as each man had his say. “I thought you didn’t care for raising livestock,” he said to the second man.

“Hate it, my lord, but we need the meat, as does everyone.”

“But you like to raise crops.”

“I could tend my plants all day and night, sire.”

“And you,” he turned to the first man, “Would much rather spend time with your animals, no?”

The first man shrugged. “It is better than the cropping, my lord. I am able to keep my animals contained. I don’t see why he cannot.”

Odysseus was silent for a moment, looking between the two. “You have been good friends and neighbors for most of your life. Why not share in the responsibility and share the land so that it can be used as best befits the terrain, then split the profits of both? You -“ he indicated the second man, “can raise crops, you -” he pointed to the first man, “-the livestock, then share the spoils equally.”

The second man looked skeptical. “And what if one of us ends up cheating or having a bad year?”

“Don’t cheat. If I find there is a dispute, I will have my steward take over the land to keep things fair, with the crown keeping twenty percent, and then you’ll each get fourty percent. If there is a bad year, you will both bear the downfall together, hoping that a bad year in livestock does not mean a bad year in the fields.”

“Twenty percent!” exclaimed the first man.

“Think of it as an incentive to work things out and keep things fair between the two of you.” Odysseus dismissed them.

The supplicants kept coming, keeping Odysseus busy with sheep disputes, advice on how to best plant fields for the coming season, and questions on how long the fortifications would take to complete or sometimes complaints about having the fortifications at all. Odysseus took it all in stride, occasionally meeting a supplicant with an embrace or expressing his boredom by tapping his foot. The thrones were remarkably comfortable, but even comfortable seats become wearisome after many hours.

As the morning dwindled with the last of the supplicants, Penelope recognized a familiar face. Sebasteia and a man who must be her husband, had come with their new baby. Penelope eyed them warily as they came near the throne, doing obeisance to their king and queen.

“King Odysseus,” the husband said in a rumbling voice, “My wife and I would like you to bless our son.”

Penelope’s mouth thinned and she kept her gaze firmly on the husband, ignoring Sebasteia and the infant completely. If this visit were to shame her for losing her child, while Sebasteia was able to conceive and bear not only a child, but a son, Penelope was not going to give her any satisfaction. 

Odysseus motioned for Sebasteia to come closer and she placed the infant in Odysseus’s arms. The infant immediately started screaming, and Odysseus bopped his nose and said, “May the gods bless you, son of Eupeithes and Sebasteia.” He held out the infant to Sebasteia again, and she hushed the child severely.

“What have you named the child?” Odysseus asked Eupeithes politely.

“Antinous, my lord.”

“Interesting choice. May he have a long life of service to Ithaca. And his parents, of course.” He dismissed them, and as they were the last of the supplicants, he stood and offered his arm to Penelope.

“What does the babe’s name mean?” she asked, taking his arm. She was glad he hadn’t prolonged the couple’s audience.

“Resistant. I guess it is better than my name.” He shrugged. Penelope knew that his name had many meanings, all of which had a negative connotation: to be angry with, to hold a grudge against, to cause pain, to hate. His grandfather had given him the name, and she wondered that he had never taken a nickname. “I’ll see you this evening,” he whispered with a short kiss as they parted outside the throne room.

Throne day was not just a time for supplicants, but was also a day when all the men and women could feast and listen to stories. The word had gone out to the entire kingdom and a bard had arrived the night before with the supplicants from the other islands, to Odysseus’s delight. 

A bard! They were both hoping for a new story, something they could retell and refashion at will. Penelope had hosted many bards in Sparta, but Ithaca was such a small kingdom located on the edge of the Achaean world, so far removed that they rarely had any that would come out their way. Throne day was a benefit in many ways, she thought. 

The meal was set out under the watchful eyes of both Penelope and Anticlea. With so many guests, they would use long tables instead of individual ones. 

Anticlea took charge of the menu, lining up several animals for sacrifice: cows, sheep, and fowl. No fish this night, she admonished slaves when they suggested it; only the best would be served. Olive oil, bread, lentils, barley, oats, salsify and parsley roots roasted in honey. Dried fruits, since it was too early in the year to eat fresh. Honey cakes for dessert with candied nuts. Everything was ready except the meat, since it would be killed at the start of the feast.

Odysseus and Penelope welcomed guests as they arrived, separating the men from the women and making sure all were comfortably seated and had wine to drink. 

Tonight’s master of the feast was Mentor, who had settled well into his role as steward. As master of the feast, it was his job to determine how much water to put into the wine. As the evening progressed, Penelope noted that he had kept the wine quite strong. Both she and Odysseus raised their eyebrows at each other after tasting it, and put their wine onto the table after splashing a bit into the hearth for Hestia. Neither of them liked to be without their wits.

As soon as everyone was seated, Laertes sacrificed to first Zeus, trying to kill the largest of the cows with many words and, when that did not work, resorting to a knife. The other animals were killed in quick succession, each devoted to a specific god or goddess, and the slaves quickly went to work dismembering the animals and placing the fat and bones on the altar to Zeus. The meat was cut and skewered and placed over the hearth for the guests, who were snacking on the other available foods.

Penelope joined Odysseus at the men’s table with Laertes and Anticlea, and surveyed the room. She was ready for a story and bed, she thought. She sought out the bard in the crowd with her eyes, finally locating him near the hearth. He was partaking of the wine quite freely, she noticed. She hoped he would last throughout his entire story.

By the time the bard started his story, more than half the assembled guests were well and truly drunk. Penelope and Odysseus had requested water early on, as had Anticlea. Laertes had no such reservations and was roaring for the bard to begin. Thankfully, Laertes calmed along with the other guests as the bard stood, ready with his story.

“This,” he said, “is a tale of a wedding, a spurned deity, and three beautiful goddesses. This was not so long ago, and it comes with a warning: there is no ending to this story.”

A hiss came from the crowd. Crowds loved endings.

“But you will like this even more,” he assured them. “It ends with a question.”

Penelope sat up, interested. So did many others.

“It starts, my friends, with a wedding. A wedding between a goddess and a mortal man. This goddess did not want to wed a mortal, but she was forced into it by both Zeus and Poseidon.

“Why, you ask, would these powerful gods require her to marry a mortal? She was so beautiful that both Zeus and Poseidon wished to possess her, after all. A daughter of Nereus -”

Penelope gave Odysseus a meaningful look, mouthing, “Grandfather.” He nodded.

“- she was a Nereid, a sea goddess. The gods had been told of a prophecy, words true and wise, regarding this goddess, Thetis. It was said that she would bear a son who would be greater than his father. The lightning-thrower and the wave-walker could not afford to have a child that would eventually overthrow them.” In a whisper that nevertheless carried throughout the courtyard, he continued, “For having overthrown their own father, they are always worried that the Fates may have something similar in mind for them.” 

“And so!” He raised his voice again, making sure he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “And so she was betrothed to Peleus, a hero who sailed with Jason on the Argo and hunted the Calydonian boar with old King Laertes of Ithaca. Thetis, however, refused her betrothal.”

The audience hissed and groaned. Laertes looked pleased to be mentioned in the story, which Odysseus pointed out to Penelope with a nudge and a grin.

“What was Peleus to do? He was betrothed to a goddess by the highest gods, and yet his bride refused him. Poseidon told the hero he needed to speak with the sea god Proteus to find out how to convince the goddess Thetis to marry. Proteus told him to find Thetis while she was sleeping and to hold her most tightly. She would shape shift to try and get him to release her, but he must not be affrighted - he must hold on until she agreed to marry.

“And so Peleus set off to an unnamed island in the great river we call the ocean. He found his bride-to-be, asleep, and grabbed hold of her. He was nothing if not obedient to the gods. And who wouldn’t be, if they were able to embrace a goddess?”

The crowd chuckled, some of the men elbowing one another and wives frowning a little, but still amused.

“She did start to shape shift, turning first into a flame. Talk about fanning the flames of desire, no? Hot, hot, hot - I’m sure she burned him. Then she turned into water, which Peleus must have appreciated for cooling his burns. Holding onto water can be quite slippery; I do wonder how he managed it. She next turned into a lioness. He must have been holding onto her back, keeping free of those talons and teeth, for he still held on. Her last try was a serpent, fanged and weaving, but he grabbed her behind the head, making it impossible for her to sink her teeth in yet again.

“Beaten, Thetis finally agreed to marry him.”

Applause greeted this statement. Penelope grimaced. The “hero” in this story was not a hero to her: was the point behind the story that you could get what you wanted by holding tight to it, regardless of whether it was yours?

“And so they married, with all the deities being invited. Except, of course, one. Eris.”

One lady gasped so loudly that everyone started laughing again. The lady blushed furiously and hid her head in her hands.

“Gasp you may, my lady,” the bard bowed to her. “The goddess of discord. She was quite put out. So she decided to bring a gift - or toss it into the party - just to add to the fun. This gift, my friends, was a golden apple with the words “to the most beautiful.”

“Where, do you think, did this apple happen to land? At the feet of three goddesses in the middle of a chat. Anyone want to guess which three?”

It sounded like everyone shouted out three names. Penelope covered her ears in the cacophony, convinced no one would be able to make out even one name in the mass of voices.

“Right!” Hollered the bard, and everyone responded with hilarity. When he had finally calmed his audience once more, the bard continued. “The three were Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena. Which one was the fairest?”

The crowd was now silent. No one would dare name just one; the result could be catastrophic.

“Hera picked up the apple, reading it aloud. Aphrodite immediately claimed the apple; of course it was speaking of her. Athena objected strongly to this, and Hera also had a few things to say. All three are beautiful beyond measure.

“Hera noticed her husband out of the corner of her eye, and called to him. Zeus! He would be able to tell them which was the fairest. He is the god of the gods! Surely he could judge between them.

“He refused. Can you blame him?

Again, everyone was silent.

“Perhaps they should have appealed to your king, the good King Odysseus. Would you have an answer, my lord?” The bard looked to Odysseus, who hastily, shook his head. “Ah, you are wise indeed.”

That comment got a few chuckles from the crowd.

“Zeus did choose a judge. A mortal. A shepherd watching his flocks on a mountain far from here, on the other side of the world. A man who was also beautiful, so perhaps a good judge of beauty?

“That is not the question for you tonight, my friends,” the bard warned. “Your question is much more difficult. But back to this shepherd. The goddesses explained his task. Choose the fairest. The most beautiful. He confessed himself unworthy to judge. He demurred. As you can well imagine.

“Then the goddesses started offering him gifts. The gift of seeing them whole. Meaning, to be blunt, naked.”

The men erupted in ribald jokes. Penelope turned bright red, as did many other of the women and some of the younger boys. Anticlea shot Odysseus a meaningful look. Odysseus stood and clapped thrice, warning the men to be aware of the ladies.

“The women can always leave,” said a fair-haired man who was standing against one of the columns.

“They are invited guests,” Odysseus stated calmly. “Continue, bard.”

He sat and Penelope leaned her head near to him. “Thank you, my lord.”

He rolled his eyes, then took her hand and gave it a kiss. “They forget themselves.”

“They are drunk.” Penelope saw a movement to her right, and turned in time to see a well-dressed young man run off, presumably to empty his stomach.

Odysseus watched the same thing, and responded with a shake of his head, “Very. I may need to talk to Mentor about the strength of that wine.”

The bard continued. “The poor shepherd was even more flustered than he had been before. Still unable to make a decision - or unwilling, if we give him credit for some intelligence - the goddesses decided to try bribes. Hera offered him kingdoms untold.” 

Odysseus muttered, “Whose kingdoms? Is she going to help him unthrone the current rulers?” Penelope shrugged, a bit concerned at the turn of this story.

“Athena offered him wisdom, skill, and strategy. Integral to keeping a kingdom.”

Penelope lifted the edge of her mouth into a smirk. That would be Odysseus’s choice, no doubt.

“Aphrodite offered him the most beautiful woman in the world.”

The bard was silent, letting them all think through the choices. “So this is your question: Which one would you choose?”

The crowd sat silent for a moment longer, before clapping and thanking the bard. They seemed subdued, pleased and not pleased at the same time. Everyone spent the remainder of the evening debating their own choices, which was entertainment in itself. Penelope was correct: Odysseus spent the rest of the evening defending Athena’s offer. 

For Penelope, the most interesting part of the story was not the choice. It was this: Why hadn’t the muse given the bard the answer to the question?

Chapter Text

Winter was waning, but a thick mist hung suspended over the island. The murky day sent curls of moisture into the palace wherever cracks allowed them in: through shutters and a hastily opened door, clinging to slaves as they hauled water into the palace.

Since the weather was a bit chilly, the slaves were making soap. The process was hot, as it required water and olive oil to heat throughout the day as multiple batches were made. The younger slave girls were sorting herbs to be pressed into the final soaps and the workroom was rich with the scents of lavender, fennel, and myrtle. Animal fats were being melted in the courtyard as well for the lower quality soaps that the slaves would use. 

The room was humid and Penelope couldn’t wait to escape into the cool mist. Odysseus had just returned from another tour of the islands, and since she had promised to stay in the palace while he was off island, she was anxious to get out. 

She and her ladies had gathered food baskets with lentils and beans for a few of the poorer families on the island, as well as a sewing basket so she could sit and sew if she stopped to visit. Her favorite stop was Bris’s home with her three children. The youngest boy, now a year old or so, was scooting around on his backside, refusing to walk when he had his sisters to carry him about. Penelope loved to be with them, to hear their chatter and watch their silliness as they played games and made small creations with rocks and shells. 

She still hadn’t been able to conceive, and spending time with children seemed to both help and hurt. It had been several moons since her last miscarriage, but there had been no telltale ache in her womb telling her that a new pregnancy had begun. Nothing. She had begun to wonder if Odysseus would eventually need to replace her, so he could have an heir.

He would not even allow comments or questions along that line. He was stubbornly positive that eventually they would have a child. Perhaps Athena had given him hope. Penelope tried to borrow that hope from him, but this seemed to be her failure alone.

Being with the townspeople, especially Bris, softened her worry; here she was helpful, here she was useful. Bris and her children gave her comfort. And information. Bris, it turned out, loved to chatter about the islanders and filled Penelope with stories of her people. Unlike the ladies of the court, Bris had a way of adding kindness to her characterizations and allowing her neighbors their mistakes. She even spoke lovingly about her husband who managed to gamble away much of what their little family needed.

Today Penelope was going with just her slaves and guards to deliver the foods; Anticlea had sent a messenger excusing herself because of a mild stomach ache. When assured that her mother-in-law did not need assistance, Penelope had gratefully used Anticlea’s illness to not invite any of the higher born ladies to help distribute the baskets of food. Chloe was still keeping her distance from the palace, and Penelope was not interested in spending time with many of the others. 

Polites had gone to great lengths to assure Penelope that Chloe was not angry with her, but did not want to be anywhere near Odysseus or the palace. Penelope understood, but missed her all the same. 

She nodded to Actoris and Kynna, who took up the baskets of foodstuffs, and to her guards, who were carrying empty water jugs, and pulled on her veil, tying it in place so it wouldn’t get in the way. She had four guards today, including Actor and Dymas. They were a much smaller group than usual, which suited Penelope just fine.

They stepped outside into the cold mist, adjusting their cloaks for warmth. As usual, they stopped at the fountain for water. Penelope wondered if the temperature would go low enough overnight to freeze the fountain. If it did, she might need to have the guards come out to break up the ice early the next day. Ice was a rarity on the island, but it could and did happen.

They visited several families, passing out all but one of the food baskets. The families were eager to return to their hearths, and did not linger to talk much. Penelope could see that her ladies were starting to get colder and tried to walk faster so they could spend a few minutes at Bris’s hearth, their last visit of the day. 

Bris did not answer the door immediately as she usually did. The windows were shuttered and the house quiet. Penelope could see a faint light inside, and so she knocked again, calling softly to her friend. Perhaps the children were sick or sleeping. Her ladies shifted behind her, anxious to find relief from the chill in the small cottage.

The door opened, but only enough to show Bris. Her eyes were red and tears tracked down both cheeks. Penelope stepped forward, concerned. “Bris, are you alright? What has happened? One of the children?”

Bris nodded and held out her arms for an embrace. Penelope did not hesitate, but willingly went to comfort her friend. Bris stepped back, bringing her inside the house. Penelope couldn’t see much in the darkened room, but stiffened as she smelled unwashed bodies. These were not the typical smells of Bris’s house: children, unwashed cloths from the baby, newly made food and a fire. These were the smells of unwashed men.

Before she could react, Bris had her inside and someone on the other side of the door had closed it on Actoris, who had been just behind her. The door captured Actoris’s fingers, and the man closing the door allowed it open just a fraction for the lady to pull her fingers back, screaming in pain, before closing it solidly and barring it against the guards, who were already trying to get inside.

Penelope tried to tuck her hand into her skirt to get to her dagger, but was grabbed by one of the men from behind. He captured both of her arms, keeping her still. She tried to peer through her veil in the low light, but the veil managed to obscure all but the forms of several large men. She wrinkled her nose. They really hadn’t bathed in a long, long time. 

Bris was sobbing apologies. “My lady, they were going to kill my babes and -” Her words stopped suddenly with a hit or a kick from one of the men behind her. 

Penelope struggled to help her friend, only earning pain as her arms were pulled more tightly behind her. Odysseus was going to kill her if she made it out of this alive. Why did she keep ending up in these situations? 

She tried to assess her surroundings: the ladies and guards outside were frantic and the men inside the cottage were frustratingly quiet, not giving her many clues. The man holding her was a bit taller than she, brawny, and using both arms to restrain her. He could have a weapon, but she wouldn’t know unless he reached for it, which would leave one of her arms free. She stepped to the side, pretending to steady herself but really looking for his foot. She found it, and he kicked her foot off of his booted foot. Boots weren’t good; they had enough money to properly attire themselves in this weather, and it would be more difficult to injure his feet. 

All she could do at this point, she realized, was wait. 

Someone approached her and her captor, stopping right in front of her. He tried to rip off the veil, cursing when it stuck on its fastenings to her belt. Using a knife, he cut it along her shoulders, not caring if he nicked her or not. The few times he did make contact with the knife, she flinched backwards. Finally, he decided the veil was cut enough and ripped the top free. At least she could see.

The man nodded, seeing her face. “It’s her,” he approved. “Give the babes back to their mother. Let’s go.” She took a quick count. Seven men, three of which were holding - almost strangling - the small children. One was holding her, then there was the one who had cut her veil. Two were at the front door, ready to attack if need be. The children were thrown at their mother, and Bris gathered them to her, hunching over them to protect them. They were unnaturally silent, and Penelope let out a breath of relief when she saw the children back with their mother, hoping they were not injured in any way.

How did these men think they would get past four armed guards? She couldn’t see weapons other than the knife the man had used to cut away her veil, so she didn’t see how they planned to get past her entourage.

One of the men from the door came behind her and tied her hands. There went that as a possibility. She stretched her hands as far apart as she could while they tied them, but the men were frustratingly efficient. The scratchy rope bit into her wrist. Now that she was tied, the man holding her only needed one hand to hold her. He let one of his hands drop, and his arm came across her shoulders, pressing cold metal to her throat.

This was how they planned to get past the guards. Brawny boy held her to the door as it opened and she saw her guards still at the sight of her. The one who cut away her veil spoke. “Let us pass or she will die.”  

Penelope kept her eyes down. “If you have a demand, make it now so that it can be communicated,” she ordered the men. The knife cut shallowly and she could feel a trickle of blood. She sighed in annoyance even as her pulse hammered against the knife at her throat. If they were trying to put on a show, they were doing a good job of it. Her ladies looked almost faint with worry and her guards were stoic, watching and waiting for an opening. 

She made eye contact with Dymas and mouthed, “Odysseus.” He nodded, turned, and ran. The man holding her pressed the blade into her neck again and she pulled back against him, self preservation warring with revulsion.

Brawny boy started walking and soon they were flanked by the leader and another man. The last four followed quickly, keeping an eye on the royal guards. She saw Actor flick his eyes to the men’s sides, assessing their weapons. Probably at least a sword apiece, she thought, still unable to see any herself.

The wind whipped the pieces of her veil that remained into the face of her captor and he cursed. His accent was Ithacan. Ctimene was right: this was an internal threat from their own people. The thought did not bring her comfort. It would also stand to reason that these men were being commanded by the same people behind the poisoning and the assassination attempt. 

Actor and the other two guards were still following them, keeping their distance.

The leader took his knife and cut more of the veil away as they walked into the trees and started down toward the beach. Did they have a boat? They then veered off in a different direction, one she knew well: it was the path to the pirate cave. She bit her lip. If she screamed, Actor would probably hear her, even with the mist deadening the sound. But if she made any obvious sign of knowing where they were going, would they change their direction? Making a decision, she screamed as loud as she could: “Leocedes!”

Again, the knife was back and now she was bleeding freely, a deep gash along the side of her neck. Still not deep enough to kill. The leader stopped them and quickly cut one more piece of her veil to gag her with. She rolled her eyes and he grinned at her. “You may find this funny now, your majesty, but you won’t for long.”

She tried to stop the thrill of fear that sang through her veins. If the Fates willed her death today, so be it, but she would not go down without a fight. Odysseus would be so furious with her for dying. At that thought, a traitorous tear worked its way out of an eye. The leader smiled. “There. That’s what I was looking for,” he cackled.

If Actor had heard her, and told Odysseus what she had said, he would know where to find her. Sooner rather than later, hopefully. 

The cave was free of mist, but it was full of ships. There were three longships covered in men. She tried to see someone, anyone, that she knew, but these were all strangers. Three ships, she thought. Probably two hundred men or more. Where did these men come from? The man holding her was Ithacan, but could these be hired mercenaries? What could Odysseus and a small contingent of guards do against so many?

The men led her to the edge of the water, and the touch of water at her feet reminded her that she was not really alone. She began to pray as they pushed her onto a small boat, the knife no longer on her throat. Her grandfather would help her, but she needed to get to the water. Preferably in the water.

If she fell in the water now, they would just grab her and keep her under tighter watch. She would have to wait until she was over deep water.

The men rowed until the boat was shadowed by the closest ship, which had lowered a ladder. They sliced her bound hands so she could climb the ladder. She looked around frantically as she ascended, trying to see a clear path into the water. With the small boat behind her filled with the men who had retrieved her, and the large boat filled with even more men ahead, she would not be able to jump from here. 

She bit at the fabric in her mouth, and tried to think of a way to grab for her dagger. With so many men, it wouldn’t be much. It would probably be better to wait until there was a good opportunity. The thought vexed her; Icarius had taught her that she needed to take the earliest opportunity - always - because the longer you were held, the more restrictions captors could place on your movement. But a dagger was a short-range weapon. Incapable of fighting more than one man at a time.

At the top of the rope ladder, she was greeted by two more men who took her arms. They pushed her roughly into a sailor who laughed and threw her to another sailor farther into the center of the ship, where her hands were tied behind her again. She looked at the edge of the ship, willing it closer. She prayed for a moment of inattention. Just a moment. 

A commotion caught her attention at the mouth of the cave: Odysseus and his men filed in and spread out to accompanying jeers from the sailors. All the men who had abducted her were on the ship now, and they had pulled the small boat onto the ship as well. They were ready to row away.  

A terrible thought crossed her mind: perhaps she wouldn’t die but instead be sold into slavery. She started to shake uncontrollably, to the amusement of the man who held her. She tried to breathe. Assess, assess. Plan.

Because there were three ships, there was not enough room to use oars; she looked for and found long thick ropes, presumably attached to a large rock outside the cave that they would use to pull the boats back out into the open sea. She saw one of the large ropes pulled taught and could feel the ship moving as other sailors hauled against the ropes, but with three ships, they were not all going to make it out of the cave quickly. 

Now that Odysseus was here, all three boats might not make it out.

She was assuming a great deal about her husband; they only had a few men and they were stuck on the beach. The sailors had higher ground on the boat and a stretch of water between the two forces; it would be an uneven battle. Still, Odysseus was sure to have a plan. He always had a plan.

The leader came to her and pulled her close, a knife once again in his hand. Bring me close to the edge, she prayed. He walked towards the side of the ship, towards where Odysseus stood on the shore. She could not see Odysseus’s men at first glance, but a second glance showed her that they had taken shelter behind the many rocks that littered the shore within the cave. She saw the tip of a longbow and felt the fear start to abate. With shelter and bows, they would be able to kill at least some of these men. Hopefully without losing any of their own men.

She saw fury in the taut way Odysseus stood, his lower body hidden by a large boulder, his bow strung and ready to fire. She needed to give him a good shot. That knife was up against her throat again, but with her throat so slick with blood, would he be able to make a good cut? Could she chance fighting him, with so many others near? She estimated they were still a good ten cubits away from the edge of the ship, with four men standing between herself and freedom. Two of the men did not have their feet firmly planted, so she could easily overbalance them. But the other two were steady.

Again, she waited, feeling her heart pulse blood though her body, to her fingertips, to her legs. 

“I don’t think you want to take that shot, my lord.” The leader called to Odysseus, clearly. “You may find it lodges in the throat of your Queen.”

Odysseus shot anyway, taking out one of the men standing between her and the rail. He must have seen her eyeing them, or realized that they were the barriers between her and freedom.

“You will let us leave this cave. It is the only way she will stay alive.” Loud, clear, sure. 

“Alive for what?” Odysseus called back, loaded and took out another of the men between her and the rail. The remaining two fled behind them, sure they were next. 

The leader snapped at one of his armed sailors. “Where are your bows?” The sailors belatedly moved to arm themselves, splitting their efforts between hauling the boat and defending themselves. He moved her closer to the rail and she wanted to sob in relief. She allowed herself to tremble.

“Anything other than being Queen. Don’t you worry, we’ll find something for her.” The men on the other ships jeered, and finally someone took a shot at Odysseus. He ducked behind the boulder, and the arrow shot harmlessly past. Another arrow nicked the top of the boulder and she gasped at how close it had been. 

“I’ll just get another Queen.” Odysseus was up again, voice hard. The words seemed to sap her energy. She struggled a bit, feeling the knife work its way into her skin again.

The man laughed. “That’s what we’re hoping for -” 

Penelope was done waiting. She dropped into a faint, her favorite move. The knife skimmed her throat but the slick blood made it impossible for the edge to find purchase. He didn’t quite drop her, but now that the knife was away from her throat, she broke his hold on her other arm and launched herself forward. He was able to grab just the edge of her veil, still fluttering wildly around her waist where it was tied. The cuts they had made in her veil widened and ripped - and she went over the side of the ship.

She could hear Odysseus yell and arrows flitting over her head as she broke the surface of the water.

The fall from the ship caused her to lose consciousness for a moment, but the pain of salt water in her wounds - along her neck, along her shoulder where the veil had been roughly cut away - woke her quickly enough. Without her hands, she kicked, but wasn’t sure how to orient herself upwards. 

The gag was allowing water into her mouth too quickly. Her lungs were emptying, her mouth filling with the salty water, and she started to panic. She tried to say one word past the gag, hoping it would be enough: “Grandfather -”

She struggled to keep the air she had, kicking, but felt herself slowing. The pain in her chest was getting weaker and she was getting so tired. She wanted to close her eyes. She couldn’t see much anyway, there was no need to expend energy on sight.

Hands closed on her waist and she tried to struggle, but couldn’t find the strength. They could take her. She wouldn’t be around long enough to care.

She awoke on the shore, disoriented and cold, feeling gritty sand under her fingers, along her eyelashes, inside her mouth. She was covered in a blanket or cloak, each breath a chore. But she was breathing. 

She opened her eyes to see Polites beside her, watching her with wide, almost frightened eyes. She moved her head slightly and saw Odysseus and her grandfather glaring at each other, Odysseus with a sword in his hand, her grandfather knee deep in water and seeming to glow an unearthly blue from the water constantly flowing over his skin.

“Grandfather,” she gasped. “Odysseus.” She started to cough, turning to the sand to spit grit out of her mouth. She had to stop Odysseus from attacking her grandfather, but she couldn’t seem to stop coughing, and she didn’t have the strength to do anything else. She tried to push against the sand again but her muscles flexed and failed. “Odysseus,” she tried again, her voice grating.

He turned at the sound of her voice and dropped his sword, dropping to his knees before her. He brushed the sand away from her face, tears rolling down his cheeks.

She looked at her grandfather, who was smiling at her. He made a rude gesture towards Odysseus, but said kindly, “Good luck to you, daughter. Till I see you again.” He dissolved into the water.

“Goodbye, Grandfather.”

Odysseus shushed her. She decided she did not like being shushed.

“How are you alive?” asked Polites. At a glance from Odysseus, he stood and stepped back, the alert guardsman once again. 

“You were under the water for at least an hour, maybe two?” Odysseus’s voice cracked. “How are you still alive?” he echoed. He pulled her to a sitting position, resting against him, still brushing away sand. She could feel his lips in her hair.

She glanced around, barely able to move her head, seeing nothing but an empty cave with just her, Odysseus, and Polites. No ships. No guards. The water kissed the shore and retreated, then returned again, calm.

“I…” she cleared her throat and tried again. “Where are all the ships?” 

Odysseus rose with her in his arms, the cloak on top of her sliding to the ground. He looked to Polites, who moved to gather the cloak, wrapping it again around her shoulders, then stopping to get Odysseus’s sword.

“Were you going to attack Grandfather with…a sword?” she asked curiously, her voice grating. Her grandfather could easily escape by just dissolving into the stream; a sword would do little against an immortal. 

“He took too long bringing you back,” Odysseus replied.

“Not your brightest idea, brother,” Polites opined, which earned him a glare from Odysseus.

Her thoughts were running in circles. “Grandfather sunk the ships,” she said.

“They went down,” Polites acknowledged. “The sailors tried to jump off but as soon as they touched the water…they were gone. And then…the ships were under water and there was nothing.”

“Who?” she asked. They started to move towards the cave entrance, weaving between the rocks.

Odysseus responded, “The house of Bias. Bias and his brothers, along with his only son were on board. Bias ran onto the deck as soon as the ships started sinking and jumped into the water. His son followed; his brothers tried to send a few arrows our way but went down with the ship. Bias had wanted me to marry into their family before…” he didn’t say it, but she heard ‘before Helen’ anyway. “I only wish your grandfather had allowed me to kill them personally, torture them for information, make sure they were behind all the other attempts on your life. Why…why didn’t you come up sooner?” There was a petulant note in his tone. She realized he had been frightened.

“I…don’t know…” she tilted her head side to side, but all she could remember was the blackness of unconsciousness. Her head fell back onto Odysseus’s shoulder. She felt so weak, so tired. “I’m sorry, I jumped and then I couldn’t breathe, and then it was dark…and I woke up here.”

“Can we pick up the pace? Or are we taking a stroll so you two can canoodle?” Polites ignored another dark look from Odysseus, who did start to walk a bit faster. “You know what was frightening?” Polites walked closer. “Watching the two of you,” he gestured between the two of them, “coordinate without even seeming to make eye contact. You two are…it’s like you have one mind between you.” He nodded vehemently, agreeing with himself. “Very frightening.”

Penelope looked at Odysseus in wonder. “It was like you knew exactly what I was thinking…taking out those sailors between me and the railing…” Odysseus shrugged, tucking her more tightly into his chest.

Polites sighed. He was trying to lighten Odysseus’s mood, but it was not working. Penelope appreciated that he was even trying.

Once outside of the cave, she could see several of Odysseus’s guards waiting for them. They helped Odysseus climb without him having to put her down. She knew she didn’t have the strength to make it up the path on her own and was glad Odysseus didn’t even ask her to attempt the climb. She was starting to shiver violently, and she wondered if she had been too cold to shiver when she first came out of the water. 

As they reached the top, she slid her hand up around his neck. His muscles were tight with tension still, his eyes narrowed in thought. “We will need to at least flog the woman.” The comment was aimed at Polites, devoid of feeling.

She tightened her grip on the back of his neck. “Oh no, no, no…she was protecting her babies. Odysseus, no, please, I beg you.” 

He bit his lip. Polites was silent.

“Odysseus, my own, please.” 

“I will think on it,” he said. It did not sound like a promise and she wondered if time to think would change his mind. “Do you really not remember anything once you went under the water?”

She shook her head slowly, then rested it on his shoulder. Exhaustion pulled heavily on her eyelids, and she drifted into sleep.

Her next thought was that Anticlea was too loud, for her mother-in-law was shrieking question after question: “What happened? What is wrong? Why aren’t you telling me what happened? Odysseus!”

“ Mamá ,” Odysseus shushed her. “I told you to go home.”

“While there is danger about? You wouldn’t remember to come get me and I would be pacing all night - Penelope? Please tell me she is just sleeping? Why is she wet? Her lips are blue!”

“She is just sleeping, mamá. Go home.”

Penelope felt a soft touch on her cheek.

“She is freezing, Odysseus. And wet! Ladies, warm water immediately for a bath.”

Penelope wished she would be quiet. Didn’t she have a stomach ache? Why wasn’t she at home? The women’s workroom was so loud. Even with her eyes closed, it was too bright.It was so cold. No, she was cold. She turned her face into Odysseus’s shoulder, which was warm and sighed with the small relief.

“I will take care of my wife. Go home.” Odysseus growled.

There was a short silence, then Anticlea responded, “I will see her into her bath and then - only then - I will go home. I don’t trust you to care for her properly. Look at the state she is in! Thank you, Actoris.”

A blanket was tucked around her cloaked form and Odysseus sat, settling her more firmly in his lap. This was better, warmer. The shivering hadn’t stopped and she tried to stop her teeth from chattering. Her jaw was so tired, it took her only a moment or two to give up and just allow them to chatter. Odysseus rubbed his hand over her back, trying to warm her.

“Tell me what happened while we wait for the water to warm,” Anticlea wheedled.

“It can wait.” The rumble of his voice was comforting, gentle. He had relaxed now that the ladies were actively working for her comfort. He had to be so tired. She should tell him to sleep while her ladies cared for her, but couldn’t force her mouth to form the words. She stayed silent.

There were so many footsteps. The light was getting easier to bear, but she didn’t think she could move to turn her face outwards as sleep relentlessly pulled on her again. She felt Odysseus pull her wet braid from the blanket and start unraveling it. She let the tugs move her head.

“Am I pulling your hair, Penelope mine?” he whispered.

She barely shook her head, but he understood and continued working with her hair. She couldn’t hear the ocean. Was she home? She opened her eyes, seeing only her husband in front of her. His face was strained with worry, eyes burning with anger. She lifted her hand to his cheek, smiling a little when she managed it. He flinched at her cold touch, and met her eyes.

“Odysseus. I am still waiting for an explanation.” Anticlea was not going to be put off.

Odysseus raised his eyes to his mother and Penelope closed hers again. “The house of Bias tried to remove Penelope from the island. They had three ships waiting to sail. The ships are scuttled. The sailors and the men from the house of Bias are dead. My guards are rounding up the women from the family and I will deal with them tomorrow.” 

Anticlea waited, but Odysseus did not go on. “That still doesn’t explain how Penelope ended up soaking wet, with sand in her hair…that doesn’t explain anything!”

Penelope could easily imagine Anticlea flailing her hands in frustration. 

“She managed to get away and fell in the sea.”

If she had more energy, Penelope would have laughed at how succinct Odysseus was being in the face of Anticlea’s wish for details. 

“My lord, my lady.” Actoris was back. “The water is ready for the queen.”

Odysseus stood immediately and took her into the bathroom where he allowed the ladies to undress her while still supporting her. When she was divested of her wet clothing, he placed her into the hot water, dipping low enough to wet his own tunic. Although she supposed he had probably gotten more than a little wet just by holding her. She suppressed a shudder at being back in water and tried to relax in the warmth. He ran his hand from her forehead to her cheek, then nodded to himself. “Ladies.” He excused himself from the room.

The warmth of the water stayed on the surface of her skin, refusing to soak deeper into the cold that had settled inside her body. The slaves scrubbed her clean of sand and salt, rubbing olive oil into her skin and hair. They covered her in a wool tunic and added wool socks, and yet she still could not stop shivering.

“Thank you,” she managed. 

Actoris threw her arms around her shoulders. “My lady…We have all been so worried about you.” Penelope looked around the room, at Kynna and Autonoe - now very pregnant - at Thebe, Eurynome, and Eurycleia. They all wore similar expressions of worry tinged with relief. 

They were required to serve her, not care for her. Tears trembled on her lashes and her hand anchored on Actoris’s arm about her shoulders. “Thank you all.” It was not enough, not nearly. Tonight, it was all she could give.

As soon as they cracked the door open, Odysseus was back, swinging her into his arms, walking her to their bed. Even with as cold as she was, it only took a moment for sleep to reclaim her.

Water was pushing in on her, pressing every part of her body, tangling her long skirts as she kicked. The scream trapped in her throat couldn’t escape; the air it would take to let it go would kill her. Her progress downward was slow, agonizingly slow. The water darkened as she sank and yet, her eyes seemed to take in more details the darker it became.

Strong hands took hold around her waist, but instead of panicking, she turned to see Grandfather, eyes kind but concerned. He could see she didn’t have enough air to stay under with him. The gag and the bonds around her wrists fell away and she was pulled upward, now snugged tight against Grandfather’s chest. They broke through the water in the shadow of a boat and she gasped, then vomited the seawater she had swallowed into her lungs. 

“Breathe,” Grandfather said softly, “We must go back under.”

“No -”

“Now.” And he pulled her back down, against the boat, just as a sailor peeked over the edge above them. 

He moved lower still, and she noticed they were not alone under the water. Nymphs filled the space leaving barely enough room for them all to swim. They looked human, their skin the color of sand, some grey, some brown, some red, one a translucent white. Their hair was as varied: the bright pink of an anemone swirled around a dark nymph, where the girl - nymph - right next to her was a golden brown with hair the color of kelp. All had dark wide eyes that looked like they belonged to fish. Penelope wondered if her mother looked like these nymphs.

She was running out of air again. The nymphs hovered in place, listening as Grandfather explained something to them in a series of clicks and howls not remotely close to human language. He finished and they all swam downward, headed toward the darkness. She was starting to panic again, her hands pushing against her grandfather’s hold on her, trying to move upwards towards light and air.

He understood and took her again to the surface, where she took several deep breaths. At least she didn’t have water in her lungs this time, but she was worried that he didn’t have a sense for how often she needed to breathe. She had a few more minutes before Grandfather warned that they were going back under. This time, she took a deep breath, knowing she was going under regardless of her feelings on the matter.

Under the water, the nymphs had returned with weapons: long spears and large hooks. Her grandfather sounded what had to be an attack and they started hitting the bottom of the three vessels, striking again and again until at last the hulls cracked. Then they used the hooks and started to drag the wood apart. It took Penelope a moment to realize that they were trying to make their holes bigger, not drag the boats down; the water would do that for them.

The noise was terrible, even muffled by the water in her ears. The wood groaned and the ship farthest from her started to list to one side. Grandfather handed her off to a red-brown nymph with translucent hair, and she swam them down and away from the boats.

Penelope was running out of air again, but the nymph was not headed toward the surface. Penelope tried to get her attention, but the nymph was either unaware or uninterested, continuing to pull her through the water. They made it to the side of the cave, where there was a small hollowed out space in the wall. The nymph pulled her inside, and Penelope saw that this small cave had a lip on the top of its opening. The nymph placed her here - out of sight of the boats, unable to float upwards.

Penelope motioned again to the nymph, pressing her hands to her lungs, which were empty. She wanted to gasp, but knew that would only bring water into her lungs. The nymph nodded understanding, then swam away. 

Alone, Penelope tried to move downward, back out the cave entrance. She would find her own way to the top. Did Grandfather realize that the nymph had brought her here to die? He had seemed interested in keeping her alive, but the nymphs might not feel the same. 

She couldn’t stop herself; she gasped, inhaling water. The panicked feeling of drowning overtook her again. How had she ever felt that water was comforting? Calming? Why had she been so attracted to it? 

A nymph swam back into the small cave, this one a nut brown with no hair at all, pulling a sailor with her. Penelope’s eyes widened, her fright at drowning now doubling. Her grandfather entered as well, and she began to gesticulate, trying to communicate her distress. He took her none too gently back into his arms, and squeezed her roughly, expelling the water in her lungs. Then the sailor took her roughly in his arms and kissed her.

His kiss was not romantic in any sense; he pressed his lips against hers, then used his tongue to pry her mouth open to blow into her mouth. Air. He was bringing her air.

Her body responded immediately, the panic receding and her affront at being kissed without permission coming to the front. She pushed against the sailor, twisting to give her grandfather an offended look. He shrugged, pointing to the opening of their little cave. The first nymph was back with another sailor. The two nymphs traded sailors; the one who had kissed her had drowned after giving her his air. The second sailor took his place, again kissing her, again giving her his air. Allowing her to breathe.

She did not know how long this lasted: one sailor being traded for another, each kissing her. Some were gentle, but most of the kisses were harsh, a poor trade for the dying sailor. She tried not to think of her husband, standing on the shore, perhaps fighting, perhaps injured, while his wife floated below kissing each of her captors. Stealing their breath.

She fought her grandfather between each one; eventually, he trapped her arms by her side and had a nymph hold her legs still. He was keeping her alive, she knew, but at what cost?

“No!” Her struggle brought her up and she fought the pressure on her, only stopping when her flailing arms smacked into skin and she heard a familiar grunt of pain. 

She was not in the water any longer. The weight on her was just blankets, the face she had smacked belonged to Odysseus. She was breathing heavily, her heart racing and her face covered in tears - tears she had been unable to shed under the water in the small confining cave.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, having difficulty forming the words, the dream or memory clinging to her like the sailors as they were pulled away by yet another nymph. She gasped, bringing air to her lungs over and over again.

“Penelope mine?” Odysseus placed a hand on her shoulder, his thumb gently soothing her with small movements.

The frantic feeling of being confined was still overwhelming her. She grabbed the blankets and flung them off her. She struggled to sit, and Odysseus helped her, wiping sleep from his own eyes.

“Nightmare?” he asked, resting himself against their headboard and pulling her into his chest. The branches behind them stretched, cradling them both.

She nodded, breathing him in, trying to ground herself in reality. It was just a nightmare, she told herself. It couldn’t have been a memory. And yet, each time she repeated it in her head, it became more clear to her: it was absolutely a memory. Her grandfather had killed all of those sailors. To keep her alive. To keep her safe from not only the sailors themselves but from the sinking boats within the main part of the cave. She gulped in air, hardly able to take in enough. 

One of Odysseus’s hands smoothed her back while the other cupped her cheek, his thumb running the length of her cheekbone again and again. “Breathe, Penelope mine. You’re safe,” he murmured. “You’re home.”

She nodded, finally able to slow her breathing a little only to realize that she was still cold. Would she ever be warm? Had something changed in her under that water? “I’m cold,” she whispered. 

“Are you?” He pressed a kiss along her neck. “I’ll work on it.” He continued to kiss along her collarbone. He was making her shiver, which wasn’t helping so much with the cold. He started to move lower.

“Odysseus?” she whispered.

He grumbled. It almost sounded like the word “busy”. She ran her hands into his hair. His hair was damp. He must have bathed after their evening in the cave as well. She thought of little Sávra the morning he had her removed and the bath he had taken before returning to her. “Bris?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“She is home with her children,” he said. “Where she will stay.”

She took a deep breath then, not because she needed the air but in relief. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I have a name.” He ran his stubbled cheek across her collarbone, huffing when he reached her woolen sleeping gown.

“Odysseus, my own, thank you.”

He ran his hand over his face, scrubbing the scruff on his cheeks. “It was the right thing to do. When you are in danger…I want to kill everyone responsible and punish everyone who stood by while it happened. Whether or not they were involved.”

“My ladies? The guards?” Her panic was back, and her breathing quickened. Not enough air.

“I won’t punish them. I want to…but they did nothing wrong.” She tried to take a deep breath, but struggled. “Breathe, Penelope. You are safe.” 

“This. This is what I love about you,” she whispered.

His hands curled against her hips. “This?”

“That you think past your first instincts. That you listen. That you change.” She shivered again, and he reached for the hem of her gown, tugging it upwards.

“Are you trying to warm me or make me colder?” she asked, as he continued to yank and pull until the gown was free. 

He tossed it on the ground. “Sometimes you have to get a little colder before you can get warm.” He pulled up the blankets she had tossed off, arranging her under the covers. He brought her close, running his hand slowly along her side, and then stilled again. “Unless…” he pulled back. She couldn’t see him in the darkness. “Do you want me to stop?”

She tugged him closer. “No, Odysseus mine. I don’t want you to stop.”

“It just occurred to me…that you might not.” He took a breath. “I was so…I thought you were dead, gone. When we pulled you from the water, you were so still.” His hands roamed, chafing her chilly skin, trying to warm her. But also, Penelope thought, trying to assure himself that she was real, that she was alive. “I need you, Penelope mine. But you are here. If you need rest…if you want me to just…hold you, I will do whatever you wish.”

“I need you, too, Odysseus. As close as you can get.” Her breath shuddered as he pushed the hair back from her face. He kissed her, his lips soft on hers. She smiled a little. “That still works, you know.”

“Calm?”

“It’s like…being home. Where I’m safe.” She tugged him closer still, kissing him back. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Penelope mine. Always.”

“That sounds like a promise,” she teased gently.

“An oath.” He kissed her above her heart, and turned his face to let the stubble grate gently against her skin. “Binding. I will love you always.” 

It was late afternoon before she woke and joined Anticlea and her ladies in the workroom. She was still so tired that she just laid on the settee, letting Actoris braid her hair and watching the ladies wrap the finished soaps in cloths for storage.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Anticlea demanded as soon as she was settled.

Penelope shrugged. “Too much to tell,” she said.

Anticlea pursed her lips. “We don’t have anywhere to go, Penelope. You  have plenty of time.”

She closed her eyes as Kynna covered her with a blanket. “Thank you, Kynna. I am still so cold.”

“Penelope.” 

“Anticlea, I just don’t have the energy, I’m sorry…”

With a huff, Anticlea lapsed into silence. She must have asked for music, because Autonoe started to play her lute, filling the air with a soft melody that lulled Penelope close to sleep again. 

Her doze was interrupted by the sound of the doors opening and her guards snapping to attention. Odysseus was before her, lifting her and settling her back on his lap. She tucked her head into the curve of his neck and closed her eyes again.

“Odysseus!” Anticlea exclaimed. “Are you finally going to give me some answers? This is -”

“Yes, mamá .” He sighed, running his hand over Penelope’s arm. “Dymas found me in the orchard with papás and told me that the queen had been taken by a group of men. He was not having a good day. He was sure they had taken you, mamá , and ran off to the homestead.”

“Yes, when he told me he thought someone had taken me, I knew that something was happening…” Anticlea interjected.

“Him running off did make it easier for me to organize my men. I sent several to pull out one of the ships in case we ended up on the water. We gathered a few men, and that was when Actor met up with us.” He nudged Penelope’s head. “Leocedes?”

“I didn’t want to tip them off that I knew where we were going,” she drowsed.

“Leocedes?” Anticlea asked, confused.

“Penelope managed to give Actor a clue - he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but it led us to the pirate cave. They had her onboard one of three longboats.”

It was quiet a moment as Odysseus and Anticlea looked at each other, communicating without words. “Does that mean anything to you?” Penelope asked, not opening her eyes or even lifting her head.

“They were sailing far - probably to the markets to sell you,” Anticlea said. 

Penelope shuddered, and Odysseus tightened his hold on her.

“We took cover. They had Penelope on deck, with a few men between her and the edge; I took out a few and Penelope managed to dive overboard into the water.”

He was still summarizing, Penelope thought. Probably for the best.

“We continued to try and take out sailors, and then the ships started to break apart and sink.”

“How -”

“I don’t know, mamá. It took a moment or two, but the sailors started to panic - that was when Bias, his son, and his brothers came out and abandoned the ship.”

“Did you catch them?” Anticlea asked.

“They jumped into the water…and didn’t come back up.”

Penelope wondered for the first time if the men from the house of Bias had been among those who had been forced to kiss her. She scrunched up  her face and hid it against Odysseus’s chest. She did not want to think about it. She did not want her mind to relive it. Ever.

“All of the sailors went into the water, and didn’t return. I’m hoping that Penelope saw something while she was under the water -”

She shook her head again.

“But if she doesn’t remember - or if she didn’t see anything - we won’t ever know, I think. She was placed on the beach -”

“By whom?”

Anticlea was not a patient listener, Penelope thought. She would never make it through one of Penelope’s stories.

“Penelope’s grandfather, Nereus.” Odysseus gave his mother a moment to digest this, and then continued. “The women from the house of Bias have been detained and questioned. The house of Bias was indeed behind the poisoning and the assassination attempt.”

“The women?” Anticlea’s short question asked far more: where were they? What had happened to them?

“All but Sebasteia have been executed.”

“Glyke?” Anticlea could barely say the name.

Odysseus nodded. “She was very involved. Sebasteia knew about it…and would have lost her head as well, but her husband begged for mercy. For their boy.”

“Do you think that wise, to spare her?” Anticlea was doubtful.

“Eupeithes will keep her in line, I am certain of it.”

“Like you have kept your wife in line?” She questioned him brusquely, and Penelope opened her eyes to take her in. Anticlea’s head was tilted, her eyes wondering. She wasn’t being critical. 

Odysseus was quick to respond. “ Mamá , I don’t want my wife ‘kept in line’. I want her to stand beside me, strong like the queen that she is.”

Penelope watched Anticlea’s eyes widen as she slowly nodded. “You have been listening, my boy.” He gave her a tight smile.

“Penelope,” he addressed her. “I will be a bit overprotective - at least for a while. Please…give me a few days. I have some ideas, but…give me some time.”

She met his fierce gaze and nodded. “I think that is reasonable.”

Chapter Text

Penelope stumbled on the stairs, her weakened body betraying her yet again. Dymas was at her side in an instant, his hands just within reach, available should she need them. She twisted her mouth in a grimace. “I’m fine, Dymas.”

“Yes, my lady. But perhaps…” He backed down the stairs at her glare. “Perhaps,” he continued, “You need a few more days to rest.”

Instead of continuing up the stairs, she followed him back down to the workroom, inwardly cursing him for being right. It had only been a few days since she had been abducted, and she had to admit that being underwater for so long - and almost drowning multiple times - had taken a toll on her. She had attempted to train this morning, only being able to go through the most basic stretches before giving it up. Trying to walk her normal running route hadn’t been very successful either: her legs tired after just one circuit.

She had been through worse, she told herself. But she knew that wasn’t true. She couldn’t think about being in that small cave under the water without starting to tremble. She told herself it was just residual shivering. Being so near death and yet being held captive, even for her safety, had harmed her mentally as well as physically. 

Even taking baths had become uncomfortable, a reminder of the overwhelming suffocation that water could provide. 

Hiding under the blankets in her bed wasn’t helping either. Being alone with her thoughts was worse than the baths, worse than fighting her body to return to full strength. And so she fought. And came to the women's workroom every day, even if she had to cling to a slave’s arm and do nothing more than lay on the settee. The chatter of the ladies, her mother-in-law’s sniping at them and at her for being taken at all, were much better than the memories.

Odysseus belted on his tunic, eyeing her still snuggled in their bed. He hadn’t lost that worried look, even as her skin color returned. “Are you up for training with the men yet?” he asked.

Her eyebrows flew up. “Training? Or correcting their sparring?”

“Sparring,” he corrected himself. 

“Almost,” she said, disappointed in herself. He was still willing to have her, and it chaffed that she couldn’t go. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to be outdoors, helping their men train. She wanted…it seems she was never satisfied.

He moved to ruffle her hair. “They’ll still be training whenever you are ready.” He kissed her forehead, then smoothed his kiss away with a thumb. “Are you recovered enough, do you think, for dinner?”

She met his gaze, confused. “Dinner?”

“Mm.” He grabbed his sandals and started tying them on. “I think you and my mother should join the elders at dinner; there is much discussed there that you two need to know - and that I would like your opinion on.” He shot her a boyish smile. “If you’re interested.”

A warmth started in her belly and expanded to her chest. “Very. Tomorrow?” She wasn’t sure about today, but she would make sure she was ready tomorrow.

He nodded, then finished tying his sandals. 

“Odysseus my own, Ctimene gave me some seeds that she said could be planted in spring…I would like to ask a few slaves to create a garden in the front of the palace if it pleases you.” She had been picking up the packet of seeds almost daily for a moon now, replacing it with a tinge of regret, knowing that Odysseus wouldn’t probably approve. But after being invited back to sparring, and also to dinner…she gambled that it was a possibility. 

He straightened, creasing his brow in thought.

“I would ask Laertes to assist,” she added.

He cocked his head and gave her that lazy grin that she loved so much. “I’ll talk to him today - he will probably not be available immediately -”

“There is no rush; tomorrow or the next day will work just as well as today.”

“I’ll talk to him.” He started to leave the room, but turned back just before opening the door. “I almost forgot - I am sending a ship to Sparta.”

At her questioning look, he continued, “Trade. If you want to send anything, get it ready today and I’ll make sure it is delivered.”

“Are you going as well?” She sat up. 

“No, but I’m sending Mentor.” He winked at her and left the room.

Mentor would indeed make sure it was delivered. Her eyes widened. She could write to her brothers - to Helen! The warmth expanded, filling her. Odysseus was…she blinked back the moisture in her eyes. He was trying.

It must be a day for surprises, she thought as Chloe and Maiandria joined them that morning. Chloe made a beeline for her queen, curtsying low and murmuring, “My apologies for not attending to you sooner, my lady.”

Penelope touched her shoulder, urging her to rise. “No apologies needed, Chloe. I am truly glad to see you again.” Penelope rose as well, embracing her. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered.

“I stayed away too long, I think.” Chloe met her eyes. “I heard that no one was punished for the latest…infraction.”

“It seems our king has had a change of heart,” Penelope agreed.

Chloe hugged her again, then sat, ready to spend the morning spinning and talking. Maiandria gave her a small smile as well. 

Anticlea watched them all with an arched eyebrow. “Are we going to accomplish something this morning, or just sit here?” she asked, snapping up her spinning materials.

“Sit here, Anticlea, of course.” Penelope winked at her and she frowned, but the frown did not extend to her eyes. In fact, Penelope might have seen her mouth twitch. Just a bit.

For a moment, Penelope had a vision - a flash - of who Anticlea used to be; those dark, flashing eyes so like her son’s, a bow in her hand, her feet steady in the hunt or fast in flight. Strong.

She knew what her next tapestry was going to be.

After their visitors left, Penelope took out her writing materials and spread them across a worktable. There was no need for her to hide her ability anymore; Mentor had been trained to read and write - although only enough to accomplish his tasks - and it was an open secret that the queen was literate. Anticlea watched her with open curiosity.

“Would you like to join me, Anticlea?” Penelope offered.

Anticlea shook her head immediately. “Of course not,” she scoffed.

“Because if you wanted to, I could teach you a bit and you could practice while I write to my family.”

Anticlea did not answer, and Penelope opened her ink, dipped her stylus, and began to write. She concealed a self-satisfied smile as Anticlea drew up a chair: the only thing that overcame Anticlea’s pride was her intense curiosity.

Penelope knew better than to comment, sliding a piece of papyrus toward her mother-in-law and choosing another reed for her to use as a stylus. “It takes a few tries to figure out how much ink to get,” she started simply. “Play with it for a moment, you’ll master it quickly I’m sure.”

Anticlea nodded, avoiding eye contact, and dipped her stylus into the ink. Her first few tries left blots or didn’t make marks at all. She stubbornly kept at it while Penelope started her writing. She had decided to write a family letter that could be shared with everyone and sent onto Helen, then individual notes as well.

She wanted, badly, to discuss her miscarriages and lack of conceiving with Helen. Her brothers would be scandalized by such candor, however, although she would like to see their reactions if she had provided them with such information. She paused for a moment, her heart pained. She missed them terribly. What would Perious say about her experience under the water? She knew she could tell him. Knew she should, since Aletes was as drawn to water as she.

“What are you writing to them?” Anticlea asked, a tinge of censure in her tone.

“Nothing that will harm Ithaca in any way - or Odysseus.” It was with great effort that she did not roll her eyes. Still Anticlea didn’t quite trust her. “My loyalties lie with Ithaca, not Sparta, Anticlea.” 

“I know, I know,” Anticlea brushed her comments aside. “I think I have mastered the ink. What is next?”

The packet of seeds was in Penelope’s hand again, but this time she did not set it down. Her ladies had dressed her simply in a dark dress that would clean easily. Her forelocks had been braided back so they would not whip into her face.

Laertes made her a bit uncomfortable, if she were being honest. Not because of his memory lapses, but because of how he treated Anticlea. She wanted to build a relationship with him that was not tangled with her resentment of Anticlea’s life with him, but couldn’t forget his comments towards her. She took a deep breath. 

She had asked Ops to assign servants to clear a space for her seeds. It certainly wouldn’t take long to put the seeds into the prepared ground.

She motioned to her guards as she left, and they followed her out of the workroom, past the throne room and temple room, and out into the courtyard. Laertes was there already, dressed in a single sheet of fabric draped over one shoulder and tied around his waist, making a short skirt.  His skin never seemed to pale during winter - probably because he was outdoors in all weather, monitoring his plants, walking the island. 

He greeted her with a smile. “It is not every day that a visiting princess wishes to plant flowers on my island.”

Ah, today she was to be Penelope of Sparta. She curtsied to him, since as a princess she would be lower in rank. “Lord Laertes, I appreciate your time in helping me with the task; Lord Odysseus was quite pleased that I wished to bring the island some of my native flowers.”

The flowers came from the neighboring island of Same, from his own daughter’s household, but that type of information would only confuse him. 

He offered her his arm and led her out the front doors. “It seems the slaves have cleared ground for us. Let us see what seeds you have.” He held out his hand for the seed packet and she gave it to him readily. He might even know which flowers they were from; when she and Ctimene had gathered the seeds, the flowers were past their blooms, withered and dried. She did not know what they would look like in full bloom. Ctimene had supplied their names, but only the herbal plant names had stuck in her mind.

“I know there is lavender and a few varieties of thyme, but I’m afraid I’m not sure what else is there.”

He opened the packet and spread the seeds on his weathered palm. There was quite a collection, and the girls had not separated them out by variety. Some seeds were tiny, barely tiny black dots on his palm, others long and tufted at one end, and some just looked like tiny pebbles. “I’m not sure what some of these are myself,” he laughed. “We will plant them and see what grows, shall we?”

He gave her a few of the seeds and knelt down with her in the turned earth. “This is quite simple - you just don’t want to put them too close together.” He made a shallow furrow with his finger, about a foot long, and carefully laid seeds along the row. “Normally, we’d worry about putting smaller plants in front, but since we don’t know what we’re planting…”

She knelt next to him and followed his example. “Aren’t the smaller ones going to be smaller plants?”

“Not necessarily.” He wagged a finger at her. “Plants are funny that way. Some will start small and grow into a large tree. Some will start fairly large but only grow a few feet.” He shrugged. “It’s magic.”

She giggled. This was Laertes at his best: charming, interested, focused.

Odysseus came up the path; it was getting close to time for a midday meal. Penelope had purposely scheduled this time so that she could excuse herself fairly quickly for the meal if needed. She caught his half grin as he observed her with his father in the dirt, and her eyes followed him, scanning him for any new injuries, drinking in his curling hair, the burnished bronze highlights of his dark hair catching the light. The amber flecks in his eyes glimmering with amusement. The leashed power of his strong body, his quick mind. 

“ Papás , it seems you are always getting dirty - and encouraging others to do so as well…” Odysseus placed a hand on Penelope’s shoulder and a short kiss on her head. Thinking better of it, he tipped her chin up and gave her a lingering kiss, followed by brushing his nose against hers. Laertes blinked at the familiarity but did not comment. “Penelope, papás .” He excused himself and went indoors, leaving the two of them to their planting.

Having placed the seeds, Laertes showed her how to cover them carefully and then they moved to a new area and began again. “Princess,” Laertes said, clearing his throat.

Penelope creased her eyebrows. His tone was too serious for planting seeds. “My lord?”

“It seems my son is quite fond of you.”

“My lord, I am quite fond of him as well.”

This only caused Laertes’s eyes to darken with a hint of worry. “You two seem close. Too close for an unmarried couple, if you take my meaning.”

She blinked at him, hiding a mischievous smile. “My lord…”

He waved her comment away. “I am not going to ask for details. However, I will speak with my son. It’s not how things are done. Your father would have his head. And I have plans for my son.” He gave her a severe look and turned back to her planting.

Penelope bit back a laugh and made a new furrow, adding her seeds carefully. “You have no need to worry,” she assured him.

Yet Laertes remained quiet and aloof for the remainder of their planting. 

Both Penelope and Anticlea were dressed for dinner that evening, ready when Odysseus appeared to escort them into the courtyard. “Ladies.” He bowed and offered them each an arm. “The elders have been warned -” at a look from Anticlea he corrected himself, “- told that you both will be attending our nightly dinners. They are…dubious…that this arrangement will be beneficial. To help them with the transition -”

“Odysseus.” Anticlea broke in. “We are aware that you will want us quiet.” 

“Not really what I was going to say -”

“But that is the essence of it, is it not?”

Odysseus huffed. “I suppose.”

Anticlea looked past him to make eye contact with Penelope. “See?”

“But only temporarily,” Odysseus emphasized.

“Hm.” Anticlea did not sound convinced. Personally, Penelope was thrilled that they had even been invited. One step at a time.

The courtyard was set up with individual tables for about a dozen or so, and most were filled with the elders from the town and a few of the nobles. Penelope was hit by the fact that she had been responsible for one of those nobles not being there; she was certain that Bias had been in attendance regularly up until…well. Perhaps he was responsible for his absence. She raised her chin.

Odysseus led the women to their seats. Penelope was sitting next to Odysseus with Anticlea on her other side. Odysseus drew his chair to her side, allowing a servant to arrange his table next to hers. “Elders, nobles of Ithaca, I would like to welcome Queen Penelope and the previous queen, Anticlea, to our discussions. They require information from these gatherings to best serve our people.”

Most of the men inclined their heads towards the women, but there were a few that did not: Aegyptius, a lanky elder with a sharp nose and thick black hair, looked to his table instead, and Melaneus, a florid man with a balding head looked to Aegyptius. Penelope and Anticlea nodded to everyone, then exchanged looks. Even those that acknowledged them were resentful.

The slaves piled their tables with food and the men started eating, started talking with one another. Business, it seemed, was for after the meal. Penelope speared a small piece of lamb with a small piece of asparagus and chewed slowly, cataloguing the men attending that evening. The meat was tender, the asparagus a bit woody but palatable. 

She took a small drink of wine, smiling at Odysseus as he rested his hand on her thigh. “Anticlea,” she said, turning to her mother-in-law, “I am going to start a new tapestry.”

“Oh?” Anticlea tilted her head, curious.

“One of Artemis…and you.” Penelope watched as Anticlea’s eyes widened fractionally.

“That should be an interesting subject.”

They fell silent. After another few bites, Penelope added, “I think it should be in the temple room across from Odysseus and Athena.”

“We’ll see.” Anticlea was noncommittal.

“Unless you want it at the homestead?” Penelope gave her prim smile. “Laertes might need a reminder of who he married.”

Anticlea shook her head. “Are you trying to get a rise out of me, girl?”

“Trying.” They exchanged a brief look, Penelope smug, Anticlea exasperated. 

“Pester your husband, girl, leave me be.”

Odysseus was finishing his meal, pushing the bones of the lamb to the side of his table for the slaves to gather and taking a long drink of his wine. “What do you have for me tonight?” he asked the group at large. 

There wasn’t a leader. Perhaps that had been Bias's role at this meeting; she would ask Odysseus later. 

An older man, wizened but still strong, cleared his throat. “Are you using divers to find out what Bias had in those boats, Lord Odysseus?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow. Are you interested in joining them?” His face was blank, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement.

The old man shook a finger at him. “I am, and you know it. I will be there at the water’s edge to make sure they don’t take unnecessary risks.”

Odysseus gave him a brief nod. “I would appreciate your expertise, Hermon. I will be there as well. It is not worth anyone’s life to see what is in those boats, but if there are stores that will help us as an island, we should recover them.”

The older man nodded, pleased. Penelope wondered if any of his sons would be diving.

Another man spoke up and started asking about pasturing. It wasn’t long before Penelope’s mind started wandering. Would Laertes really talk to Odysseus about their encounter earlier that day? She watched Odysseus as he listened and responded to the elders, saw how they respected his opinion. He was still such a young king, easily the youngest man in the room by many years. Laertes and Anticlea had the right to be proud of him, she thought.

She relaxed in her chair, noticing that Anticlea was doing the same. They would not be called upon for anything further this night, they knew. The men droned on about small matters - a dip in a path that was annoying; a sandbar that was building faster than expected and inconveniencing the fishermen; planning for planting out the fields. 

Even Odysseus was starting to glaze over, Penelope noticed. He was still listening, but was now resting his elbow on the table. Then he rested his head on his hand. His thumb was restlessly stroking the side of her thigh.

These men could talk of minutia all evening, she realized. Struck with an idea, she leaned into Odysseus and whispered in his ear, “My lord, we have a problem.”

His eyes cut to her as the current topic wound down. The men watched the two of them carefully as Odysseus sighed. “Another problem?”

She leaned into him again and whispered, “Laertes saw us together today. I believe he thinks we are sleeping together.” She pulled back, an expectant look on her face. His eyebrows creased but the amusement was back in his eyes, alert again. “That is a problem. We may need to take care of that this evening.” He stood, pulling her to her feet as well. “Thank you, lords and elders, for attending this evening. I hope we have covered a great deal of your concerns; we will address the remainder tomorrow. And we will have information about those boats to discuss as well,” he added, looking at Hermon specifically, who nodded back at him. “Your Queen has brought up an issue that requires my immediate attention; you will excuse us. Mamá ?”

Anticlea also stood, and followed as Odysseus led Penelope from the courtyard.

As soon as the doors to the courtyard were closed, she rushed to Penelope’s side. “Are you well?”

Both she and Odysseus were having trouble not laughing. “ Mamá , you may need to attend Laertes this evening. He is concerned that I have ruined our visiting princess.”

Anticlea’s face twisted in confusion.

“Laertes and I were planting today and Odysseus stopped to say hello - the interaction between the two of us had Laertes extremely concerned.” Penelope tried to explain without laughing, but was sure half of her explanation was lost to her giggles.

Anticlea slowly smiled. “I may have to see to him, at that.” She shook her head. “The two of you truly have no business being so besotted with each other. It’s disgusting.” She stalked out and Penelope and Odysseus followed, trying to keep their hilarity under control until they were far enough from the courtyard that the elders wouldn’t hear them. It was a struggle for them both.

“Do you think you’ll really get a lecture from Laertes?” Penelope asked him, once her breath had returned.

He pulled her towards their room, to the amusement of her guards.

“Early night?” Polites asked, face straight.

“My dear wife was kind enough to bring our dinner to an early close. I need to thank her.”

Polites made a strangled sound but managed to keep his expression bland as Odysseus and Penelope closed the door behind them.

“Tell me, will your father really scold you about us?” Penelope asked.

Odysseus bent to untie his sandals, chuckling. “He has done, more times than I can count. I probably could recite his speech alongside him, though I would get a different scolding for that .”

She sat and untied her sandals as well. Thinking over their evening, she asked, “Odysseus, are you planning on diving to those ships?” She kept her thoughts on the dinner, on her sandals - anything but those ships deep under the water, pinning the sailors who had died so that they would not rise to the surface.

He was pulling back the blankets on their bed, and she had an idea what form his thanks were going to take. “I’m not very good at diving, so I’ll leave it to those who are.”

She pivoted on her stool, taking in the slight blush to his skin. “Odysseus, you aren’t embarrassed to be bad at something?”

He pursed his lips but did not meet her gaze. 

“It’s good to know you’re at least a little human,” she grumbled, starting to undo her braids. He remained silent, and she watched him. He was thinking so hard she could almost hear his thoughts as he pulled off his belt and started to pull his tunic over his head. “What is it?” she asked.

“Do you want to go with us for the dive tomorrow?” he asked, his words careful and slow, muffled by the tunic.

“No.” She was suddenly inundated with the memory of water, water everywhere, in her nose, in her mouth, in her ears, pressing down on her lungs. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. Her gasps sounded loud in her ears, and she covered them with her hands. I…can’t…breathe.

“Breathe,” he commanded, placing his hand on her back, kneeling beside her. “You are here, you are safe.”

Her eyes were pressed shut, her mouth…was breathing. Air. It was all around her, she was not in the cave, not in the water. She shuddered, angry at herself. She put her hands on her face, suppressing a sob.

“You never have to go back,” he said. “To be truthful, I’d be happy if you never saw your grandfather again.”

Her sob turned to a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m pathetic.”

His hands were in her hair, finishing the unbraiding she had started. “I don’t think that,” he said. “You survived when most would have died. I think you’re entitled to…”

“Panic? Even when nothing is wrong?” she asked, shaking her head, trying to clear the images of water, the feeling of being held down.

He finished with her braids, then pulled her gently into his chest. “Yes.” Her hands unfurled on his chest, then slid to his sides as he stood with her and placed her in bed. He stood back, concern written in every line of his face. A tiny glint appeared in his eyes as he scanned her form, still dressed. “May I help you with your clothes, my lady?”

She gave him a small grin. “If that will make you feel better, my lord.”

“I think it will.” Then he tilted his head a bit. “But will it make you feel better?”

This time, her grin reached her eyes. “I think it might.”

Odysseus was off at dawn, telling her not to go to training since he would be at the cave all day. She agreed but got up anyway to do her own training and to get ready for the day. With a whole day at her disposal, she should start on her new tapestry.

She had Autonoe, very pregnant, help her wind the warp threads onto the loom. Autonoe was most comfortable standing, and being able to wind the threads to the top of the loom, she claimed, helped keep her mind off the babe. Even so, she would stop every few moments, focusing as her stomach hardened, breathing through the uncomfortable contractions.

“Autonoe, you can lie down if you need to -” Penelope started. 

Autonoe waved away her concern. “The midwife told me to expect this - practice contractions, she called them. They’ve been making me miserable for so many days, I’ve lost count. Truly, I’d go insane just sitting.”

Penelope was still concerned. She had helped with many a laboring woman back in Sparta, as it was considered part of her training to run the palace. She had seen several women think they were having practice contractions - only to have a real baby within a few hours. 

They continued looping the thread over the pegs on the loom, testing how tight they were, readjusting, continuing on. Penelope continued to watch her, comparing the gangly, giggly girl who had first arrived on this island with the woman she had become; a woman who was about to give birth to her first child. Who loved her husband - most of the time - and her new friends, especially Thebe. 

Autonoe looked calm, resigned. Penelope had seen far more women who were about to panic when going into labor for the first time. Her husband Ops was often seen with a wild-eyed look to him lately - perhaps he was shouldering the fear for both of them. 

What would she be like, if - when, she corrected herself - she became a mother? Panicky? Calm? Somewhere in between, or both?

Regardless, she was glad of the tapestry and Autonoe for keeping her mind far from Odysseus and that cave.

Thebe had Autonoe’s arm as they paced the length of the room again and again. When they tired of it, they paced the width of the room, then the corridors opening to the beautiful day upstairs. Penelope eyed her each time they passed the loom, noting how tired she was becoming, how frequently her contractions were coming. These were not practice contractions, not anymore.

Penelope had a Kynna and Eurynome help move the loom so that it was angled into the room instead of parallel to the wall. This way she could watch Autonoe better. “Anticlea,” Penelope asked, “Have you assisted with a birth?”

Her mother-in-law’s lips thinned. “No. We have midwives for that.”