The Dark One

Michelle L. Levigne

ISBN 1-55316-083-5

Published by LTDBooks

http://www.ltdbooks.com/

Cover Art by Bryan C. Uren

Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 [www.ltdbooks.com]

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Levigne, Michelle, 1961-

The dark one [computer file]

ISBN 1-55316-083-5

I. Title

PS3612.E94D37 2001 813'.6 C2001-903530-6

Excerpt from Prince of Shadows

Excerpt from The Quest for Gillian

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Publisher info:

CHAPTER ONE

As the black-keeled merchant ship rounded the last outcropping of rock, the girl kneeling at the prow stood. The wind caught at the veil covering her waist-length dark hair and tugged more strands free of their braids. Penelope snatched impatiently at the recalcitrant veil and twisted it through her belt. She leaned forward, laughing silently at the wind's attempts to blind her with her own hair as she watched for the first sign of the docks at sandy Pylos.

It amused her how much enjoyment she found in a trip she had loathed beforehand. She had been ill five years before, going from Sparta to Alybas. This trip, in fair spring weather across friendly seas, made a delightful surprise. Penelope wished she could stay on the merchant ship forever and never touch her feet to land again.

The sun hung low enough in the sky to blind her when she looked to the right. Penelope turned in her narrow perch and leaned her back against the rail. She twisted a strand of hair behind her ear and grimaced at the thought of what Eurynome would say to her.

"A maiden of fifteen and soon to find a husband does not run about with her hair loose like a street beggar," Penelope murmured. Her voice took on Eurynome's cracked tones. All the cousins had the trick of mimicking voices perfectly. Helen was the best of the four girls.

Helen. Penelope sighed as the perfect oval, ivory and rose face, blue eyes and golden curls of her cousin came to her mind's eye. Not that Penelope resented Helen's beauty. She loved her cousin dearly, they two being closer in age than Penelope's older sister Iphthine, or Helen's sister Klytemnestra. Or Helen's twin brothers and Penelope's brother, Ithios. Penelope merely wondered if the world still revolved around Helen. When Theseus kidnapped Helen five years before, King Tyndareos sent Penelope to her grandfather for protection. Now, Helen was home, rescued by her brothers, and all the princes of Achaia gathered to win her as bride.

Tyndareos, king of Sparta, was elder brother to Penelope's dead father, Ikarios. He had sent for Penelope to come home so the worthies would see her as well. She had wondered at the time if her uncle thought it was his only chance to get her married off. She had been referred to as the 'little, dark one' all during her childhood, so different from her golden sister and cousins; thin and small when they were tall, rounded and feminine even as children. Her brother had been especially adept at making her feel small, thin and ugly in her dark coloring.

Penelope had vowed not to feel jealousy for Helen. After all, five years had brought changes in her own body. She was no longer the thin little cousin who made the others late. Penelope had grown strong, swift and taller, and Helen had always been kind to her. They had been friends. It was not Helen's fault that she was from birth the most beautiful woman in the known world. It was not her fault everyone believed Helen was the daughter of Zeus.

Penelope shook her head to clear it of those thoughts and leaned over the opposite railing. She strained her eyes against the glare of mid-morning light on the splashing waves. She wanted to see Pylos before the sailors. King Nestor had been kind to her five years before when she passed through his city. He had given her honey cakes and her tiny loom of ivory as a traveling present. Penelope had been delighted and awed that the well-loved king of Pylos had known how much she loved to make pictures in her weaving. The larger looms took too much time and more strength than she had, and were reserved for cloth for the household. The tiny loom, almost a toy, was perfect for the pictures she recreated from her dreams. She had dared to hug and kiss the man, and he had blushed.

Penelope hoped Nestor would be pleased with how she had grown. Maybe he would tell her another story of her father if her companions stopped long enough in Pylos, before taking horses and carts for Sparta.

And yet, for all the excitement of returning to Sparta, Penelope's heart longed for Alybas, her home for the past five years; for her Aunt Bachan; even for her grandfather, Dymis, who had been a trial for his aging daughter. Penelope's thoughts traveled back to a beautiful day much like this one, almost this same time last year. It had been such an ordinary day, and yet now, as Penelope faced stepping back into the royal court of Sparta, she could see how unusual her comfortable life had been.

"We have learned to use names, I think, because the new gods are many." Bachan had stopped her lessons for a moment, hands still on the silver-gray threads of the old loom that matched the silver dominating her dark hair. She had smiled, her wrinkles transforming to beauty. Dark eyes sparkling.

"The Goddess," she continued, "is one. No need for a name. We see her as many because she has many aspects."

"How can the new gods see her as many, if she is one?" Penelope looked up from her place at her aunt's feet, frowning.

Morning light streamed through the door onto mud-daubed walls and turned the threadbare rugs gold. The gentle breeze of late spring tugged at the faded blanket that served as a door, gathered to one side with leather thongs. The two worked on their weaving while they ate their meager breakfast of bread and figs. A small clay brazier of dying coals provided warmth.

"She limited herself and created false images, to fool the invaders." Bachan closed her eyes to rest a moment.

"Aunt? Are you well?" Penelope stood and rested one hand on her aunt's shoulder. Her touch smoothed weary lines from the woman's face.

"I tire easily." She opened her eyes and gazed at her niece. "I was nearly a woman grown when your mother was born, and should by rights be your grandmother."

"You are not old to me."

"And you are the joy of my life." Bachan paused a moment and smoothed stray strands of dark, fine hair off the girl's high, wide forehead and smiled. "Who else can I teach the old ways to, if you were not here? Ah, but you belong in Sparta, not in backward Alybas. We are barbarians and you are a princess, Penelope, no matter how you live now. Always remember that."

Penelope nodded, though she didn't want to ever leave Alybas, rough and isolated as it was. The old ways were still followed here; in the rest of Achaia, the new gods were worshiped and girls were discouraged from the old ways of worshiping the Goddess. When a girl became a bride she left her mother's home, instead of bringing her husband home. Fathers chose husbands and brides, and named their children. Mothers were still the source of life, yet had no say in the lives they created.

"Back to your lessons," Bachan said, shaking her head. "The Goddess allowed the new gods to be because she was tired and lonely. She did not realize her sons would be disloyal and arrogant, and her daughters would allow their powers and duties to be taken from their hands."

"How can the Goddess make such mistakes?"

"The future is not always clear, even to the Goddess. Even Zeus makes prophecies that do not come true."

"Even so, the Goddess is the better one to serve, I think," Penelope said as she sat again. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, resting her chin on her folded hands. "If many goddesses are false images, which is the true one?"

"You must decide. The Goddess is different to each woman who serves her, I think."

The quiet changed. Penelope lifted her head and listened. She shivered and blamed the nightmare that had awakened her: scattered images of wars between kings who were now friends. She hated the dreams that seemed more real than the loom in her hands and the packed dirt under her.

"The Goddess is complete in herself," Bachan said after a moment of thought. "She needs no mate to help her create. Her purest manifestation is in Artemis and Athena, I think." Outside the door, an owl hooted once. Bachan startled, nearly dropping the scarlet thread in her lap.

"I am glad." Penelope's face brightened. "Artemis is too cruel. Aunt, I shall stay virgin and serve the Goddess."

"What nonsense is this?" She laughed, but Penelope didn't think her aged aunt mocked her. "A woman's power is that of life, of serving the Goddess in creating new life and sustaining it. Men chose the illusion of power that comes with fighting, division and death. Women fight that cold pull to the land of shadows. Only women can redeem men through loving them and giving more life to the world. The old ways are gone, Penelope, and we must accept the world as men shape it these days." She reached out to touch the girl's cheek.

"Boy!" The harsh voice startled them. Dymis, Penelope's grandfather stepped into the room. His sandals were only half-tied, his hair tousled from sleep, his newest tunic grubby and wrinkled from a week of wear and sleeping. The remains of his breakfast spotted his unkempt, thinning gray beard. "Why are you listening to women's tales again?" He held two spears and let one fall toward Penelope.

"Forgive me, Grandfather," she said, leaping to her feet and catching the shaft of the spear with a practiced grab. Penelope leaned the spear against the loom frame and twisted her long hair into a knot at the back of her head. She scolded herself for not being ready. Usually, she was dressed and ready to hunt before the old man awoke. She listened to her grandfather scold her aunt, again, for wasting the boy's time.

"Can't think what they teach young princes in Sparta these days," Dymis went on. "My grandson lets you fill his head with nonsense. Even in the old days, such tales were only for girls' heads. My grandson needs to learn to hunt and fight if he's to be any use to the king when he returns to Sparta. Come, boy. We have lessons."

"Yes, Grandfather." Penelope tucked her skirt into her belt to reveal her knees. In Alybas it was indecently short for a girl just entered on womanhood, but the old man only looked at her clothes at the beginning of the day. As they rambled through the forest, she could let her skirt fall to a decent length and Dymis would never notice.

"Safe travels," Bachan called as they left, and lifted her hand, palm up in blessing.

As they passed through the courtyard of their small home, Penelope watched for the other members of the household. She hoped to depart unseen. Her hopes vanished immediately. Eurynome, her nurse stood at the well just inside the gate, drawing water. Aris, a woman from Sikania, held the huge clay jar to be filled. The two women paused in their labors to watch the madman and his granddaughter step through the gates.

Dolios, Aris' husband and his four sons prepared to plow Dymis' fields with the household's two donkeys. The five men paused to watch, bowing respectfully to the mismatched pair. Dolios winked at Penelope and nodded encouragement to her. She smiled at him. After Eurynome, he had been the second slave assigned to her at birth. The man had always been loyal, like a father to her.

His sons, however, she ignored. The youngest still laughed and teased her when adults weren't around. Penelope believed he was jealous. He spent his days plowing and tending animals, while she learned hunting and other lessons reserved for high-born sons.

Dymis and Penelope turned left when they passed the fields, to the girl's relief. They would go straight into the forest for their hunting, not passing through the village. She couldn't stand the pity and scorn of the people of Alybas. Eurynome worked hard to have people treat her as a princess. One glimpse of Penelope carrying a spear ruined weeks of hard-earned respect.

The dew had just left the grass as they reached the edge of the woods. Penelope heard a footstep and paused. Her grandfather walked on without noticing. She stepped into the shadow of a wide, rotten tree and watched.

Melantho, Dolios' daughter came scurrying from the forest, tying the belt of her dress as she came. Her golden, curly hair hung tangled, full of bits of twigs and leaves. Her dress hung crooked, smudged with mud and dew. The girl's blue eyes sparkled with mischief and delight- and pleasure, Penelope thought. It was no secret Melantho, two years her senior, crept away to the woods to sleep with her sweethearts. No secret to anyone but Dolios and Aris.

Penelope hurried to catch up with Dymis, wondering what it was like to share a man's bed. Her wish to become a virgin priestess did not dispel her curiosity. If not for fear of Melantho's scorn, she would have asked the older girl for details long ago.

"You're too quiet today, boy," Dymis said. His voice broke through the forest in a muted rumble. "Letting your aunt's foolish stories affect you again?"

"No, Grandfather." Penelope sighed, glad for his gruff affection. She truly did enjoy her rambles with the old man.

"She's a good girl, your aunt. She doesn't realize the old ways are gone. The world changes. She's an unconsecrated priestess of a dead goddess."

"How can a goddess be dead?" she asked, startled at the change in the routine complaint.

"Dead? Did I say that?" Dymis paused and frowned at her. He reached out to lean against a tree and stumbled, misjudging the distance. "Hmm. Perhaps I did. That's a mystery of the gods, I suppose."

Penelope swallowed hard against giggling. Blaming the gods was her grandfather's excuse for everything.

"The world is always changing, boy. Things aren't as easy as they used to be and that's good because it makes us strong. Women can't rule like in the old days because death is stronger. They need men to protect them. Pity your aunt, though. She's not quite right in her mind." Dymis pushed away from the tree and gestured for Penelope to lead the way. "See, boy, the women in our family come from a long line of priestesses. Your grandmother would have been a priestess, but she was never consecrated. She gave me two daughters. One went away with her husband, as is right. The other drove away every man who asked and now she's a lonely, bitter old virgin- filling my grandson's head with nonsense." He guffawed and clapped Penelope on the shoulder.

She nodded and smiled to placate the old man. Dymis thought his daughter insane. Bachan regarded her father with pity and sad amusement. The people of Alybas pitied Penelope of Sparta, living with the two strange old folks.

Penelope had been content with her odd life. Bachan had taught her tales of the Goddess and encouraged her to weave her dreams into pictures. Dymis took her hunting, letting her do what only boys were permitted. Penelope loved to roam and explore, to ask questions about all the world around her. She had wanted this life to never end.

But Dymis had died the following winter, and when the passes through the mountains around Alybas opened with spring, a message had come from King Tyndareos. Penelope was to return to Sparta.

A shout rose from the merchant, who sat at the stern of the ship, controlling the rudder. Two near-naked sailors climbed the mast and began lowering the square sail of woven reeds, reinforced with leather.

Penelope smiled, remembering how the merchant had indulged her every question during the voyage. She had tried to stay out of his way, but still asked her questions about the ship whenever he had a spare moment to pause and look around. The merchant who took her from Pylos five years ago had used a smaller sail of cloth. Penelope wanted to know why the difference in sails and the merchant had not been stingy explaining the advantages of a reed sail. Then he had gone on to tell her little details of reading the sky and waves, the mechanics in using a rudder, why sometimes the merchant ship used both the oarsmen and the sail, and a hundred other details.

Penelope had wondered, listening to the man talk, if he realized she was a princess. Because of how her grandfather had raised her, she was used to being treated like a boy and speaking with a man. Perhaps since she behaved boldly like a boy, the merchant treated her as one.

Penelope sighed and leaned further over the railing, so she could see the white splashing diamonds of water as they hit the black keel of the ship. She wished she could pretend to be a boy and run away. Life had grown too complicated lately. First Dymis had died, then her body had continued to blossom, making it impossible to pretend to be a boy if she ran from home-and then came the summons to Sparta.

If her father were still alive, would he have let her stay in Alybas? Penelope barely remembered Ikarios. People said Ithios resembled him only in face. Her brother scorned their father's talent of making beauty from bits of wood and metal. She reached up and touched the pin hidden inside the neck of her dress, and knew a man who could make such beauty would have listened to his daughter's pleas, would have wanted her to be happy.

The pin, made to look like a hound strangling a hare when closed, was a gift from her father to Dymis. The old man gave it to Penelope on his sickbed and told her to cherish it, as it would bring blessings and safety. She hoped the old man had not been raving when he said it. She knew she needed blessings in her new life. She knew she was being brought home to Sparta to be given in a marriage alliance. Why else would her uncle send for her?

Penelope wondered what prince would want her as a bride. Her hips were still as slim as a boy's, her breasts barely showed any curves.

"Penelope." Eurynome stood below her perch, holding up a cloak. "We're coming in to land."

"I know." She turned and climbed down, balancing on the thin ledge of wood, gripping with her bare toes. Penelope smiled up at her nurse when she reached the lower deck. "Yes, I will put on my sandals now. It is time to be a proper maiden and not a sailor urchin."

"Child, what will your family think of you?" the woman said with a sigh. She smiled, wiping away the frown of worry and disapproval she wore like a badge of office. Eurynome's light hair hid the silvering of years, but her thickening figure and the lines around her eyes betrayed her. She had been with Penelope since her mother died in childbirth and had the right to scold and correct the royal daughter.

"Please don't be cross," the girl whispered, stretching up on her tiptoes to hug the woman. "My balance is better if I go barefoot," she added with an impish smile.

"There is a different balance to maintain in Sparta," the woman said. They moved to the back of the ship, to the merchant's hold and their traveling quarters.

"I know. Aunt told me." She held herself stiff against a piercing loneliness for her aunt, left alone with a few aging servants. Would she be well that winter?

"She will be well. Iphthine's home is near Alybas. She can send servants to Bachan or bring her to Pherai if she has need," Eurynome said.

"How do you always know what I think?" Penelope asked, smiling. She kept her voice small and quiet, to avoid being overheard as they passed the scurrying sailors.

"Your face has grown too open. School it into care and secrecy as your aunt taught you," the woman returned.

She squeezed Penelope's shoulder as they entered the shelter of the hold. Aris and her daughter packed their possessions to disembark. Dolios and his four sons would help the merchant's men unload the ship, as part of the price of their passage.

Penelope sat on the narrow bench built against the wall of the hold and watched her servants work. It was a matter of moments for them to gather up the rugs, the baskets of fruit, the skin of wine, the bread and other food. Her clothes hung on pegs by the door so the sea breeze could freshen them. Melantho took them down and packed them away in a carved chest of acacia wood. Dymis carved it for Penelope one winter, to store treasure and spoils of war.

Penelope envied Melantho's full curves and golden-red hair that glowed even when sunlight didn't touch it. The servant girl had full, red lips the village boys in Alybas had pronounced sweeter than wine or honey cakes. Her eyes were a blue that reflected the sun, not dark pools like Penelope's, to swallow and hide her thoughts and feelings.

She wondered if the servant girl envied her. She wondered if Melantho resented returning to Sparta. More than one village man had offered for her. Dolios had refused, saying they would someday return to Sparta with Penelope.

Bachan had said often, teasing and affectionate, that Penelope asked more questions, thought more deeply than the oracles and priests. Lost now in her thoughts, Penelope didn't realize they had reached Pylos until the ship lurched, the keel touching sandy bottom. She caught at the bench to keep from toppling.

Sailor voices broke the clatter of ropes and wooden winches and the singing of wind and surf against the ship. Penelope stayed in the hold, knowing she would be underfoot during the unloading. She closed her eyes, taking in every last sensation. The splash of the plank as it hit the surf and wet sand. The clatter as another plank went down on top of it, connecting it with the shallow docks of Pylos. The piercing, strong voices of sailors hailing the newcomers. She heard snatches of news, shouted from one ship to another, or ship to shore. The wind had never smelled more alive and fresh, thicker with salt than at that moment, when she would go inland again.

"Another daughter!" a man shouted from shore. "Some say the gods laugh at Agamemnon. He boasted too loudly about many sons, when he married Klytemnestra."

Penelope stood and went to the hold door to listen. The merchant master paused that moment and glanced inside. He smiled at her, a bright slash of white against the black of his beard, and gestured toward the shore.

"Shall I send for him to tell you all?" he asked.

"No. Thank you, sir. He might be too afraid to speak if he knew who I was." She smiled, to turn her words from partially-bitter truth into gentle humor. The merchant nodded and strode on down the deck. She watched him slip over the railing and splash into the shallow surf. Penelope sighed and sat again.

Time to return from her dreams and wishes to reality. When her feet touched solid ground, she would have to weigh the facts and chances in her life-as her grandfather had taught her to calculate the values and volume of supplies in his storage rooms against the coming winter.

In moments, the merchant came back with the news. Penelope's cousin, Klytemnestra had given birth to a third daughter. Iphigenia was the eldest at nine; Elektra was five and Chrysothemis now was the youngest. Penelope wondered if her cousin had made good on her threats, the day Agamemnon claimed her as his bride.

Klytemnestra had been promised to a warrior named Tantolos, who had died in a contest of skills. An accident, everyone said. Klytemnestra believed differently, because Agamemnon wanted her and the king of Mycenae did not take well to being thwarted. When Klytemnestra heard the news, she vowed before all the women in her quarters she would give Agamemnon no sons. Penelope remembered, though she had only been five at the time. Later, rumor said Klytemnestra was devoted to her husband, but Penelope wondered. All the royal daughters had learned early to hide their feelings and thoughts.

"Is there more news you want to hear?" the merchant asked, waiting in the doorway after giving his news.

"No. Thank you." She wondered at the look of relief on his face. "Is something wrong?"

"Soldiers from Sparta wait to escort you." He jerked his head to the left, toward the larger section of the dock.

"Then we must disembark. Will we be in the way?" she asked, standing.

"No, my lady." He smiled and stepped out of the doorway. "We are all unloaded now."

Once on the docks, Penelope found three long, cushioned carts waiting for herself, her belongings, and her servants. And the soldiers. She schooled her face into calm, though longing to laugh aloud. Melantho smothered a giggle behind her hand. King Tyndareos had not sent soldiers, but a company of ten lightly armed, aging men who had seen far better days.

Their leader, a graying, stout man saluted her. He gave orders in a crisp, barking voice. Three men put down their spears and helped Dolios and his sons fetch Penelope's belongings.

Eurynome confronted the leader and asked him about conditions on the road, the atmosphere at the palace, and how long the journey would take. Penelope sat on a little bench in the shade of a statue to Poseidon and checked through her own basket. And discovered her doll was missing.

Penelope went back to the ship, slipping between the guards and the sailors and merchants busily moving between ships and docks. She should have sent Melantho, but Penelope did not quite trust the older girl. She had seen her servant's scorn when she held the doll.

After all, a girl of fifteen was ready to marry, with no need or time for toys. But her father Ikarios had made the doll with dark eyes and dark hair to look like Penelope, before he died in the boar hunt. It was a talisman, a promise for the future. Penelope needed it, if only to hold in the dark watches of the night and dream.

She ran up the plank to the ship, delighting once again in the way her body eased into the motion of the sea. She would miss the ship. The dark-eyed ship was a friend, the slap of the water against its prow a voice that spoke to her. It filled her dreams and made them happy. Penelope wondered if she dared hope an island prince would ask for her and take her to his home in a ship like this. Perhaps he would share his love for the sea with his bride and take her out often in the ships? She had loved the journey, walking the bobbing deck, feeling the sea air tugging at her hair.

"Enough foolishness," Penelope whispered as she found the empty corner of the hold where she had traveled. Deep in the shadows, her carved doll waited patiently. Small enough to hide in both hands, it was golden in the sunlight, carved of olive wood, as sacred to her as the prayers she had learned to make to Aphrodite the day she entered womanhood.

The truth-Penelope faced it before she took another step from the dark, echoing hold-was that she had no choice in the matter. It would be better not to dream, but to prepare herself for whatever the Fates decreed. Her father was dead. Penelope was dependent on her uncle's favor and would do as Tyndareos decreed. At Sparta, she would walk before the princes of Achaia and hopefully one would want her as his bride. Whoever her uncle favored, Penelope would marry. There would be many disappointed men of noble bloodlines the day Helen became a bride. Penelope would be a peace offering for an unhappy ally.

"Like expecting a man to see a dark bowl in a dark room after gazing into the sun," she murmured as she descended the plank. Penelope knew all too well her beauties and flaws. Long, straight, dark hair that was almost black. Dark eyes, large and oval like almonds-she wished for emeralds. Long, oval face, high cheekbones, thin, elegant eyebrows darker than her hair. Small breasts waiting to fill out, and the slim hips and height of a child-Penelope wondered what man would want her before her growth finished.

She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts as she returned to solid ground. Penelope slipped between the narrow aisles of bales and baskets from the merchant ships. She hoped to return to her servants before they realized she had vanished. They would scold her like a girl half her age, not at all like a princess. She watched her feet, to avoid tripping and falling as she hurried.

A shadow crossed her path, a blocky bird shape over her head. Penelope stopped when she felt the brush of wings against her hair. She looked up and thought she saw snowy silver feathers and round eyes and the thick wings of an owl. She shivered as the bird disappeared into the glare of the sun. She caught her foot as she stepped out from behind a stack of bales. She stopped to check her stubbed toe and heard voices, two men talking.

Two sets of sandal-clad feet moved into her sight and blocked her way. Penelope followed the line of sight, up bronzed, muscular legs, to the white tunics embroidered with purple and gold, the jeweled armbands on hairy, muscled arms. Golden chains and pins and purple cloaks marked both men as princes. She studied them as they talked. The larger man tried to talk the other into staying in Sparta. One had come to Pylos to check on his ship to prepare to leave. Penelope wondered which ship was his. Then the men turned and saw her.

One was of stocky build, with wide shoulders, red-brown hair that burned like coals in the sun, gray eyes and a laughing face. He smiled at her and she couldn't help but smile back.

The other was dark, his golden skin pale against black hair and eyes. He was a giant of a man, making his companion seem a half-grown boy. His muscles strained against his tunic, and Penelope noticed faded food stains on his clothes. He smiled as well, but with mockery.

"Tell me, little one," the black-haired one said, dropping to one knee to look her in the eye. The action generated a sharp pain of dislike in her. She didn't like being reminded how small she was. "Tell me, where are you going with that toy?"

"It is a keepsake of my mistress," Penelope said. She thought a prayer of thanks to whichever goddess had put the lie onto her lips, and gestured beyond the bales and baskets, where she could see waving spear points and hear rising voices. Someone had noticed she had disappeared.

"Mistress?" He looked around.

"Aias, don't you listen to anything but praises for Helen?" the fiery one said. His smile included Penelope in some wonderful joke she didn't understand. "Penelope, daughter of Ikarios and sister of your friend, Ithios, is coming home to Sparta. Which you would have known if you talked to Kastor or Polydeukes more often. I heard Helen asked for her cousin to return. To relieve the boredom of our company," he added, his voice taking on a mocking drawl. He winked at Penelope, nodding toward an opening in the maze of bales and baskets around them.

She understood and darted away when Aias' attention left her. As she ran, she heard him scolding the red one for letting her escape. The other just laughed.

"Your taste for tormenting and seducing servant girls is going to get you in trouble some day, my friend," he said. "Forget her."

"Where are you going now?" Aias called.

"Back to Sparta. I've decided you're right. Tyndareos' hospitality is not something to leave so easily." He laughed, his voice fading as Penelope left the men behind.

"Odysseus, my friend you always see profit for yourself in anything." Aias laughed, his voice a harsh bellow. "I think you were kind to the servant girl so Penelope would speak kindly of you to Helen."

"Perhaps."

Then their voices faded completely and Penelope reached Eurynome. The fiery one was called Odysseus. She barely heard her nurse scolding her for running off, as she searched her memory for tales to go with the name and the face.

CHAPTER TWO

Penelope drew her veil over her face and settled back against the railing of the cart. She couldn't find a spot on her body the bumping and bouncing of the road hadn't bruised already. Except for her short encounter with Aias and Odysseus, Penelope felt only disappointment in her journey from the moment her sandals touched ground two days before.

Her first complaint: the escort leader had turned aside an invitation from King Nestor to refresh the party at his palace. Penelope had waited for a servant to come to the docks with an invitation from the aging king. She waited until they were in the carts, bouncing along the sandy road away from Pylos, before speaking. Eurynome gently scolded and said girls who wandered missed all the news. King Nestor had invited Penelope to visit, but King Tyndareos wanted his niece in Sparta as soon as possible and the ship had made landfall late. They left Pylos immediately and traveled until after sunset before making camp. They rolled out of their blankets to return to the carts at dawn's first light.

It was past nightfall now, their second day of travel, and they were still on the road. They had lost hours over a wheel that had slipped off its axle. If they did not arrive soon, the king might send people looking for them.

Penelope had nearly laughed, when she overheard the leader mention the possibility to Dolios. Did her uncle think someone would bother to kidnap her? The little, dark one would never be kidnapped, like Helen. No king would kill to have her, like Klytemnestra.

She shivered and hugged her cloak a little closer around her shoulders. Her face and hair felt gritty and oily, desperately in need of a long bath and perfuming. She felt slightly burned, rough patches on her nose and cheeks where the harsh light of the plain had touched her before she used her veil.

She wondered about her uncle's specific instructions. Tyndareos ruled with wisdom and honesty. His people obeyed through adoration, not fear. Sometimes, though, they went to extremes in interpreting his wishes.

"There it is," Dolios said, touching her shoulder. Penelope pushed with her cramped legs, to stand up halfway in the cart. She caught a smear of light and blocky shadows that could be buildings, as the road dipped into a shallow valley and the trees slid back from the road. The man smiled at her and stepped up his pace. He had insisted on walking beside her the whole way, carrying a borrowed spear and keeping the stride and rhythm of the guards. Penelope wondered if he was glad to be home in Sparta for his own sake, or for hers. She had overheard Melantho complain once that Dolios loved Penelope better than his own daughter.

"Soft beds and decent baths," Penelope murmured. She scrubbed at her face with the edge of her veil, not caring that it would show stains in morning light. She had to have a clean face and neat hair to present to whoever would greet them on arrival.

Her aching back and legs, the feeling of gritty discomfort and the chill penetrating her cloak increased after seeing the lights of Sparta. Penelope held her tongue and listened to the chatter that sprang from the guards. It amused her a little that they spoke easily with Dolios, Aris, and their sons, openly flirted with Melantho, spoke to Eurynome with respect, yet feared to address her, a maiden of no threat to trained warriors. Along the way, she had tried to start a conversation with the youngest guard, a man of about twenty-six or seven who walked with a limp. He had answered her questions with mumbles, nods, or shakes of his head and never dared look her in the face.

When the road finally changed from dirt to stone paving that made the wheels rumble, Penelope bit back a cheer. Their company went the long way around, by the river, to come up through the palace grounds instead of through the city. The trees gave way to painted walls that reflected the torchlight. She knelt on the cushioned bench and tried to see around corners and over heads to catch the first glimpse of the palace proper.

She saw it first as a golden haze of light. Servants streamed out through doors carrying torches. Lystia, a cousin of Eurynome and housekeeper for Tyndareos, came down the steps last. She began calling orders to Aris, Dolios and Melantho before the carts came to a complete stop.

"Well, cousin?" the woman asked, as Dolios stepped up and helped Eurynome down from the cart.

"You tell me," the nurse responded. As one person, the two women turned to look at Penelope.

In her turn, Penelope held herself tall and straight. She didn't meet their eyes, but neither did she turn away. Dolios squeezed her hand as he helped her down and she bit her lip to keep from smiling thanks for his encouragement. She could feel the eyes of the housekeeper studying her in the torchlight. Penelope concentrated on studying the courtyard of the palace of Tyndareos.

The stone was still as golden, the arches and pillars as sky-reaching tall. She saw the brass-bound, oaken doors, the purple and gold tapestries through the open windows, the mosaics of purple, red, blue, gold, black and white stones that lined the entryway floor. To her right lay the grand arch to enter the courtyard. To her left the other archway leading to the stables and barracks. Behind her, the slave quarters and the archways leading to the plain and the river where she and her cousins had played and swam under the watchful eyes of their nurses. Nothing had changed. Penelope heaved a sigh of contentment and nodded. Satisfied and comforted by the immutability of the palace of Sparta, she turned to face the scrutiny of Lystia.

"You are a pleasant, welcome sight for old eyes, young Penelope. Welcome home." Lystia's searching, judging glance changed to a broad, warm smile. She nodded to Penelope in greeting and salute. "A bath is waiting and your rooms have been aired and furnished. Do you require something to eat before going to bed?"

"No, thank you." Penelope felt a tired laugh pressing against her throat. How could she have forgotten? Lystia felt every ill could be cured with good cooking. "A bath and a bed that doesn't move are all I need for now." She nodded for the housekeeper to lead the way inside. Melantho hurried to catch up, her arms full of Penelope's belongings.

Roses. Penelope's nose twitched as the perfume penetrated her sleep. Like pale, sweet wine, it cut through the sticky net of her dreams and helped her rise to full waking. She opened her eyes to a room full of sunlight and a haze of gold and blue perched on the side of her bed.

"Good morning and welcome home, cousin," a voice like the deeper notes of a flute said.

Penelope blinked and the haze resolved into Helen. Her eyes were as blue as a mid-summer sky at noon, washed by the rain. Her hair, gold just touched with red, was crowned with tiny white roses. Two long braids hung on either side of her face, the rest a mass of curls down her back. She wore a blue dress that matched her eyes and complimented her ivory and rose skin. Penelope was pleased to note that though her dress bodice was tight, Helen had little more fullness under her clothes than her younger cousin.

"Helen." Penelope swallowed against the thickness in her throat. Lystia had insisted she eat bread and honey before going to bed. Her throat felt like honey stayed to clog her voice. "I suppose I really am home."

"Of course you are. What a lovely time we'll have. I've been lonely." A teasing pout twisted Helen's perfect lips, which needed no extra color. "And soon we are to be married and separated. Come, get up! We must make use of the time we have!" Laughing, she tugged back on the blankets.

Penelope snatched at the blankets. It was one thing for Eurynome to pull away her covers to make her get up in the morning. For beautiful, womanly Helen to see the little, dark one without any clothes was a weakness Penelope didn't want to face. She missed the blankets and had to content herself with sitting up and letting her long hair cover her. If she hunched her shoulders, it turned into a garment hanging past her hips.

"Penelope!" Helen's voice lost its teasing. She smiled in delight and sat on the side of the bed to hug her cousin. "You've grown up!"

"Not much," she couldn't resist saying.

"You have no mirrors in Alybas?" The older girl laughed, hugging her again. "How beautiful you are! You'll steal my suitors-for which I will be grateful. Good morning, Eurynome." She stood as the nurse entered the room.

Penelope swallowed her sigh and smile of relief at her nurse's entrance. She had forgotten how like a bubbling fountain Helen could be in the morning. The door to her room creaked on its leather hinges, but Helen had been talking so much, and so fast, she hadn't heard.

"I know you told me not to awaken Penelope, but she was waking already. I waited until she started to move, just like you told me." Helen swept across the room, her skirts flying behind her. She brushed a kiss on the nurse's cheek and fluttered through the door. "Hurry and dress, cousin. There is so much to do today." And she was gone.

"Like a chirping bird, all day long," Eurynome said, her smile holding a wry twist in one corner. She carried a tray with wine, bread and honey, and figs. "Come, it is true you should be up and moving. We let you sleep late because of our long journey." She set the tray down on the little table next to the window.

"Helen makes me feel I am the elder," Penelope said, standing. She tugged on a plain, beltless tunic and followed Eurynome to the table. The women's gardens sat below her window, a maze of colors and paths, bright this spring morning.

"That one needs a husband to guide her." The nurse went back to Penelope's bed and straightened the blankets as the girl ate. "If Theseus had not vanished with his idiot friend on that mysterious quest of theirs, they should have let her stay and marry him, though he was old enough to be her grandfather. He had the experience to handle her."

"You've been talking this morning," Penelope said, peeling the outer skin off her first fig.

"Indeed I have." The woman chuckled. "I suppose you want to know if I have learned anything about your two princes."

"They're not mine-I merely wish to know who I met." Penelope blamed the warmth in her face on the sun slanting through the window.

"Aias is called the Lesser-can you believe it? That is because Aias the son of Telemon was here first. He only has his prowess as a warrior to speak for him-no great bloodlines or lands to recommend him to the king. That's only the beginning of his arrogance. Though he carries off enough riches to take care of any well-born girl, his eating uses up those riches quickly." Eurynome chuckled again. "Odysseus is the son of Laertes, king of Ithaka. That's the leader of the cluster of islands to the west and north. We probably passed by the islands on our voyage. He's known among the suitors for his quick mind and among the servants for his gentle manners. He's a favorite here."

"Do they think he will win Helen?"

"Ithaka isn't rich enough for Tyndareos' tastes. And Menelaos, brother of Agamemnon, is here. It would be good both brothers to be tied to our southern cities by marriage." Eurynome began pulling dresses out of a chest at the end of the bed. "Come. Your uncle had new dresses made for you. We must choose which to wear when you see him."

"When?" Penelope hastily chewed on the last of the bread, licking the honey off her fingers.

"Likely at the evening meal. He spends the morning in the megaron with the suitors, talking and testing them. Then they go to the plain with your cousins and prove how strong and skilled they are with their everlasting games, giving the king some peace to rule his land. You and Helen are both commanded to join him at the high table." Eurynome paused, giving emphasis to her next words. "It's said the king is not being difficult in deciding the best man for Helen, but he hesitates out of fear."

"Fear?" Penelope whispered the word, as if the walls would hear and repeat the conversation to her uncle. "I've never known him to fear anything-except us being kidnapped," she added quickly.

"That's just it. While she is here, in his walls, Helen is safe. It took Kastor and Polydeukes four years to bring their sister home. The king is worried Helen's husband will be attacked by the disappointed suitors."

"I am home now to calm a prince and swing him to support Helen's husband and my uncle." Penelope shrugged. It was no more than she expected.

"Even Helen is not as valuable to the king as the peace and security of Sparta," Eurynome said. She shook her head, a momentary flicker of sadness making her look years older. "Come, look at these beautiful dresses. Tonight, you must look your best when your future husband first sees you."

Penelope held back the unladylike snort of disbelief she had learned from her grandfather. She doubted her chance of being noticed while in Helen's company.

"Did you notice Helen?" she said as Eurynome helped her try on the first dress; pale green with blue trimmings.

"How can anyone help but notice that one?"

"For some reason, I thought she would be . . . more full." Penelope gestured, accenting her hips and breasts. Eurynome eyed her as if she had never seen the girl before.

"And why should Helen-or you, for that matter-want to be heavy like a woman with ten children?" She caught Penelope's chin in her hand and made the girl look her in the eye. "Is that the problem? Your shape? We spent four years too many in the northlands, I can see. Your ideas of beauty are twisted, child. Up there, all they care about is the breeding potential of their women.

"You are no peasant. You have more to offer a man than just children. Thanks to your grandfather and aunt, you can manage any estate and see past the dealings of the most thieving steward. You weave like a goddess taught you. Your singing voice is sweet enough to make a man cry for joy.

"And your mind . . . it's a pity you may only let the suitors stare at you. You could match wits with them in their riddles and stories, I know."

"Match wits with the princes of Achaia?" Penelope's mind spun with delight at the idea-then she laughed. "I would grow fumbling wits and lose my voice in a moment."

"Perhaps." The woman nodded and closed the clasps on the shoulders of the dress. "To return to your worries. If I had known what bothered you, we could have talked sooner. If you want larger breasts and wider hips, you will have them when you've had a child or two. Girl, listen to me and listen well. Your husband will love you at first for your body and the pleasure you give him in bed. Then he will love you for the children you bear for him. Later, when you no longer have a girl's figure and it has filled out more than you wanted-" She paused, a teasing twinkle in her eyes. "-he will love you for how well you raised his children and how well you manage his home. By then, he will notice your other fine qualities and love you for them as well."

"Men are very changeable," Penelope murmured, gazing off into the distance. She didn't see the gardens and plains beyond her window, but her own tumbling thoughts. "Is it wise for a man to be like that?"

"Who can tell?" The woman shrugged. "That is the way they are, and we women must live with it."

Penelope caught herself searching for a glimpse of dark red hair as she and Helen passed the half-open door of the megaron. The voices of men, raised in talk and laughter, rumbled into the very stones of the palace. It was a happy, strong, alive sound. Still, she shivered as it brought back a fragment of a dream that had frightened her often.

Men, gathered in a lesser palace, waiting for a bride who would not come to them. Death hovered in the high beams of the ceiling and none of them could see.

"Penelope?" Helen frowned at her, puzzled.

"Just remembering." She hurried to catch up with her cousin and remembered what she said to Eurynome earlier. When they were children, Penelope had felt they were the same age, taking care of each other. Now, she truly did feel the elder, though Helen was five years her senior.

"Remembering what?" the other wanted to know, when they and their maids had walked around two corners, taking them far from the megaron.

"The last time I saw Uncle on his throne, he summoned me to explain the fuss in the night. That you were gone and I was going to Alybas. I suppose the next time I go in there..." She refused to finish the thought.

"It will be to learn whom you are to marry," Helen said, a sunny smile and a bright giggle escaping her. "I'll speak to my father. Perhaps we can be married at the same ceremony."

Penelope held her tongue, merely nodding and smiling. She wondered what Melantho and Helen's maid thought about the conversation. They would undoubtedly report every word, with additions and exaggerations, when they joined the other slaves at meals.

At her grandfather's home, her slaves had been like family, keeping trusts and refusing to lower themselves to gossip with the villagers. Penelope found herself wishing for those days again. She felt defenseless and exposed.

She kept her thoughts to herself, trying to push them away to concentrate as Helen took her on a walking tour of the palace and grounds. Little had changed. A new building to house more slaves. More ground broken for crops to the west, down near the river. The trees around the clearing where the women bathed and played had grown taller and thicker. There were more horses in Tyndareos' stables. The flowers and rose bushes had grown thicker and more numerous. Penelope almost sighed in relief when they finished the tour and walked back to the women's quarters.

At the door to the room, Helen sent Melantho and the other girl down to the sheep pens. The shepherds had promised fresh wool, washed and dry by now, for them to start carding and spinning that day. Penelope looked into the room, wondering what had changed there while she had been away. Her sister, Iphthine had married before she left, so her absence was not noticed. She looked around the room and delight poured through her.

Wide windows hung with nearly sheer golden, pink and azure draperies let in the sunlight from three sides. There were musical instruments of all kinds hung on one wall, for the maidens to amuse themselves. Fresh rushes sprinkled with sweet, sharp smelling herbs covered the stones of the floor. Flowers were everywhere in abundance.

Yet what drew her were the two large looms sitting by the window that faced south. One held a small pattern, colorful, with the sea in the middle and an intricate border full of tiny people. The other loom held a large cloth only half begun, the warp threads hanging, waiting for a hand to finish tying the weights.

"I dreamed you sat at that loom," Helen said, stepping into the room and walking toward the southern window. "I dreamed we laughed and sang, and you taught me mastery of the loom. Was it a true dream through the gate of horn, or through the ivory gate of lies?" She stopped and turned back to face Penelope, one hand resting on the larger loom.

"A dream?" Penelope felt very young, very awkward. The sunlight surrounded Helen with gold. Even doubters would believe the princess was the daughter of Zeus at that moment. Penelope contrasted her own dark features and slimness against the ripe, golden and rose features of the princess of Sparta. "How could I teach you anything?"

"My mother knew your mother," Helen said, her own voice softening. "She said your mother was the greatest of all weavers she had ever known. Before you left, you showed skill. I merely thought that by now, your skill had grown."

"I have improved. If you like, I could have Eurynome bring out some of the weaving I did at Alybas." She stepped closer to the loom. Despite herself, Penelope's thoughts strayed to the half-begun pattern. She noted threads and colors she would like to change, and thought of how she would finish the design.

"Penelope..." Helen rested a hand on her cousin's shoulder, accenting the difference in their heights. Penelope found she did not mind. "This is your home. You do not have to prove yourself here."

"Everything has changed. And nothing has changed," she whispered. Penelope felt her face warming. How could Helen appear a mere bird of a girl, fluttering, chattering and singing as if she had not a thought in her head-and then show such insight? Was that the way of the gods and their offspring?

"I started this loom with the pattern I thought I saw you weaving," her cousin went on. "It isn't right. I wanted you to find it with the beginning work done. This is your loom, to do whatever you wish, show whatever you want."

"Mine?" Penelope's smile started small and astonished, then widened in delight. Even in her aunt's chambers, where her dreams had been indulged, she had not had a whole loom to herself. "I will make a hanging for your bridal chamber. I will weave prayers for blessing into it, that all the goddesses will smile on you."

CHAPTER THREE

When the afternoon heat became heavy and the shadows grew short in the women's chamber, Helen announced they would go to the river. Memories of the pleasant shadows, the cool water of the river, drowned the sigh of regret Penelope almost loosed. She cast one more glance at the preparations on her loom and promised herself she would finish the next morning.

The loom itself was finely made, every piece rubbed smooth and glossy. The warp weights nearly held the threads without need for knots. Weaving would be a joy. Watching the pattern grow would be a delight. It would be beautiful, she knew. From the gossip Penelope overhead that morning, she would have it done long before Helen's bridal night.

She gathered up her veil and slipped her sandals on. She had to hurry to follow Helen down the long, shadowed hallways to the entrance facing the river. The maids followed, carrying baskets of fruit, mending, skins of wine, balls to throw, anything they might need for the afternoon. Penelope listened for Melantho's voice chattering with the other maids, and she smiled. The older girl did sound happy, accepted by the other servants.

The women of the household had a special clearing by the river set aside for them. The water ran shallow there, with plenty of sun-baked, smooth rocks to beat the clothes clean and lay them out to dry. Or for young bodies to stretch out and sleep in the afternoon warmth. The trees had been kept thick and wild all around the space, for privacy.

"First, a bath," Helen decreed. She tugged at the beads and cords holding her hair into its braids. Laughing, she loosened her hair partway, then sat down and let a maid finish the job.

Penelope flinched, startled when another maid stepped up to attend her. She was not used to anyone touching her hair but Eurynome, and then only when she asked. There were many things, she decided, she would have to grow used to here in Sparta. Penelope almost laughed aloud at the little servant girl's surprise when she thanked her. Bachan had always maintained that gratitude was as much a slave's due as proper food, clothing and shelter. Penelope agreed with her, and realized now that many did not.

The river water had a bite to it, chilling like it had come straight from melting winter ice. Penelope controlled her shivers and waded in until she could kneel and let the water flow over her shoulders.

"Always braver than I!" Helen called, laughing. She stood far to the left, arms spread as if she had to balance carefully. The water only reached her knees.

Penelope closed her eyes and turned away. It wasn't easy to wipe the memory of Helen's figure from her mind. Nor to stop comparing. Reminding herself that her cousin had five years of growth on her did not help. Penelope cupped her small breasts and silently prayed Aphrodite to help her grow faster. There was not that much difference between her curves and Helen's, yet a noticeable one. She knew she would have peace in her future household if her husband were pleased with her body.

She scooped up a handful of sand from the river bottom to scrub her legs and arms. The exertion helped drive away some of the chill of the water, but not by much. When she waded out again, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, she wished she had stayed submerged.

Melantho met her with a drying sheet. Penelope gave the girl a nod and mumbled thanks. She had wondered when the maid would stop letting others serve her mistress and start scurrying to do her duties.

She almost regretted letting go of the sheet, to lay out on a thin sheet on a warm rock and let another maid rub her body with perfumed oil. Penelope tried to hold still in the cool wind. Then none of it mattered so much when she heard Helen complaining about the cold.

"You northland people are not so soft," the maid commented, pausing to pour more oil into her hands. "You have strong, smooth muscles," the girl explained, when Penelope opened one eye to look inquiringly up at her.

"I walked with my grandfather everywhere. He has wonderful orchards, and I preferred to climb to get the fruit I wanted."

"We feared you would lose your fitness, being sent from Sparta so young."

"You're Alkippe, aren't you?" Penelope asked. She recognized the familiarity in the maid's voice.

Helen had mentioned that Alkippe would be her chief maid and nurse to her children when she married. Such a position gave privilege to speak frankly and openly. Penelope was glad the maid felt those rights extended to her mistress' cousin. Eurynome could be trusted to speak even the most painful truth, but Penelope wanted someone closer to her own age to share viewpoints.

"Has my lady complained about me to you?" Alkippe asked, accenting her question with an extra deep rub. Laughter touched her voice, but it was not malicious.

"Not yet." Penelope was glad when the maid laughed with her. She knew then she had found a friend and supporter.

After warming in the sun and dressing again, there were games. Races along the pebbly shore. To her delight, Penelope came in second whenever she did not win. Alkippe had been right after all-she had not grown soft and weak. If anything, she had grown stronger. She could count on one hand the races she had won or placed second before she left Sparta.

Several of Helen's maids played lyre or pipes. They made a game of playing songs so quick and bright that those who tried to dance tangled their feet. More than once, Penelope fell laughing to the sand. Some insisted on continuing the contest, trying to reach the end of the tune without falling or losing their breaths-or make the musicians lose their own breaths in laughter.

Penelope and a few others, including Helen, took a hollow wooden ball and played catch where the water lapped at their feet. They were not content simply to toss the ball around the circle, but invented contests where they had to throw over and then under. Or spin on a heel as they caught the ball. Penelope laughed as brightly as the others, glad to be in the company of maidens her own age once more.

Helen slipped on a wet stone as she stepped forward to throw the ball to Penelope. Her arm twisted and the ball went over her cousin's head and out into the river. A few paces from shore, the water deepened enough for the current to catch the ball and pull it away.

Penelope turned and caught up her skirts in one hand, splashing through the shallows before the first shriek of disappointment left anyone's throat. She stumbled once when her foot found a hole in the riverbed, but caught herself and kept running. Up ahead, the bright gold and red ball sparkled and bobbed. The river neared a sharp bend where it went around the trees and a few high, sharp rocks. Penelope swallowed her disappointment and kept running.

She ran back onto shore, to reach the other side of the bend before the ball and snatch it out of the water. She dashed from sunlight to the gloom of the trees, and back out into sunlight again. Her lungs began to burn from her exertions. Any other time, she would have been delighted to push her limits, but the ball had been a gift from her father to Helen. She would not let it be lost.

Penelope let out a cry of exultation mixed with pain. Her ankle twisted as she spotted the ball and a stone slid under her foot. She ignored the sharp pang running up her leg and dashed to the river's edge. She plucked the ball out of the water and laughed in triumph.

And the next moment lost it. The water made the painted surface slick and it slipped from her hand. Penelope spun around to chase the ball and ran into a huge, dark-haired shape that grabbed her elbows in massive, calloused hands.

"Well, little one, we meet again," Aias said with a laugh. He set Penelope on her feet and smiled down at her. She smelled strong wine on his breath and he had fresh stains on his tunic. "Why so far from your mistress?"

"I am chasing the ball. It fell in the river." She gave up trying to explain and tried to step around him-he was so wide, why did they call him the Lesser? Vaguely, she had the idea it had rolled away between his legs. Penelope didn't care where the ball went as long as it was not back in the river. She gasped in frustration as Aias caught her wrist and stopped her.

"I can help you find it," he said.

"Thank you, but I can do my own hunting."

"You have spirit!" He laughed, the sound verging on a roar. "What will you give me if I help you?"

"I don't need your help." She tugged, trying to free her wrist. Aias held her fast, like sticky clay that would suck her down into the ground.

"To help a pretty little maiden like you, I usually ask for only one kiss. One with spirit, maybe two kisses. Are you sure you don't need help?"

"I don't need help, and I don't want your kisses." She tugged harder, throwing the weight of her body into the action. Aias tightened his grip, laughing.

"Come now, pretty one. A kiss won't hurt. You might even like it."

"Let -me-go!" she snapped, accenting her words with another tug, her voice louder with each word. Aias laughed louder and tugged her closer.

"For fighting-three kisses." He reached for her other hand and Penelope twisted away from him.

"If I had my spear..." She bit back the rest of her words. Now was not the time to reveal she had been raised by a madman who thought her a boy.

Then Penelope remembered useful things her grandfather had taught her. She swung around hard with her free arm, landing her fist in the soft spot high between Aias' ribs.

He yelped like a kicked dog, his breath torn away by her direct hit. His face darkened with a scowl and he pulled her closer. Penelope brought her knee up, throwing herself back away from him. Aias saw her move and jerked away in time. Penelope overbalanced and fell, landing on pebbles. She loosed a shout of pain and rolled.

Before she could scramble to her feet, Aias caught his breath and dropped to his knees next to her. He caught her around the waist with one massive arm and drew her up against his chest, pinning her arms with her hands upraised. She couldn't move them to swing at him. He laughed. Penelope shrieked like she had when the bear had leaped from the trees-she had managed to stab it once with her spear before Dolios arrived to kill it.

"A warrior's daughter, no doubt," Aias said, his breath short. "Come girl, don't put up such a fight. There's no dishonor. Should I ask the king for you, then? Is that what you want?"

"Let me go!" she shrieked.

"Aias!" The voice that thundered through the late afternoon warmth held a rage that made Penelope wilt inside. Aias paused, his open mouth poised above hers. Penelope leaned back, enough to free her arms to scratch. She caught his cheek, just below his temple, drawing blood.

The man roared in surprise, releasing her. Penelope fell to her knees and swung at his face and chest with both hands, wide punches, thumbs out as her grandfather had taught her. His roars changed to anger and he lunged at her.

A muscular, ruddy arm entered Penelope's field of vision and caught Aias by the front of his tunic. It tore as the newcomer yanked him sideways, flinging him down at the roots of a tree. Dark red hair caught the sharp slanting afternoon sunlight and turned gold. Gray eyes flashed in fury. Penelope fell forward onto her hands and saw the jagged scar above the man's knee, a white slash like lightning against the dark tan of his skin.

"Are you hurt?" Odysseus asked, kneeling. He caught her shoulders in his hands, helping her to sit up. His touch was gentle, and she thought his hands trembled.

"No. Just furious." She swallowed hard, trying to make her voice calm again.

"You fought like a Fury." A crooked smile twisted up one corner of his mouth. "Did he-" His voice caught and broke and he looked away.

"He never even got a kiss," she hastened to assure him. It was almost amusing, Penelope reflected later, how relief made Odysseus' shoulders straighten. He stood and helped her stand as well.

"Aias, you staggering fool," he said, a growl touching his voice as he stepped over to his fallen comrade. "I could hear her scream in the king's stables. Don't you know when a girl says no, she means no?"

"Now I do." The dark man pushed himself upright against the tree. "Girl, who taught you to fight like that? You could be a soldier instead of just a serving maid. And a tempting one at that."

"Tempting or not, you can't take her against her will in the house of our host." Odysseus' voice began to relax. Penelope knew he looked at her again, concern in his eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to do more than steal short glimpses of him. She knew it was foolish to stay while her attacker recovered, but she couldn't move. She contented herself with watching him and keeping alert.

"So much fuss over a serving girl," Aias grumbled.

"Of all the maids who throw themselves at you...why force yourself on the one who says no?" Odysseus sighed, loudly, and took a step away. He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at the sky as if begging strength from the gods.

Penelope wondered why she found it so amusing. All the gossip said Odysseus was never at a loss for words-why silence now?

"Whose daughter are you, to be such a skilled fighter?" Aias asked. He grinned at her, then winced as he touched the deep scratch on his face.

"I am Penelope, daughter of Ikarios." Her smile grew wider when Aias gaped at her. "He was brother to King Tyndareos. I am Helen's cousin. And Ithios' sister," she added when the man stared, his mouth dropping open wider. She remembered Odysseus' words at Pylos now. If Ithios had not changed since she went to Alybas, Penelope could well believe Aias would be his friend.

The sound of women's voices penetrated the splashing of the river. Penelope stepped back toward the curve in the river and caught a glimpse of bright dresses, heard the rattle of stones dislodged by unsure feet.

"You should go. I'll tend our fallen warrior," Odysseus said with a shrug and another sigh. His concern burned bright in his eyes.

"I'm not even bruised," she hurried to assure him. A warmth poured through her body when Odysseus smiled at her. Penelope found it hard to do, but she turned and hurried back the way she had come. She spotted the ball and snatched it up before entering the trees. Behind her, she heard the crunching of sandal-shod feet as the two men left.

"Penelope?" Helen led the group of women approaching the trees. Her eyes widened as she took in her cousin coming back through the shadows to meet them.

Penelope looked at herself. Her dress hung awry, spotted with sand and damp. Her loose braid had come apart, turning her hair into a dark tangled cloud all around her shoulders, strands sticking to her sweating face. She smiled, despite the bruises forming on her back where she had hit the stones.

"I found the ball," she said, holding it out.

"We should go back inside now," Helen said, her words coming slowly, separate from her thoughts. She caught her cousin's hand when Penelope would have walked by her. "Tell me," she commanded in a soft voice.

"Someone mistook me for a servant girl and tried to steal a kiss. I fought him off...and another man rescued me." She shrugged and smiled.

"Penelope-"

"Later." Once again, Penelope felt herself the elder. "When there are no spying ears or gossiping tongues."

"I'll hold you to that, cousin." Helen smiled and looped her arm through Penelope's. They walked back to rejoin the others arm in arm.

Penelope was glad for the floating cloud of sheer veil across her face, her armor of jewels and cosmetics, as she followed Helen down the hall. The chattering of the servant girls- discussing the various suitors, their backgrounds and attributes and the gifts to Tyndareos and Helen-had done nothing to soothe her leaping stomach and trembling hands and feet. More than two hours had gone into dressing and decorating the two royal cousins, so they could sit at the high table in the feasting hall. Penelope knew no one would recognize her now and she was glad. And worried. Memories of Aias' enraged and then stupidly stunned face made her alternately want to cry and laugh. Memories of the worry and rage on Odysseus' face sent a humming sensation through her to her bones. Penelope did not know if she could look at him, meet his eyes, and present the controlled, cool exterior required of a royal daughter.

That question would soon be answered, she reflected, as she and Helen paused at the doorway to the feasting hall. The massive, bronze-bound doors were guarded by two servants, who bowed and pulled the panels apart. A wave of sensations poured from the feasting hall.

The deafening roar of scores of men talking and laughing and shouting at once. A faint undercurrent of music-lyres and pipes and drums. The laughter of servant girls as they dodged pinches and kisses. The odors of roast meat, fresh bread, onions and garlic, fruits and wines. The warmth and thickness of air from many male bodies confined in one place. The sweet, thin aroma of flowers that garlanded the beams and walls of the feasting hall. Penelope took it all in with one breath. In the next, she had to fight not to step backward, as it threatened to overwhelm her.

"Daunting, isn't it?" Helen said, her voice louder to be heard over the din. Penelope doubted Melantho or Alkippe, at their elbows, had heard. "I nearly turned and fled, the first time I faced them. They will quiet soon enough."

As if they heard her speak, the men closest to the door began to quiet. The scattered clumps of tables, three or four men at each, created a maze Penelope and Helen had to navigate to reach the platform where Tyndareos, his sons and nephew sat. She had double reason now to be grateful for the shield of her veils and cosmetics. None but the man directly before her would see her features. She knew she could handle confrontations if taken one at a time. Penelope prayed to Athena to intervene that there would be no confrontations.

Quiet began to spread into the hall from the doorway. Penelope saw a man stand at the long table and gesture toward the door with a silver goblet. From that distance, she couldn't tell where her brother sat, or if Kastor or Polydeukes gestured for her and Helen to enter.

The men were twins, but not identical if seen close up. Both had the same golden-brown hair as their dead mother, Leda; the same sculptured cheekbones and broad shoulders. There the similarities stopped. Kastor was a good head taller. His beard was thicker, his eyes brown, his nose thick as if it had been punched too many times. Polydeukes had a delicacy about him that was all illusion. He could win any foot race, even in armor, and rode horses as if he were a centaur. His blue eyes, like Helen's, had a tendency to see through people. Penelope remembered that she liked him best because he offered her rides on his favorite horse.

"Now," Helen whispered, breaking Penelope free of her thoughts. The two cousins started through the hall to the high table, walking with measured, delicate tread, heads held high. Penelope thought she caught a glimpse of a dark red head at a table she passed, but she didn't dare slow or turn to be sure.

Tyndareos greeted her, announcing to the suitors that he rejoiced to have his brother's youngest daughter safe under his roof once again. Penelope retreated into concentrating on her uncle as the man spoke, invoking blessings on his guests and entreating the gods to keep happy accord among them while under his roof.

Her uncle had aged in five short years. His dark hair had been thick and curly when she left. Now it looked thinner, dusted with gray and hanging flat. His nose, like an eagle's beak, looked sadly oversized in his thinning face. His shoulders didn't bow, but Penelope guessed the effort it took to keep them straight. A throb of pity took her heart for her uncle. For a moment, she was glad her father had died while still young and strong.

It startled her to silently calculate her uncle's age. The man was fifteen years older than her own father. He had married late because of the unrest in the kingdom when he took the throne of Sparta. Klytemnestra had been born to his first wife, who had died birthing the next child, a boy. Tyndareos had married Leda several years later. She had immediately given him Kastor and Polydeukes. Helen had been a surprise, born eight years later.

He is an old man, Penelope thought, and blinked away tears of pity. Perhaps it was true that Tyndareos feared to bestow Helen on the suitor of his choice.

Kastor and Polydeukes were adventurers, still reveling in their youth and strength. They didn't have the experience of leadership to thwart uprisings. They would be no help. She glanced at her cousins, and beyond them to her brother. Ithios slouched in his chair, gazing out over the crowd of suitors. His hair was a muddy yellow. He looked heavier, older. His eyes shifted restlessly over the crowd, as if he could find nothing, no friend to look at. His tunic had spots of grease and spilled wine, and that reminded her of Aias. They made fit friends, she decided.

That brought her thoughts back to her uncle. He needed a friend. Support, perhaps stronger than an army bristling with spears and swords. Penelope thought of her jewelry, the few pieces of gold and pearls. If she could, she would have sold it to send a servant to consult the prophet Teiresias for an answer. Unfortunately, Teiresias was dead. She wished she could fight off the problem for her uncle as she had fought off Aias.

CHAPTER FOUR

The slow, stealthy creaking of the door brought Penelope out of dream of black-haired arms enclosing her and gray eyes that threw lightning to free her. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, smiling as she waited for Helen to creep across the cold stone floor to her bed. Her cousin looked very young in the moonlight, all her golden curls hanging loose to her waist. She wore a short tunic like a bath-house slave would wear, and had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders for warmth. Though it was late spring, the nights were still cool.

"Now, tell me all," Helen commanded with a giggle, as she climbed into the bed. She perched on the end and crossed her legs.

"Aias, the black-haired giant, thought I was a servant girl," Penelope began with a shrug. "He offered to help me find the ball if I would give him a kiss. I said I didn't want his help-"

"I've heard about that one," her cousin interrupted with another giggle. "Everyone knows he's here to enjoy Father's hospitality, not to win me-but Father doesn't dare send him away because of his friends. His two purposes in life are to win all the strength contests and kiss every pretty servant girl. Most of them are more than willing. Your refusal must have been quite a shock."

"He seemed to think I was unusually modest and said he would ask the king for me." Penelope tugged the blanket up to her shoulders against the night chill. She would have to grow used to sleeping naked again. In the northlands around Alybas, even the summer nights were too cool for that.

"So you fought him. I noticed he sat near the back, in the shadows tonight. Did you mark him?"

"Scratches, and I hit his face a few times. Grandfather taught me how to box like a boy."

"Oh, Penelope, Aias still likely doesn't know what happened!" Helen wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering soft laughter. "You said someone rescued you?"

"Odysseus. He came down on Aias like a bolt of lightning. Threw him against a tree like he weighed nothing."

"He is not a tall man, and against Aias' bulk..." Helen grew somber. "He must have been furious."

"I know." A delighted shiver took her. Penelope remembered those gray eyes and the memory warmed her.

"I don't understand. Why did he think you were a servant? Your dress was nothing a servant would have."

"I met Aias and Odysseus at Pylos, when I went back to the ship to get the doll my father made." Penelope felt no shame in confessing her errand to her cousin. She knew Helen would understand.

"Let me guess. Aias teased you for holding a doll."

"I told him it was a keepsake for my mistress. Odysseus distracted him and helped me escape."

"It might have been better if you had been truthful. Yet you came to no harm. You were lucky Odysseus was there. He has a reputation with the servants as one who treats everyone better than their station." Helen paused, frowning a little. "Then again, I've heard it said Odysseus prefers a fanciful story to the truth. Especially when the story serves him better. Not that he is a dishonest man-my brothers say you could never find a more loyal friend." She shrugged. "Sometimes, I watch the games. Odysseus wins against men taller and more visibly sure to win. He has cunning, I think. He saves his strength and makes his opponents waste theirs."

"He was kind to me. And he was so furious with Aias."

"Penelope, guard your heart." Her cousin sat forward, reaching out to take hold of hers. "Don't consider a man as anything but a distant friend until you are in your bridal bed with him. Then it is safe to give your heart."

"Helen-" Penelope didn't know whether to laugh or be angry that her cousin would suggest such a thing. She did not want to marry anyone at all.

"You have confessed. Now it is my turn. I speak from experience. I don't want you hurt." Helen gazed down at the patterns on the blankets cast by shadows and moonlight. "When Theseus kidnapped me, I was a fool and thought it a great adventure. He took tender care of me. He wanted to marry me. The legends of his adventures are known even here in Sparta."

"And in Alybas." She squeezed her cousin's hands in turn, offering support for what she sensed would come.

"He said he couldn't wait for our wedding bed. He slept with me before we reached his exile estates. I was a child, enchanted that a hero wanted me. Wanted me so much he would steal me. I enjoyed lying with him. When you give your heart, a man's bed is a wonderful place."

"And?" Penelope prompted, her voice softer than a whisper, when Helen grew silent for many long moments.

"Then he went off with his friend, who also wanted a daughter of Zeus as a bride. When they vanished, he left me unwed, carrying his child. Then stories of shameful exploits came trickling in, past the watchful servants. I learned he wasn't the man I thought him. I wanted to come home."

"What of the child?"

"A boy. Dead from an early birth." Helen shook her head a little, no other sign that the words meant anything to her. "When I recovered my strength, I learned to escape my guards and send messages home through traders. It took years before someone believed enough to help me. My brothers came charging in with their swords flashing and there was no one to kill. They were disappointed, even though I was safe." She sighed, and two tears trickled down in the moonlight. "So you see why I warn you not to give your heart until you are wed. The dreams of a girl are illusions. I can trust my father to give me to an honorable man who will take care of me, who won't fill my head with lies and dreams. I will love him and care for his house and give him children. But I won't be as happy as I could have, if I had not already given my heart."

"Sometimes your heart is taken," Penelope murmured. She thought of Odysseus' gray eyes when he smiled at her. The concern in them when he turned from Aias to her. She acknowledged the wisdom of Helen's words and something inside her cried for her cousin.

"Sometimes," her cousin acknowledged. "We must resist the treachery of Aphrodite. She bestows women's hearts like prizes to the men who please her, with no thought about the hurt she brings. I still dream of a great love, a hero who will risk everything for me. My reality is the princes of Achaia feasting in my father's house, pressing him to choose a husband for me. I confess I am disappointed."

"Don't be." Penelope tried to laugh. "Listen to your own advice, Helen. It's very wise. Wait, and trust your father."

"I try." She shivered, wrapping the blanket closer around her shoulders.

"Do you want to stay here?" Penelope offered. "Like you used to when we were children?"

"Rather than risk Alkippe's wrath, when she finds me gone from my room? Yes, thank you." Helen managed a weak chuckle. She crawled up the length of the bed and slid under the covers. The two cousins held each other for comfort in the stillness of the cool night.

"Hail the new warrior!" Kastor called from the doorway as Penelope and Helen walked from the palace to the river the next morning. He laughed at their startled expressions. "Is the tale of your battle with mighty Aias exaggerated?" he continued, and stepped out to join them.

Polydeukes and Ithios followed him from the shadows. Penelope gave her cousins one searching glance, then studied her brother. She couldn't read his face. His eyes always held a spark that could be scornful laughter or mischief, no difference between them. She reminded herself to distrust Ithios, no matter what he said or did.

"There was no battle," Helen said. She took a step forward, putting herself between Penelope and the men.

"Not according to Aias' words and the marks on his face," Polydeukes retorted. He bowed to Penelope, grinning in that way he had which made her feel important and beautiful, even as a clumsy, scrawny child. "He didn't want to talk about it at first-especially with Odysseus sitting next to him, silent and smiling. Then he warmed to the tale. Some of the suitors say you are an Amazon, switched at birth with the real daughter of Ikarios."

"I always held my sister was not mine," Ithios put in, his voice soft, the slightest smile on his lips.

"He's angry because Aias wouldn't hunt with him today," Kastor explained, giving him a disgusted look. "Whatever the tales, welcome home, little cousin."

"Not so little any longer," Helen said. "Look at her. She could take any of my suitors she wants. And I'm glad!"

"Helen the beautiful and generous." He bowed to his sister in turn. "Always willing to share. Especially the things she doesn't want."

"Oh, don't be cruel on such a beautiful morning!" She slipped one arm around Kastor's waist, then reached out for Polydeukes' hand. "Come to the river with us. You do have time to tell us news, don't you?" She led them down the path to the river.

"She wants to know which suitors have given up now, and which prince has joined the hopeful ranks," Ithios said. He stood next to Penelope, towering over her. Helen and her brothers were already many steps away. Penelope looked up at him, her body tensed for a blow or a scalp-burning yank on her hair. Then she remembered how she had fought Aias and her fear melted away.

"Ithios, wouldn't you like to be so desirable?" she asked. Without waiting for a reply, Penelope turned and set off after the other three.

"Be careful, Penelope." Only a few strides of his long legs let him catch up with her. "You have come to the attention of the suitors. You could very well steal some from Helen."

"I doubt she would mind-but even if I wanted to, I doubt that would be possible."

"Aias finds you desirable." He laughed when Penelope halted for a fraction of a second.

"If our uncle has heard the true tale of what happened, Aias would not be allowed to make his suit."

"Perhaps. Then again, my word does carry some weight before the king. You are my sister. Aias is my friend. I could speak for him, when he asks the king."

"Do not trouble yourself." Penelope felt some tightness in her chest fade as they reached the trees surrounding the river clearing.

"It would be no trouble. I would enjoy giving you the husband of your choice." He chuckled again. "Although, the first time he opens your legs, he would likely kill you in his passion. Aias is rather more beast than man." They emerged from the trees as he spoke.

"Stop there, cousin." Kastor stepped in front of Ithios, making him stop quickly enough to rock back on his heels. He planted his fists into his hips and glared at his shorter cousin. "Anyone can see such words hurt Penelope. Even if she is your sister, I won't let you hurt her."

"And I forbid you to talk to Penelope unless one of us is nearby," Polydeukes added. "You tormented her when we were children. You will not continue."

"Well, little sister, you have mighty champions." Ithios bowed to her. He swept a glance around the clearing, ending with Kastor. Though he tried to stare down the other man, he soon had to look away. "I have duties this morning." He turned and left without waiting for a reply.

"Be warned, Penelope," Kastor said. He rested a hand on her shoulder, his touch warm and comforting. "Don't let Ithios find you alone. His reputation falls in the servants' gossip."

"Has it risen?" she asked, her tone sharp with old, remembered hurt. Her brother had always delighted in tormenting those smaller and weaker than himself, while their cousins had always been the champions.

"She does have a point." Polydeukes gave her a light embrace and kissed her forehead. "We, at least, are very glad to have our pretty little cousin home."

Penelope stood in the shadows of the doorway, watching as a suitor packed his chariot to leave. This was the fifth man to give up his suit and leave in less than ten days. She had discounted Ithios' words as spite, but now it seemed her brother had spoken truly. Suitors gave up daily, and word had come that another young nobleman would arrive in the evening to join the ranks of the hopeful.

"It is a pity more do not see wisdom and give up," Alkippe said, joining Penelope. She smiled down at the smaller girl. "Our master already speaks of preparing for winter housing for his many guests."

"The king doesn't plan on choosing a husband for Helen, then." She nodded, thinking over Eurynome's words that first morning back in Sparta.

"Choosing is the easy part." The servant girl leaned against the frame of the door, her eyes on the handsome, bare-chested manservant loading his master's chariot. "I speak for all the servants, when I say there are some princes we would be glad never to see again. And others we would give our lives to make happy."

Penelope nodded, choosing to avoid awkward questions. She refused to admit she had come in the hopes of seeing Aias leaving. Her brother's words sometimes echoed in her sleep, waking her in a cold sweat.

"So many have left, and the summer barely on us," Alkippe continued. "Only one has come back."

"Lord Odysseus?"

"Gossip says King Nestor talked him into returning and trying again. Everyone knows the king favors him and has already spoken with our master on his behalf."

"King Nestor favors Odysseus." Penelope smiled, glad of that bit of news.

"He insisted on loaning Odysseus his chariot when he landed in Pylos. Any other island prince, with so little experience in horses, it would have been a disaster." The servant girl shook her head, a smile twisting her lips a moment. "Many of us wish Lord Odysseus and Ithaka were very rich, and very near. He would have Helen for wife tomorrow, if that were so."

"I heard all the servants favored him."

"Not all, but enough." Alkippe watched the suitor and his servants leave the courtyard. Her smile faded a little.

"What is it like, to share a man's bed?" Penelope whispered. She felt her face warm as Alkippe stared at her, open-mouthed. Then the older girl started to laugh.

"It's true, then, and not bragging from your nurse. You truly can see things other noble ladies miss."

"I won't tell Helen, if that's what you fear."

"Thank you, Lady Penelope. Though I doubt my mistress would be angry." Alkippe shrugged. She stepped out into the courtyard, watching for the last sight of the departing men. Her longing showed clearly on her face. "Lying with a man is more pleasant than sleeping alone. Sometimes." She gave Penelope a shallow curtsey and went back into the palace.

"Tell me, if you can," Odysseus said, standing. An expectant hush fell in ripples over the crowd of suitors spread over the plain. The only sounds were soft sighs of the wind through the grass, and the occasional crackle of flames in the torches scattered through the gathering.

Contests of skill had ranged up and down the flat grassland since mid-afternoon. As dusk fell, the men rested by listening to the bards, singing, and telling riddles.

In her seat under the canopy with the other women, Penelope sat forward eagerly in her chair. She had heard others speak of Odysseus and his riddles but this was the first chance she had to hear one. Others had tried to repeat some to her, but they forgot words. She felt the delivery failed from lacking Odysseus' rich, deep voice.

Next to her, Helen reached over and touched her hand gently with her fingertips. Penelope nodded, heeding her cousin's warning. She sat back and composed her face into less eager lines, but she still listened with every particle of her being. Riddles and games of twisted words had been one of the few entertainments in Alybas during the winter. She wanted to test her mind against the princes of Achaia.

"It is a kingdom that touches every land, yet never marks borders. It advances constantly, yet not invading. Retreats, yet not through cowardice. It runs swiftly, but with no feet. Babbles like a doddering fool or a drunkard, but has no mouth to speak." Odysseus turned slowly, to see all the suitors sitting on the ground or standing at the fringes of the crowd around him. His gaze met Penelope's, and she thought he lingered for a moment before going on.

Some bolder suitors shouted answers immediately. Penelope listened and shook her head in scorn. How could they miss such an obvious answer? She looked at Helen, and her cousin wore a puzzled expression. Kastor and Polydeukes were the hosts that evening in their father's place. They smiled at their guests and didn't even try to answer. Ithios crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Penelope was sure he had no idea of the answer.

Odysseus laughed, shaking his head at the answers that trickled away to nothing. Sometimes he called back a mocking response, reminding them of parts of the riddle the answer contradicted. Penelope began to laugh as well. She covered her mouth to keep from shouting out the answer.

"Will the royal daughters join the game?" Odysseus asked, stepping closer to the canopy. The few servants sitting on the ground around the canopy moved aside to let him through. He swept a grand bow to the cousins and their maids. His face glowed with laughter and life.

"Not I." Helen joined in with her musical laughter. "I tried once to match my wits against yours in riddles, and I will not humiliate myself again."

"And lovely Penelope?" His voice changed, growing thicker. Penelope hoped no one else noticed. "There is no shame in being wrong." His grin widened again. "The greatest princes in Achaia cannot guess, after all."

"Water," Penelope said, before she lost her nerve. "Rivers and oceans touch all lands. It runs swiftly, it babbles, the tides retreat and advance."

Penelope bit her tongue to keep from saying more. She held her breath, waiting. Approval and delight shone in Odysseus' eyes but she still couldn't be sure. Then a roar of approval and more laughter rose from the men gathered all around. He bowed to her, conceding her win.

"We all confess your cunning mind, Odysseus of Ithaka," a man called out of the darkness, as the uproar died. "There is no one who can match you there. Tell me, if you can-why do you stay away from the games on horseback?"

"There is a difference between reckless courage and the death-wish of a fool," Odysseus called back, stepping away from the canopy. He came face to face with his questioner, both of them lost in the deepening shadows.

"That one was born on horse-back," Helen murmured, leaning closer to Penelope. "Or so he claims. Kastor says, when he is in his wine he claims his father was a centaur."

Penelope smothered a giggle behind her hand. She knew why the unseen man taunted Odysseus. After two weeks of asking questions, stealing glimpses of the suitors at their games, listening against orders at doors, she knew how the suitors stood against each other. Odysseus excelled at the games, at the riddles, the discussions of wars and strategy. Few men bested him, yet somehow he kept the respect of all. Eurynome blamed his cunning mind, always searching for an advantage. Helen's brothers said it was his gracious way of speaking with everyone. Ithios refused to speak of Odysseus unless he could find something to complain about. Penelope found that significant in itself. Some servants who felt comfortable enough to talk openly with her, said Odysseus was favored by Athena, who gifted him with her wisdom and would let no man harm him.

"You sit a horse well enough," the other suitor said, his voice rising through the soft murmur of male voices.

The deepening of night softened every sound on the plain around them. Servants lit more torches. Others gathered up food and extra clothes, the spears and discus and stone weights used in the games.

"Sit, yes." Odysseus' voice held a touch of laughter. Penelope thought she sensed a stiffness behind the genial sound. "I can control the horses well enough to go to Pylos to check on my ship, or sit astride securely enough to tour the countryside with the king's sons. The mad gallop you favor is another thing altogether."

They walked among the other men as they talked. Penelope caught a glimpse of the features of the other man as they passed between two torches, approaching the canopy. A light, short beard, body whipcord thin, his hands massive, his legs well-muscled. A rider, if she judged physical features and a man's carriage well enough. It would have been recklessness for any island man to challenge the skills of one born to horses and the plains. She agreed with Odysseus, strangely glad he knew his limits and didn't fear to admit them.

"I've seen you moving about your ship as if you had wings," the rider accused, laughing. "The same balance and control you need for sailing, you use for riding."

"I have only learned to ride since coming here to Sparta. I would be a fool to chance my new skills against experienced men. Not even to win the acclaim of lovely maidens," Odysseus added as the two men passed the canopy. He paused, barely noticeable, and met Penelope's eyes.

Penelope saw the shadow on the courtyard paving and looked up in time to see the owl sweep over her head. She felt a chill run up her back and wondered what the omen meant. It was early morning, yet late for an owl to be about. Then she heard the clatter of hooves on the paving of the courtyard, racing toward her. She stepped back from the archway to avoid being trampled and among the dust and blurred movement, glimpsed six horses, all mounted, speeding away from the palace. Hurrying, she followed to the gates and watched the riders vanish in a cloud of dust. As she resumed her interrupted errand, fetching a new skein of thread for Helen, she pieced together the features she had glimpsed as the riders sped past.

Kastor and Polydeukes, of course. Where one was, the other followed, as if they were one person and not two. She knew she had seen Kastor, so his twin was the second of the six riders. She shivered, remembering whispered tales that the twins only shared one spirit between them, that if one died, so would the other. That rumor, however, didn't bother her as much as the stories that Polydeukes was also a child of Zeus.

A flash of golden-red hair and a curly beard that matched and a blue-black cape lined with gold-that could only mean Menelaos. He was a good friend of the twins, according to Helen.

Penelope smiled at the thought of Menelaos. Despite her advice, Helen either had given her heart to the younger brother of the king of Mycenae, or was on the verge. She talked of Menelaos constantly-except when he accompanied Kastor and Polydeukes to visit their sister.

It was almost a given that Menelaos accompanied the twins. Penelope puzzled through the features of the fourth and fifth riders but couldn't recognize their faces. If they were suitors or servants, she couldn't recall. She knew Ithios was not among them, and wondered if her brother had fallen from favor with their cousins yet again, or had only declined the adventure this morning. All the men wore helmets and fire-hardened vests of leather instead of bronze armor. Round leather and bone shields had swung from their elbows. Boar hunting, perhaps? A dangerous boar bothering the neighboring villages?

It would make an interesting story and a mystery to pursue, Penelope decided. She continued going from the palace to the river clearing. Helen and the others would want to hear of this, she knew.

Penelope stopped as she entered the shade of the ring of trees. The skein of thread dropped from her hands as the features of the sixth rider came clear in her mind, like the reflection in a pool suddenly still. Brown-red hair showed under the boars tusk helmet. The blue luck markings on the shield suddenly made sense, as she looked at them sideways in her memory. Odysseus was the sixth man. They were armed and riding away as if the Furies chased them, she thought now. Not a boar hunt, but something more important.

Penelope picked up the skein and moved on. The thread was blue, made from an expensive dye that came from Ilion, at the Straits of Dardanelles. She didn't notice the dust and specks of forest rubbish sticking to the skein. What, she wondered, had happened to send the six men racing away, armed as if for battle? She had seen other groups ride off for boar hunting. They always rode at a lazy pace, smiling. None of the six men who nearly ran her down had smiled.

A fragment of a dream came back to her. Polydeukes shouting to the sky, tears in his eyes. And rage. Blood on the ground. A shout of treachery that echoed in her bones even now. Penelope shivered, then felt her face burn. She had seen Odysseus instead of Kastor, and had felt fear for him. That was ridiculous. Penelope told herself to care for no man. She didn't want to marry anyone, after all.

When she reached Helen, she found King Tyndareos had joined the group at the river's edge. Penelope slowed her pace more, though curiosity pushed her to keep moving, to hear what had happened. An inner feeling, fragments of more dreams, told her she did not want to know.

The night before, her uncle hadn't joined the feasting on the plains because a messenger had arrived with urgent news. Penelope silently scolded herself for not realizing something grave kept her uncle from his guests and the games he loved. Perhaps it was the same matter that sent her cousins, Odysseus and Menelaos rushing away.

"I saw my cousins riding off with shields and spears," she said, when Helen and Tyndareos both looked up at her approach. "Is there trouble?"

"Has anyone told you of the twin brides I had found for my sons?" the king began, watching Penelope carefully as he spoke. She fought a chill of apprehension and shook her head that no, she had not heard. "They were to come to Sparta before the end of summer. We had planned a grand wedding feast for them. And hopefully for Helen, as well." He paused, as if searching for the right words. Penelope wondered if he thought he would frighten her by mentioning her own future marriage.

"The girls' father has reneged on the agreement?" she guessed.

"That sort of trouble, we could handle," Helen said. She tried to smile, and reached for the thread Penelope carried.

"The girls had other suitors, another set of brothers," the king said after another pause. "They decided since they would not be given the maidens as brides, they would steal them. Word came they have gone into hiding in Arkadia."

"And Kastor and Polydeukes have rushed off to rescue their brides." Penelope nodded, understanding now. A shiver caught at her body for a moment. "I saw Menelaos and Odysseus riding with them, and two others. They are that sure of success, to take so few?"

"I sent a troop of my soldiers out last night, as soon as I understood what had happened. Seleron and Teris have volunteered to help, though I didn't think them such good friends to my sons as Odysseus and Menelaos." The king looked down at his feet a moment, his eyes hooded and full of worry. "The omens are not good for this. If my sons hadn't seen their brides before, they might have been talked out of their anger."

"Come, Uncle." Penelope took hold of his hand, like she had when she was a tiny child and didn't know he was a king. "We will go to the temple of Hermes, and to Apollo, and offer sacrifices and prayers for them."

"Yes, Father." Helen smiled, relief wiping away the worry that made her pale. She slipped her arm through his. "We will go and pray. It is well for us Penelope is so sensible." Her eyes were full of silent thanks.

That night, Penelope dreamed, and knew she had dreamed that dream before. She saw battle. She saw men leaping out from hiding. She saw blood and her cousins' faces twisted in anger and hatred. They shouted but she couldn't hear their war cries. Their swords clashed against other swords, but there was only the silence of her dream to deafen her.

She woke in tears and huddled shivering under her blankets. Penelope gritted her teeth, hating the feeling of being defenseless and helpless.

Her feet hit the cold tile of the floor and she reached the trunk her grandfather made before she realized what she intended. Her old hunting tunic was there, and the knife Dymis gave her. Eurynome had let Penelope keep them, long ago persuaded they were only keepsakes. Penelope put them on and braided her hair tight against her head. She fashioned a cap out of a scrap of cloth, like herder boys wore against the dust of the day, to cover her hair. Heart pounding, she slipped out her open window and into the garden.

Moonlight turned the familiar, sheltered paths into a strange forest where deadly beasts and unfriendly nymphs and satyrs waited to pounce. Penelope gripped the knife tight in her fist and kept her mouth closed. Her breath whistled through her nose. She hated how her heart thudded at every new sound and worked to keep her pace slow and steady. She darted into the shelter of a tall bush when a movement startled her. When she looked, it was only an owl flying low over the garden. Penelope wondered why the creature had not called out at her clumsy, furtive movements.

In the middle of the women's section of the shadowed garden, she found the pool, deep black and glowing silver in the moonlight. Penelope knelt by the water and drew a thin line on her thumb with the blade of the knife.

"Goddess, please hear me. Athena, please, bring safety to my cousins. And to their companions. I fear death and betrayal," she whispered, while letting ten drops of blood fall into the dirt next to the water. At the tenth drop, Penelope plunged her hand into the pool. She waited until the cold began to numb her hand, then got up and left without looking back. She didn't dare look back, even for a sign that her prayer had been heard, the offering accepted.

CHAPTER FIVE

Penelope darted into the shadows of a tall, spreading bush and winced as branches dug into her back and arms. She welcomed blood and pain to avoid her brother, who approached with two men Penelope hoped were no suitors for Helen; threadbare clothes, scraggly beards, untrimmed hair, and no ornaments of any kind. No noble or prince of Achaia would fall into such a state.

"We are all lucky Menelaos is not king of Mycenae," Ithios said. His voice sounded blurred with wine, and it was barely past noon. Penelope knew more than luck let her hear the three men before they saw her; someone protected her. "Odysseus is constantly at his elbow, telling him what to do, what to say, what to think. He would only be a toy king, and Odysseus would rule Mycenae."

"Some would find his rule better than Agamemnon's," the cleaner of his two companions offered. He dodged when Ithios swung on him, and laughed.

Penelope held her breath as the three paused. If they turned, they would see her. She didn't dare try to press deeper into the scratchy cover of the bush. If either stranger attacked her, she couldn't depend on her brother for protection. He might encourage them.

"Even his friends cannot trust Odysseus. Who knows what he will do next?" Ithios hunched his shoulders, glancing around as if Odysseus would appear. "I thought we were rid of him when Aias took him to Pylos and his ridiculous ship. Whatever brought him back, it will profit him and hurt us."

"He's gone for now, and he took Helen's brothers. Better chances for us to speak with her privately," the third man said. His voice was rough, as if made of stones. He grinned, making a suggestive swing with his hip. The other two burst out laughing.

"We're wasting a beautiful day," Ithios said. "Perhaps by the river, watching the maidens bathe?"

The second man laughed, tugged a wine skin from inside his tunic and tossed it to the third. They moved down the path, spilling wine and coarse laughter as they went.

Penelope waited until their voices faded away before she left her hiding place. She looked up at the hot sun and grimaced. The women were to spend the day at the river. She had to warn Helen. Perhaps Helen would ask her father to post some guards. The idea of Ithios' friends seeing her naked made Penelope feel ill.

The next night, and the night after, Penelope wore her boy disguise and slipped outside to explore. She couldn't lie still long enough to fall asleep.

She regained the excitement of hunting and roaming during her nighttime wandering. Penelope planned during the day where she wanted to go at night. She studied the halls and listened to the servants talking; who would be on duty in the halls, what passages and doors would be without guard or torch. She wandered without light sometimes, trusting to her hands and feet and ears.

The third night, she made her way to the stables. Penelope had a vague plan to try to ride an older horse. There were always rumors of Amazons coming through to trade, to seek new fathers for their children, to sell weapons or buy. Her success in roaming undiscovered gave her hope to run away and escape marriage. If she could learn to ride, perhaps she could steal a horse and reach an Amazon emissary before her uncle's men caught her.

If he sent anyone. For the most part, Tyndareos acted as if Penelope was not in his household. Could she hope he had forgotten her, or had no real plan to marry her off?

She slipped into the stables, disconcerted to see a torch burning in a stand in the aisle between the stalls. Penelope thought the horses would need dark and quiet to rest. She slowed her steps and rested her hand on the knife at her belt. She considered the idea of someone else trying to steal her uncle's horses, then rejected it. Thieves didn't use torches any more than girls who wandered the night when they belonged in bed.

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

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

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

The question still bothered her the next morning and Helen teased her for being preoccupied. Penelope searched for Melantho as the women began their morning of sewing and weaving, and found her in a corner with some year-mates. Rain threatened, so the women stayed indoors again.

Melantho wore a necklace of tiny, dull blue stones. It was new, likely a gift from Aias.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Penelope thought he was maybe twenty-two, as golden and perfect in coloring and features as Helen. Richly dressed. Youthfully slim-no muscle of a man tested in battle. She didn't recognize his face. He was a newcomer or very minor noble who sat in the shadows in the feasting hall.

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

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

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

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

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

"He will listen to you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I merely scratched Aias." Penelope swallowed hard to keep from laughing. Such wild stories told about her-who would have said such things, and why? It amused her even as she wondered at the reasons.

"Please, Lady Penelope, I only wish to be friends." He held out the pin again.

"I thank you, truly, but it would not be fair to you. Friends do not endanger friends," she added, biting her lip to keep from smiling. No matter the rumors, she would use them to her advantage. If stories of danger kept suitors away, all the better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And my cousins' bodies?"

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

"Are you fevered? Is the wound going bad?" Penelope asked, rising and pressing a hand against his forehead. He sweated, but only a light, cool moisture. Odysseus gently moved her hand off his forehead. He held it and she couldn't retrieve her hand. His touch-gentle, yet strong and irresistible-sent a strange trembling through her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Serve?" She swallowed hard, unable to believe her luck. Her disguise held. Penelope felt a knot of tension dissolve and she smiled. "I serve Lady Penelope."

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

"She is angry."

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

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

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

Penelope nodded in her turn, knowing whom he meant. She let herself relax and studied Odysseus, silvered by the moonlight, and hoped the shadows hid her features enough.

"What do you think happened to the bodies?" she asked, when the night quiet flowed soothing around them again.

"Taken." He glanced up once at the stars high and softly bright above. "Polydeukes called out to Zeus...rumors say only Kastor was the son of Tyndareos."

"I didn't know." She flinched when Odysseus frowned at her. "I have been in Alybas with my lady for five years. I was only a small boy when we left Sparta."

"I should have realized..." He nodded to her-an apology, she decided. "There have been rumors Zeus deceived Leda more than once."

"So when Polydeukes-when the prince called out to him, Zeus was answering his son, not just a prayer for help." Penelope nodded. It made sense. "Then the prince was immortal-that is why he didn't fall from his wounds."

"You have a keen ear, boy, listening where no one can see you."

"My lady told me what you told her, Lord Odysseus," she returned quickly.

"She favors you, then?" He smiled. "Can you tell me which of us she favors as a husband?"

"I don't-" Penelope shrank back a little from the pool, hoping the shadows would hide her burning face. "They are suitors for Helen, not for her."

"Your lady is most lovely, boy-what are you called?" Odysseus stood and took a few steps toward her, frowning.

"Dyvis," she blurted, recalling a boy in Alybas, her year-mate and friend until he died of a spring fever.

"Well, Dyvis, your mistress is old enough to marry and she is of royal blood. Only a fool thinks Tyndareos brought Penelope back to Sparta merely to keep Helen company. Who do you think your mistress prefers?"

"She does not want to marry."

"The old ways are gone, unfortunately, when a royal daughter could choose."

"Old ways?" Her heart stopped for nearly a breath.

"Surely they still teach the old ways in Alybas?" He came over and sat on the rim of the pool a few paces from her. A muffled groan escaped him.

"Some," she admitted. "A few older women speak of it. Only in whispers. My lady was mocked for listening."

"They were fools to mock her. Do you hold with the old ways, Dyvis?"

For a moment she stared at him, forgetting the false name she had given him. Penelope blushed and looked away, hoping he had not seen her thoughts in her face.

"There is much truth in what the old women and priestesses say. My lady is from a line of priestesses."

"I know." His voice grew thick with unspoken thoughts.

"What will happen to Sparta, with both princes dead?" she blurted to fight the strange fluttering of her heart.

"The old ways will lead. Helen's husband will be king, taking his power through her. Their child will be heir."

"If Helen has a daughter, the trouble will begin again."

"True." He closed his eyes, tilting his face up at the stars and moon, as if he could feel their light. "On Ithaka, many still follow the old ways, looking to the one Goddess before calling on Zeus and his brothers. I wish my sister lived to be queen, and leave me to explore the world."

"Sailing?" Penelope imagined him standing in the prow of his ship, looking out over sea and unnamed lands ahead.

"For the most part." Odysseus chuckled, glancing at her. "Would you like to be an explorer, Dyvis?"

"I must stay and tend to my lady." She returned his smile. "She is sorely hurt by the news today. Teris and Seleron are traitors, aren't they?"

"I believe so. But Idas and Lynceaus are dead, so there is no proof."

"It's not fair! If I could, I would kill them myself, no matter what might happen to me. Helen-she can't sleep, can't eat. She sits in the window and whimpers. She can hardly see for the tears. I can't-" She stopped with tight dread pulsing through her body. A glance at Odysseus showed him watching her with nothing but interest.

"All the king can do is send them away. Even small, rough Ithaka hasn't been disgraced by my being refused." Odysseus smiled, but it was a coldly triumphant smile.

"It isn't enough. Life for life."

"Dyvis, you are loyal and the gods will bless you for that. But you are only a boy, untrained." He stood up, a flicker of pain on his face. "Go to bed. The hour is late and you'll need your strength in the morning to help your mistress. No matter how brave a face she wears, no matter her strength, she hurts as much as Helen." He gestured back toward the arch she had come through.

There was nothing Penelope could do but stand and obey. When she looked back, he still stood by the pond, looking up at the stars.

Tyndareos held court three days later and all came out as Odysseus said. Accusations were spoken against the two suitors, accusations by Menelaos and Odysseus of treachery. There was no proof to support either side. Teris and Seleron were sent away, disgraced. Tyndareos announced that the man who married Helen would become his son and rule Sparta.

When Dolios brought Penelope the news, she thanked him in a quiet voice, then went to her room and cried.

CHAPTER SIX

"Come to gloat?" Ithios roared, leaping to his feet. The once quiet clearing echoed the thunder of his voice.

Penelope rocked back on her heels and stared. She had come to the little grove by the river to be alone. Her brother was the last person she expected to see. Usually by this time of the afternoon he was asleep in his rooms, resting for the evening's feasting or games.

"Brother, what-"

"Which of you put him up to it?" He advanced on her, shoulders hunched, hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Put who-"

"I should be the next king of Sparta!"

"Our uncle has the choice and the right."

"He's so in fear of Helen he'd rather steal my right to the throne than anger her. She's no daughter of Zeus. She's a common slut that-"

Penelope slapped him. Swinging with her whole body. She had the satisfaction of seeing Ithios stumble, knocked off balance. Then the stinging burst into her hand. She thought she had cracked bones. Ithios stared, his face white where she hit him, then brighter red as the blood flowed back into the flesh.

Aias laughed, startling them both. Penelope turned, her mouth dropping open. He stood to one side of the little clearing, leaning against a tree. She turned back to her brother, prickles of fear running up and down her back. What if he made his threats come true?

"I told you she had a strong arm." The black-haired giant's smile faded. "I'll not listen to you speak ill of Helen."

"You'd champion her? Though you know you have no hope of bedding her?" Ithios sneered. He pressed his hand against his sore face, wincing. Anger sparkled in his eyes.

"She is the daughter of Zeus. That is enough for me."

"Then even less reason to give her Sparta! It should be mine. My uncle should have named me his heir the same day he sent Teris and Seleron away."

"You want the throne very much," Penelope said, voice quiet, disturbing thoughts running through her mind.

Ithios tried to smile and winced. "Sister, you have a duty to me. Speak to the king. He will listen to you."

"Why should he listen to me? Why does everyone think the king will listen to me?" she blurted.

"Tell him the throne is mine!"

"You should go," Aias said, gesturing back the way Penelope had come. "He's gone mad with jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Ithios roared. He stepped back, gaping at his friend. "Jealous of what belongs to me?"

"Be careful who hears you say that," Penelope warned, as she turned to leave.

"Don't give me orders!" He raised his hand to hit her, but Aias stopped him with a frown.

"Advice, Ithios," she snapped.

"Why would you give me advice?"

"Teris was your friend?" Penelope paused at the edge of the clearing. She waited until her brother nodded. "Some might accuse you of helping murder our cousins."

Ithios flung himself at her, covering the open ground in three lunging steps. Penelope barely had time to draw a breath and duck before he knocked her to the ground. She rolled, trying to remember her grandfather's teaching. She shrieked as Ithios kicked the side of her head.

Then Aias was there, pulling the writhing, screaming, spitting Ithios off her.

King Tyndareos did not hold court when he heard the news. He came to see Penelope first, silently watching Helen fuss over her few cuts. He left and called Ithios before him, with few witnesses. The next morning, Penelope learned her brother had been banished from Sparta until after she married. She nodded, thanked the servant who brought her the news, and went back to her weaving. Inside, she trembled. Finally, her uncle had acknowledged her impending marriage.

Penelope didn't dare leave her bed and roam for several nights. Helen leaned on her, as if Penelope were the elder and Helen a little child. It startled her to find she could give orders that contradicted Helen's, and the servants would obey. Penelope marveled at the feeling of power- and the next moment knew it for a sham. Only among the women did she rule. She devoted herself to comforting Helen and weaving the tapestry she had promised for the bridal night. When a second night came without Helen needing comfort, Penelope dared to put on her boy clothes and slip out the window to roam again.

She reached the fountain pool in the king's garden before she realized what she intended. Penelope sat in the shadows to hide her bruises, glad the moon waned. She hoped her blush didn't show as bright hot as it felt. Three times she told herself to get up from the edge of the pool and leave, and each time she settled down again.

"Your mistress must be feeling better, if you are out walking tonight," Odysseus said when he appeared. He nodded to her and sat on the bench, putting nearly a spear's length between them. Penelope was grateful. "Did her brother hurt her badly?"

"Only a few bruises. She is...willing to pay that price, to keep him from tormenting her."

"Tormenting her how?" His voice threatened to crack, sending a warmth through her.

"He threatened to give her to a husband she loathed...among other things." Penelope shrugged, trying to appear not to care.

"Have no fear for your mistress. There are many who will guard her, if only she asks." Odysseus laughed when she gaped at him. "The Lady Penelope is admired beyond the women's side of the palace. Didn't you know?"

"No one will tell me what happens anywhere," she admitted, then flinched at the frustration heavy in her voice. "I hoped you could."

"What is there to tell?" He shrugged, and she was pleased to see no stiffness in his movements. "Most suitors have gone away for a moon, to leave the king to mourn in peace. Many will stay away, with no harm to their pride."

"Some have not gone."

"No. Some, he asked to stay."

"Then he favors you for Helen?"

"I doubt that, Dyvis." Odysseus shook his head, grinning at her. He looked at the moon and stretched his arms as if he would reach up and touch the sky. "No, I am here because the king favors Menelaos and I am Menelaos' oath friend. Nothing more than that."

"You think Ithaka has no chance of making Helen its queen?" Penelope turned to face him.

"Menelaos is brother to Agamemnon of Mycenae. Sparta needs good allies."

"Then war is coming?"

"Someday. With change comes turmoil. People fight to take what doesn't belong to them, or what others have wrongfully taken from them. Would you like to go to war, Dyvis?" His grin changed, dimming a little.

"I can use a spear for hunting, and a sling. Little else," she admitted. "I wanted to learn to use a bow before we left Alybas, but my grandfather said I didn't have the strength in my shoulders."

"You do look thin." His eyes sparkled as he looked her over. Penelope tried not to flinch; if he could see her bruises, he would penetrate her disguise. "I have some skill with the bow. I could teach you, if you could escape your mistress each afternoon."

"Oh, I...thank you, Lord Odysseus, but I can't." Penelope thought she would be sick, her elation turned cold in a heartbeat. "My mistress needs me all day."

"You're a good lad, Dyvis. The gods bless you for your loyalty. Is Penelope better? I heard Helen still makes herself sick with mourning and her cousin is her strength."

"She tries," she said in a near-whisper. Penelope felt her throat constrict, with a hundred questions she wanted to ask and could not ask without arousing his suspicions. She stood instead. "I should return to her, if she needs me. Thank you for answering."

"I often walk at night, thinking of Ithaka. You're welcome to join me if you have other questions."

Penelope could only nod her thanks. She hurried to the arch, pausing there with a new thought. She looked back and he still sat on the bench, watching her.

"Will you tell me about Ithaka, next time?" Her voice caught in her throat when Odysseus turned to look at her. A hunger burned on his face. "I like to learn about new places," she said, the words dragged from her, using them as a shield against feelings she couldn't understand.

"I would enjoy that. Go to bed-boy." He watched her as she ran.

Safely back in her room and bed, Penelope shivered. She knew the expression on his face. He longed for Ithaka as she longed for Alybas and Bachan.

The month of mourning dragged, though Penelope welcomed the quiet. She and Helen could roam the palace wherever they wished, without fear of meeting suitors and needing escorts. The warm damp of spring turned into the crackling heat of summer. The women spent more time by the river washing clothes, mending, sewing, gossiping. Sometimes Penelope wondered if they would try to sleep along the river's edge, to escape the stifling heat of the summer nights. She knew Helen might even have suggested such a silly idea, if not for the grief that made her blue eyes gray.

The gaiety of their old times by the river did return, little by little. Serving girls giggled over sweethearts. The women had races along the river's edge and contests throwing balls, and dancing until they couldn't move for the fire in their legs and lungs. Penelope tried to invent riddle contests like the men, but none of the maids were interested. Helen refused to play. When they couldn't even remember Odysseus' riddle of the water, which they had all heard Penelope answer, she gave up in disgust.

One afternoon, when she chased a ball thrown too far, Penelope neared the woods. She took the time to snatch up a stick before entering the shadows. At the corner of her eye, she thought she caught movement.

Penelope gripped the stick tighter when her hunt took her toward that particular spot. Nothing moved in the stand of trees except herself. Not even the breeze. Penelope found the ball, and next to it were two sets of sandal prints, deep in the soft ground, almost hidden by shadows. Two men had stood there for a long time. Penelope wondered if it was only her imagination that she had seen golden hair, and perhaps a flash of dark red. Menelaos and Odysseus were constantly together, like brothers. The idea of those two spying on the women pleased her a little. She resolved to work even harder at the games, to excel in everything.

Every few nights, she ventured from her room. Odysseus was always there in the king's garden. Sometimes he waited for her, sometimes he didn't appear until she sat alone a while. Not a single night of roaming went by that he didn't appear. Every question she asked, he answered. Penelope learned about Ithaka, its ships and rocky shores, the warriors who loved the flashing, rough sea and the battles that had been fought to hold it safe. She learned about the rich court of Mycenae and harsh, golden Agamemnon who ruled there. She learned the difference between the true and false tales that surrounded the family of Atreus, and the curses said to rest on that bloodline.

Penelope lived for those moonlit lessons about the world around her. No one, she knew, would ever talk so openly to her if they knew she wasn't a boy. She wondered what Odysseus would say if he knew the truth-and sometimes wondered why he had not discovered it already.

The suitors returned, bringing bustle and feasting back to the palace. The rains returned with them, bringing relief from the heavy, hot air.

After a three-day stretch of showers that kept everyone indoors, Helen and Penelope spent the day with their maids in the garden. The swollen river raged outside its usual course, denying them their favorite playground along its banks. As night fell, they sat in Helen's rooms, planning dresses for a coming feast. Helen laughed, holding up a bright red length of cloth and declared that it matched her favorite ball perfectly for color. That was when they discovered the ball missing.

"You look in the weaving room," Penelope said, getting up, "and I'll check outside."

"Be careful," Helen said with a teasing laugh. "There might be dark-haired giants hiding in the shadows."

"If there are, you'll soon hear them running from me, shrieking in fright." Penelope laughed as she left.

She didn't find the ball in the women's gardens. Penelope retraced her steps, trying to remember exactly where she and Helen had run, playing their games. The trampled, damp grass made tracking easier. A smile touched her lips as she recalled the story Odysseus told her two nights before, about the first time his father taught him to track and hunt.

Penelope didn't realize how far she wandered until she reached the arch into the king's garden. The ball could have rolled through the arch. She only searched a few minutes before she found the ball, half invisible in the deepening shadows, under the thick branches of a hedge. She had to get down on her hands and knees to reach far enough in to retrieve the toy.

"I'm not surprised," King Tyndareos said. His voice came from the other side of the hedge. Penelope stiffened, wondering why she hadn't heard him approaching. Then she heard two sets of footsteps.

"What doesn't surprise you?" A touch of laughter hung in Odysseus' voice. "That I don't seek Helen as my bride, or that I would confess it to you?"

"I may be an old man, but I am not blind or witless yet." The king sounded more alive and in better humor than Penelope had heard her uncle in weeks. "You never did look at Helen with that starvation and worship the others wear. Not even from the first day you arrived."

"I expected a different woman." Odysseus' voice came so clearly, Penelope knew they had paused in front of her, with the hedge between them. She stayed kneeling and held her breath, though her heart pounded so loudly she wondered neither man heard. "No matter what the emissaries say, trouble waits. The traders say so, and they move among the common people. I need a different kind of queen for Ithaka, if I am called away to war."

"Be that as it may..." Tyndareos sighed, loudly, wearily. "You say this to assure me I can trust you."

"If you ask me for advice, a plan to avert catastrophe for Sparta, I know it concerns Helen's marriage."

"Indeed. I should send my guests home before the fall storms strand the island princes here. Yet how can I resolve the problem that surrounds my daughter's marriage? For every prince who abides by my choice, another will attack me, kidnap Helen and kill her chosen husband out of anger."

"I've considered the problem," Odysseus admitted, his words slow. A few branches rustled in the hedge near the top and Penelope imagined him plucking at leaves. "I have a solution, but it will be costly. Very costly."

"A week of sacrifices, to every temple? I've considered it." Tyndareos laughed raggedly.

"Not that kind of cost. The solution is simple." A strange, tight chuckle escaped Odysseus. "The payment for my help is what shall cost you dearly."

"And what could that be?" Tyndareos stepped away from the hedge and the other man followed. Penelope stayed on her knees, hunched over so the men would not see her if they turned around. "Half of Sparta? I could almost grant you that with joy, if it would preserve the peace I worked so hard to find."

"More precious than that. Your niece, Penelope is my price. I want her as my wife."

"Penelope is still a child." Tyndareos' voice went cold and hard.

"She was fifteen last winter. She's old enough to marry. Even if you can't see that, many soon will."

"So I should give her to poor, rough Ithaka, to spare my house another siege?" The king laughed, a bitter sound.

"You brought Penelope from Alybas to buy safety for Sparta. You would have bought another alliance with Helen, if her brothers still lived."

"I should send you away for speaking such words, but Menelaos is your oath-friend."

Penelope bit her hand to keep from crying aloud. She heard the defeat in her uncle's voice, despite his anger.

"Let us be honest, King Tyndareos. Yes, Ithaka is small and rough, compared to Sparta or Mycenae or Pylos. But we are strong and brave and have more than enough for our needs. Penelope is the queen I need. She has been the strength of this household since your sons were taken by Zeus. You say she is still a child-I say Helen is the child, and Penelope is the woman grown. A woman I need. Many on Ithaka still hold to the old ways, and I need a queen like her, to hold the people's hearts and allegiance." Odysseus leaned against the hedge. Penelope imagined he would push through the hedge at any moment and discover her there, listening. She should flee, but she couldn't move.

"You need my help, King Tyndareos," he continued after a long, heart-thudding moment of silence. "I knew that when you asked me to talk with you here. Without my advice, you cannot give Helen to Menelaos without fear of rebellion."

"What oracle says I will give my daughter to Menelaos?" The king's voice cracked like an old man's, wasting his strength with bravado.

"You need Mycenae. You fear Agamemnon's anger if you refuse his brother." Odysseus paused. When he spoke again, Penelope heard the smile in his voice. "More important, Helen favors Menelaos. You love your daughter. Her happiness competes with Sparta's welfare."

"What if Helen favored you, instead?" Tyndareos' voice softened. Penelope shivered, knowing he had surrendered.

"I still wouldn't ask for her. Menelaos will be a good king for Sparta and can care for Helen as she deserves. I need a strong queen. Penelope."

"She may be too strong for even you, Odysseus of Ithaka. She leads Helen by the nose and no one protests."

Penelope nearly leaped to her feet to run, but her legs were too weak. Her face burned as she acknowledged her uncle might be right.

"You want to announce your decision soon," Odysseus said. "You need my plan to keep Sparta and Helen and Menelaos safe. Even if you offer me half of Sparta and all the treasure in your palace, Penelope is still my price." His voice calmed and faded as he walked away from the hedge, further into the king's garden. Tyndareos followed.

Penelope flinched as a sob escaped her. Neither man heard, too far away and involved in the finer details of the bargain they argued. Somehow she got to her feet, still clutching the ball. She ran, never speaking to anyone until she reached her room. Eurynome was there.

"Dear child, what has happened? Did Aias-" The old nurse bit her lip to hold back the words.

Quickly, fighting the shaking in her whole body, Penelope blurted the news. "I don't want to marry anyone!" she finished, letting Eurynome cradle her close as if she were a little girl again.

"Especially not Odysseus of Ithaka," the woman said, her voice hard, the words sharp.

"Eurynome-the other princes favor him. He wins so many of the games..." Penelope's face warmed as she realized she defended Odysseus.

"Yes, he is respected and admired, and he is skilled and strong and fast, but Ithaka isn't good enough for you."

Penelope barely heard as her nurse listed all the faults and lacks in Ithaka. She remembered how Odysseus' eyes gleamed when he talked about his home, the love and pride in his voice, the wonderful stories he told of hunting in the hills, building ships, sailing the crashing waves.

"I must marry the man my uncle chooses," she whispered. "I did ask Athena to give me to a prince who loved the sea."

"Penelope-my dear child-surely there must be something-"

"No." Penelope was surprised to feel tears in her eyes now. "I would shame my uncle by even trying to refuse." She thought of her boy disguise, hidden away. She knew the basics of hunting and trapping and hiding. The palace would hum like a bee's hive after her uncle announced his decision-tonight would be her chance.

The sounds of feasting were fading in the night air when Penelope slipped over the edge of her windowsill. She carried a spear, secreted under her bed weeks before in the idea of practicing under Odysseus' tutelage. Gold and silver and half a loaf of bread bounced heavily in the pouch hanging on her belt and she wore sandals. She went straight to the stables, flinching when a shadow in the moonlight resolved into an owl. Penelope stopped a few steps into the courtyard and looked around. She thought she heard an owl hoot.

Odysseus stepped into the torchlight in front of the stable door. Penelope forced herself to smile at him. She was only Dyvis, a boy servant, she reminded herself. Her disguise felt very thin in the bright flare of the torches. Odysseus didn't smile.

"I don't want to know where you're going, Dyvis." He rested his hand on the latch of the stable door. Penelope saw the muscles shift in his arm-she wouldn't be able to move the door while he stood there. "Remember your mistress needs you. And runaway slaves are branded and beaten when they are caught."

"Who says I am running away?" She flinched at the thin, weak, crackling sound of her voice.

"Your mistress has mistreated you? Threatened you? I thought not," he said, when she could only shake her head. "Your mistress is worthy of your loyalty. Stay with her, boy. She needs you. Especially now."

"Yes, my lord," Penelope whispered, looking down at her feet to keep from meeting his eyes.

She knew Odysseus watched her the entire journey back to her room. By the time she reached her window, she no longer cared what he saw or thought. When she turned to see where he stood, he had vanished into the night. The tears came, but shame or frustration or anger, she couldn't decide.

The next day, a massive sacrifice took place on the plain between the palace and the river. Neither Penelope nor Helen attended. No maids went near the place. All were busy, along with Lystia, preparing for the wedding festivities.

A suite of rooms was purified and decorated for Helen and her husband. No one but Helen knew his name. She had gone to her father in private and came back smiling, refusing to even give a clue. Penelope didn't join in the teasing and begging. She was glad her cousin was happy, and glad she hadn't told Helen about the bargain. She remembered her uncle's voice, how it changed while he argued with Odysseus. She knew Tyndareos considered it an insult that Odysseus wanted to marry her-yet her uncle gave her to him all the same.

While the men were on the plain, making their sacrifices from dawn until the afternoon sun slanted into their eyes, the women kept busy with the purification rituals for a bride. The odor of burned flesh, of incense and wine spilled out in vows and offerings intruded everywhere in the palace. Penelope couldn't put it out of her thoughts, as she helped Helen through the required series of baths and perfuming. She had been chosen as her cousin's attendant for the ceremonies and it was her duty to help Helen in every step. No other hand could touch her until Helen had returned from the long afternoon of visits to the temples and goddesses, to make prayers and offerings for blessings on the wedding. Penelope fulfilled her duties and wondered who would attend her own marriage preparations. She refused to have Melantho, who had begun boasting about her conquest of Aias.

Dolios was one of the first servants to return from the plain after that long day of sacrifices. He came immediately to the women's room, where Helen and Penelope and the maids sat weaving, waiting, their chatter stilled by curiosity. He waited at the door until Penelope noticed him and beckoned for him to come in. He rubbed self-consciously at the stains of soot, grease and blood on his tunic.

"Is it permitted for us to know now?" Helen asked.

"Soon the whole world will know." He gestured widely, to take in more than Sparta and the lands of the Achaians. "The suitors made sacrifices to the gods and their consorts, to the Furies and Fates, and made vows. To protect Helen and the man chosen as her husband. To bring vengeance on anyone who harms the man or tries to carry off Helen. No matter how far they might go, no matter how long it takes. All day long, the same vow, with the crackling of fires and the burning of sacrifices everywhere." Dolios smiled. "The gods will be pleased."

"They will hold every man accountable," Helen murmured. She went pale, and turned to Penelope. "How much more will they hold me accountable if anything should happen? Even if I am innocent, I will be held to blame."

"Helen, nothing will happen. You want the man you are to marry, don't you?" Penelope hurried over from the small loom, where she had set up a new pattern. She hugged her cousin and gave Dolios a smile of thanks and a nod of dismissal. "With all the princes of Achaia to protect you and stand for your honor, what could happen?"

"What could happen?" she echoed. She gave Penelope a smile and a hug in return, then freed herself. "I must prepare. My father said when the sacrifices were done, my chosen would come to see me." A slow blush began to rise in her face, and a sparkle of anticipation lit her eyes.

Watching her, Penelope wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The marriage festivities were planned for the next day. How soon until everyone knew Odysseus had won her?

In Sparta, the bride and her attendants didn't join in the marriage feast. Helen and Penelope would eat together in the bridal chamber, waiting for Menelaos. Penelope remembered the marriages she had witnessed in Alybas. The festivities had been small, but everyone shared them together, and the groom led his bride away to their chamber accompanied by the songs of their friends.

The maids undressed Helen, anointed her with perfume, and brushed her hair so it lay soft and glowing over her shoulders to her waist. Alkippe stood at watch far down the hall, to warn them when Menelaos approached.

Penelope and Helen sat in the silent bridal chamber, Helen in the bed with the sheet drawn up past her breasts, Penelope in a chair by the bed. They had eaten little, the quiet broken by soft, nervous laughter when their eyes met. A gentle breeze made the torches flicker. Penelope found she couldn't look at Helen, and concentrated on her tapestry on the wall opposite the bed. She tried to find flaws in it, tried to discern a place where she should have put a different color, let the pattern go another direction. She found she couldn't think clearly enough to do even that. Her imagination kept drifting to the night when she would be the anointed bride, waiting in the bed.

Helen was hard to look at. She glowed, like she did when the glory of the slanting afternoon sun struck her from behind, creating a corona that could blind. Her eyes were a deeper, brighter blue, dancing with suppressed laughter and eagerness. Roses flushed her golden cheeks. Penelope envied her cousin's ivory neck and shoulders, adorned perfectly by the single strand of gold beads and pink pearls, a bridal gift from Menelaos. Penelope knew her own skin was a deeper gold than Helen's, tanning easily from one afternoon in the sun. She had thought it beautiful, until now. Then again, she reminded herself, every bride was beautiful.

"I envy you," she whispered.

"Why?" Helen laughed. It had a joyous, musical sound, but marred by nervousness. "You will marry Odysseus soon. Don't you want to marry him?"

Penelope shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt cold, suddenly, and wished she had the energy to get up and go to the windows, to close all the bronze shutters and shut out the cool of the night. She had been strangely pleased when Helen had laughed for joy, hugging her, congratulating her, when it was announced Penelope would be given to Odysseus three days after Menelaos took his bride. In the face of her cousin's happy anticipation, how could she explain her own worries?

They sat in silence for many long heartbeats after that. Penelope could hear, far off and muted, the sounds of feasting in the great hall. She wondered what the failed suitors were saying to Menelaos-wishing him well, blessing him, or giving mocking curses, envying his success?

King Nestor was among the celebrants. Penelope had been allowed to greet him and accept the bridal gifts he brought for her and Helen-rings of silver and gold, hair clips with delicate designs of colored stones, and the ceremonial joining cups for their wedding nights. Nestor had complimented her on winning Odysseus as a husband, then laughed when she could only frown at him, puzzled by his phrasing.

Her thoughts turned to Odysseus. Did his thoughts move ahead to the night he would be the honored one, sitting at the high table with Tyndareos, accepting songs of blessing, eating the food blessed by the priestesses of Aphrodite?

"There is no reason to be afraid," Helen whispered. She leaned forward, reaching across the space between bed and chair to clasp her cousin's wrist. "Even if you don't know what to do, as long as you want to please your husband, and he wants to please you..." She trailed off, eyes dancing in anticipation and delight.

Soft tapping, then running footsteps approached from down the hall. Alkippe pushed the wide doors open and stopped on the threshold. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and she had to catch her breath before speaking. She didn't have to speak; her mere presence told them Menelaos approached.

Penelope stood, returned Helen's clasp, and hurried away after Alkippe. She glanced back once, as she tugged the heavy doors closed. Helen looked very small in the wide, high bed. Penelope followed the maid to the intersecting hall that led to her own room. She paused at the corner when she heard shuffling footsteps, the ring of metal against stone. Menelaos appeared, his face flushed, tunic rumpled, hair darkened with perspiration. As he walked, he fumbled one-handed with the clasp for his cloak. The garment slipped off his shoulders and he caught it up with an unsteady arm. The movement brought his other hand up against the wall, making the silver cup he carried ring again as it hit and spilled a few drops of wine. Penelope hurried away before she could be seen or her mind could comprehend.

In the morning, Helen was too quiet when Penelope led the maids to the bridal chamber to attend her. She smiled at her cousin but offered no comment. Penelope looked for bruises, for some sign of Menelaos' drunken state the night before. The joy she had expected in her cousin's eyes was missing. Helen looked unharmed. The sheets were rumpled and stained with sweat.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Penelope." Eurynome shook her awake gently, a hand on her shoulder. "Child, we must talk."

"Is something wrong?" Penelope sat up and looked around her chamber. Then she remembered. Today, she began her own procession of prayers at the temples.

Her nurse sat on the edge of the bed. Her mouth settled into grim lines and she refused to meet Penelope's eyes as she began. "Your own mother should be giving you this advice. Perhaps if she were alive, you would not-"

"I am resolved to obey my uncle's choice for me."

"You are dutiful. May the gods bless you for that, at least." The woman sighed, nodding. "It is no use trying to match wits with Odysseus or arguing with him when his orders appear foolish to you. For the peace of your household, endure rather than resist. Be sweet and submissive. Agree with him and then find ways to do what is proper and sensible. Make him think you are his willing, docile bride and nothing he does will anger you. Then, you can train him to your leading."

"Eurynome, I-"

"Yes, it sounds devious and deceitful. You are marrying a deceitful, devious man. I will not let you go to his bed and his household unprepared." Eurynome sniffed, and Penelope was startled to realize the woman fought tears.

"He is not truly as bad as he seems. I think I could be happy with him."

"Give him no children."

"Eurynome!" She stared at the woman, startled more by the vehemence in her voice than the words.

"You cannot refuse to share his bed or satisfy his needs. It is better, I think, to endure a man's hunger than to bear children from tainted seed."

"You will not talk of my husband that way." Penelope sat up straight, her voice hardening as she spoke. It startled her to see how Eurynome wilted in response.

"I love you, child. I want to protect you. There are potions to drink, to keep his seed from joining with yours. Oils and lotions to anoint yourself. I will make them for you. If you wish," she added, her voice dropping.

"You truly have been a loving mother to me." Penelope swallowed hard against the sudden thickness in her throat. "My aunt taught me, it is a woman's duty to decide if she will conceive or not. She taught me how to prevent conceiving. I will use what you give me, and thankfully. But don't tell me when it is right to deny my husband a child. That is between the Goddess and my own heart."

Likely, the priest wondered why a bride came to Athena's temple, rather than Aphrodite and Hera. Penelope didn't care. She was thankful the man agreed with her request to be alone. Alkippe had been chosen as her attendant and she stood now at the far end of the sanctuary, making sure no one approached.

"Please, great Athena," Penelope whispered, going to her knees. She kept her eyes fixed on the serene features of the statue, hoping for some response, some sign. "It is said you favor the one I must marry. Take me under your protection as well. Give me the wisdom to please him. And please, touch his thoughts on our bridal night. I want to please him, but how can I if I fear him and he is tottering with wine? Please, let him come to me with gentleness and I will sacrifice to your altar first, on all feast days." She bowed her head as she finished, waiting.

Penelope startled as she heard a soft brushing sound near doorway. She looked and saw a shadow move. Her heart sank. Likely the priest waited for her to leave. The sound was probably his sandal brushing the stone pavements. She hoped the man had not heard her whispered prayer. What sort of request was that for a bride to make?

Alkippe met her at the doorway and followed her down the steps. She handed Penelope her wooden doll. They would next go to Artemis' temple, to offer up her girlhood toys. Penelope stroked the carved features of the doll and remembered the day her father gave it to her. He told her of the day she would place the toy on Artemis' altar, and had told her she would be happy.

Penelope was not sure how she felt. Pride, that Odysseus wanted her so much. Anger, that Eurynome and the king both thought so little of Odysseus, to take his request as insult. Despair, that her escape had been thwarted. Curiosity, to know what made Melantho smile and slip away to numerous lovers. And anticipation of sailing the sea again, journeying to the island that Odysseus spoke of with such pride and affection.

Amid all the emotions churning in her heart, Penelope wondered if there was room for happiness. She hoped it would come, soon.

She nearly stopped when she thought she caught a glimpse of a man with dark red hair stepping into a doorway. Penelope hoped her face wasn't as red warm as it felt. Did Odysseus follow her? She didn't know whether to feel ashamed or flattered.

She remembered Odysseus' rage at Aias, when the black-haired giant attacked her. Penelope realized there was so little she truly knew about the man she was to marry. She reminded herself, when she knelt at Hera's altar, to pray for help to always make Odysseus smile at her, and never give him cause for frowns or anger. She didn't want him ever to show such fury at her.

Penelope sat down slowly, trying not to listen to the music, laughing and singing that pulsed through the palace. She remembered how long the sounds had echoed through the palace on Helen's bridal night. She remembered the wave of laughter that likely signaled Menelaos' exit from the hall. Alkippe had come running soon after that, to warn them he approached. Penelope remembered how he staggered.

Now it was her turn to sit in the chair and be tended by the maids. To have the jewels and flowers taken from her hair. To have her hair brushed lustrous and smooth. To have her pearls and rings and rich robes removed, her body rubbed with scented oil. And then be led to the bridal bed. To wait, trying not to shiver in the cool night air, with Alkippe's silent company until Odysseus came to claim her.

Helen had not been afraid, Penelope remembered. She flinched as the last chain tangled in her hair. Melantho offered no apology and Penelope didn't rebuke her. The girl was still upset she hadn't been chosen as her companion.

Her thoughts returned to her cousin. Helen hadn't been afraid because Helen had slept with a man before. Helen knew how to please a man in his bed, but had been too quiet when Penelope tended her the next morning. Menelaos had been clumsy in his wine-sodden state and claimed his bride as if she were a recalcitrant slave girl bought for breeding.

Odysseus had never grown drunk during the feasting, as far as Penelope knew. He had never winced at the morning brightness or complained of a sour belly or other pains from too much wine. She had watched for him often enough to guess his daily habits. She tried to comfort herself with that thought and drive away her fears. It didn't help. This was his bridal night and the other men would ply him with wine beyond even his endurance point.

Alkippe brought over the vial of scented oil, which had sat warming by the fire. Penelope braced herself, ready for the maids to begin removing her clothes.

The door into the chamber swung open. The draft of air caught everyone's attention. She looked up to see Odysseus standing framed against the darkness in the hall, the silver cup in his hand. His fine new tunic was still clean and smooth; no sweat gleamed on his face. He caught the clasp of his cloak and twisted it free. He never took his gaze off her.

For a moment she thought her heart had stopped. She saw all the maids looking to her for orders. Eurynome's instructions returned-please her husband in all things. Swallowing, Penelope glanced toward the door and nodded. The girls fled the room like frightened birds.

Odysseus closed the door, then dropped his cloak on a chair nearby. Penelope held still, watching him, waiting. He said nothing. His face was calm, pleasant but unreadable, and he watched her in return as he crossed the room. His beard glistened in the torchlight, gold and red with oil.

"Sweet Penelope," he said, his voice a soft rumble, as he stopped before her. "I bring the cup of our joining. Will you honor me by drinking?" Odysseus knelt so their eyes were level as he held out the cup to her.

The spices in the ceremonial wine filled the air, thickening it so she couldn't breathe for a moment. Penelope gazed into the glistening depths, deep and dark as blood. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat.

"You honor me by giving it," she whispered. Her hands shook but she raised the heavy cup to her lips for the required sip without spilling anything. It was warm from his hand.

She watched Odysseus as he took his sip, noting how his hands didn't tremble. There was a light like laughter in his eyes, but burning deeper and stronger. She hadn't been this close to him since he rescued her from Aias. The clean scent of him filled the air: leather and wood smoke, clean linen and spicy anointing oil.

"This cup holds more wine than I have tasted all day," he said as he put the cup on the table beside her. Odysseus stood and waited, watching her.

"You were at the temple." Penelope closed her eyes, feeling her face burning. She tried to recall the words of her prayer to Athena. Had she misspoken? Had she made Odysseus angry?

"Penelope." His fingers brushed her cheek, startling her so she opened her eyes. Odysseus smiled down at her. "Menelaos has never been able to hold his wine since we were boys." He chuckled, sending a warmth through her that relaxed the tight cold filling her belly. "I want to remember every moment of this night. And not frighten you. You are frightened of me a little, aren't you?"

"I was not expecting you so soon, my husband." The word tasted strange on her tongue, but she smiled at him. "Startled, rather than frightened. They haven't finished preparing me for you."

"Shall I call them back?" He held out his hand for hers and helped her stand.

"No." Penelope felt her heart pounding harder in her chest, as if it would leap free of her flesh. A lightness filled her, a warmth that took away her trembling.

"Penelope, please...don't fear me." His hands rested warm and heavy on her shoulders. She couldn't meet his eyes, lost in the heat and trembling his touch sent through her.

"I'm not afraid." She knew she had spoken truthfully. Her one fear had been removed. She remembered Eurynome's instructions and vowed to be sweet and biddable in all things, to please him and keep him careful of her. "Except afraid that I might not please you," she added in a whisper.

"You please me more than I can express," he hurried to say, his voice thickening.

Her feet moved of their own volition, taking her to the bed. She heard him follow her as she removed her belt. As she reached up and loosened the clasp on one shoulder of her dress, she felt Odysseus work the other clasp. Penelope closed her eyes, feeling only warmth and a new vibrancy pouring through her body. The cloth whispered as her dress dropped to the floor. Odysseus' hands were warm and gentle on her skin as he slipped his arms around her and drew her back against him. She nearly flinched away, feeling his bare chest touch her naked back. His beard brushed the side of her face, his lips soft against her loosened hair. He held her close with one arm around her waist. His other hand brushed over her body, pausing to cup breast and hip. Penelope shivered, enjoying the heat that tore through her.

Gently, he turned her around so she faced him. One hand cupped her cheek, tipping her head up as he bent his head down to her. Penelope closed her eyes, trembling without fear as he kissed her. A spark shot through her body, from her lips to deep in her belly, and she felt a fire begin to grow. She trembled in his embrace, delighted to discover she enjoyed his touch. She thought for a moment about the oil to anoint her body, then realized that didn't matter.

"Do I please you, my lord?" she whispered, when he drew back.

"Very pleased. May I give you joy in return." He caressed her cheek, a stroke of his thumb as gentle as a bird's wing. "Is the rest of you as sweet, Penelope?"

"Sweet?" She opened her eyes, confused, wanting him to kiss her again.

"Your mouth tastes of honey wine." His smile trembled as he bent his head to kiss her again. His arms closed around her, drawing her tight against him.

Penelope returned his kisses, daring to slip her arms around him. He laughed, a gentle sound that vibrated against her lips, all through her body. She clung to him, eyes closed, when he picked her up and laid her down in the bed. His hands moved over her body with feather touches, gentle as the first morning breeze in spring.

Penelope lay still, feeling the thudding of her heart. She didn't move, for fear of halting the tender, gentle flow of Odysseus' hand over her body, strong contrast to the lightning sharp pleasure that held them a short while before. He held her close against him, one arm under her shoulders. Soft kisses, his beard tickling in places, rained down on her face and neck, moving to her shoulders and breasts. She caught her breath once, flinching against a sharp thrill of returning pleasure and opened her eyes. He smiled down at her and stroked a few strands of hair out of her face.

"Not as terrible as you feared?" he whispered.

"Helen said it could be wonderful...Why do the old women tell us to endure, to be afraid?" She felt her face heat as she realized how odd her words sounded. She was no longer Dyvis, free to ask any question in her head.

"Because lovemaking can be a sad thing, if the man thinks only of his own pleasure and not his wife's." Odysseus leaned over her, an arm on either side of her shoulders, studying her face in the light of the last burning torch. "My nurse taught me about the old ways. A king's most important duty then was to protect and serve and please the queen. She is the source of life and blessing for the land, as you shall be, dear Penelope. You will bring joy and new life to Ithaka, as you bring joy to me." He leaned down to kiss her. "Ithaka shall worship you as a priestess of the Goddess," he whispered, following with more kisses.

Penelope slipped her arms around him, holding him close, while new ideas spun through her mind. Athena, she decided, had indeed been watching over her, to give her to a man who would take her to a people with such beliefs. She welcomed the new life waiting for her, as she welcomed the warm weight of his body. When he moved off her to continue his caresses and she clung to him, he laughed.

"Slowly, my sweet lady. We have all the night before us." His smile grew deeper when a caress across her belly startled a laugh out of her. "I like your laughter," he said. "Like a harp."

"Grandfather said I had a foolish laugh," Penelope admitted, then wondered at how easily she confided in him.

"Your grandfather also thought you were a boy. Not everything he taught you can be taken seriously."

"How much do you know about me?" She felt a cooling of the warm pleasure that filled her body.

"As much as your cousins could tell me, as much as I could learn questioning your servants and traders who had gone to Alybas. And as much as you told me." He turned onto his side, propped up on one arm, and looked down at her.

"You knew I was Dyvis." Penelope felt some pride that her voice didn't break and tears didn't fill her eyes. She wondered if the brightness in his eyes was mocking laughter.

"You are too beautiful to be a boy. I will take you anywhere you wish, tell you anything you want to know, but I will not risk someone seeing through your disguise and attacking you as Aias tried." He caressed another wisp of hair out of her eyes, the momentary hardness in his face softening. "You are most definitely the queen for Ithaka and I will risk no harm coming to you."

"I envied you, when you spoke of Ithaka," she whispered, trying to read his thoughts in his eyes.

Penelope remembered everything he had told her of his home. His voice soft, flowing with life, he had spoken of his parents. How his father, Laertes had brought peace to the island as well as prosperity. Of Antikleia, his mother, her golden red beauty and warring, cunning kinsmen. He told her about the house he had left half-finished, to come looking for a bride. Odysseus spoke of the hills of Ithaka where hunting was good. The shadows harbored mystery, where a god or goddess might step out at any moment, or a hidden crevice could cripple a man or dog. He told her about his orchards and vineyards, the colors of sunrise off the shores of Ithaka, the joys of a misty morning, walking along the shore in the cool, damp sand.

"Penelope..." He sighed, shaking his head, and the soberness of his face turned into a smile. "I should steal you away, join King Nestor as he heads home to Pylos by moonlight. We should vanish this very night, before anyone realizes how blind they have been. Every man will envy me my bride, and Ithaka its queen."

"Don't." She felt laughter and tears choking her. "My lord, don't speak foolishness."

"Not foolishness," he murmured. His caresses changed, drawing waves of hot pleasure up through her body.

"Come, before the household wakes," Odysseus whispered, waking her with a kiss. He stroked her hair, then down her shoulder and arm.

Penelope trembled with the sweetness of his kiss and caress and hurried to follow his example. He had brought clothes to replace their wedding garments. She dressed simply in a beltless dress, covering her tangled, unbound hair with a veil. Odysseus wore a plain, dark tunic like a farmer at market would wear. They went barefoot, silent in the dark stone hallways of the palace. Odysseus had obviously planned this, obtaining the plain clothes, the basket of food and skin of wine, and finding the path they took to escape the palace and their bridal chamber. He carried the basket and wineskin and held her hand.

Penelope shivered with pleasure at a new thought. Any other man might hold her hand to keep her with him, to ensure she didn't try to run. Odysseus had no need to fear she would try to escape. He had been as gentle, as kind and giving as any girl could want on her bridal night. He held her hand-she hoped-for the simple pleasure of touching her as they walked.

In silence, they left the palace far behind, with trees between them and it, and the river sliding through the plains before them. He led her to the place where the women spent their afternoons. As they walked, they went through the clearing where he had rescued her from Aias. He stopped them there a moment, looking around as if considering staying. Penelope felt her face warm at the memory of his actions and words that afternoon. She wondered if Odysseus had come this way because he remembered, or simply because it was secluded and beautiful. She couldn't decide which answer she preferred. Then Odysseus led her on, through the trees, into the secluded half-circle of riverbank.

They bathed before eating. Penelope stayed near shore, kneeling on the pebbly bottom of the river, letting the cold, swift flowing waters tug at her body. She knew Odysseus watched her, and knowing drove away the chill.

"What a difference a single night brings," she whispered. The brushing of the wind against her body reminded her of Odysseus' first caress. Penelope hurried out of the water, looking for him and wondering if she had taken too long.

He was there, handing her a cloak to dry with, smiling down at her. His eyes held the same joy and pleasure in morning light that she had seen in torchlight before they both fell asleep. Penelope felt her knees go weak and warmth spread through her belly. Odysseus caught her by the elbow when she swayed a little.

"I fear we are both faint with hunger," he said, his smile changing to fill with laughter. She nodded, not trusting her voice, and watched him walk over to the basket of food. Quickly, she wrung out her hair and tugged her dress over her damp skin.

Odysseus set out a cloth on a flat rock that had served the women as a table often. He brought cheese, bread and honey, and figs out of the basket and set them on the cloth. Penelope knelt next to him and gently pushed his hands away.

"It is the wife's duty to serve her lord," she said, lips trembling as he turned his hands to catch hers. How long, she wondered, would his mere touch spread such warmth and weakness through her body?

"As you wish." His smiled was a caress.

She filled the single clay cup he had brought and held it out to him. Odysseus caught her hand against the cup, raising it to his lips to sip and then guiding it to her mouth. She was glad he held the cup-she would have dropped it otherwise. When she held out a portion of the cheese to him, he ate it from her hand, kissing her fingers, tickling them with the soft curls of his beard. Memories of the night before made thinking hard.

"Penelope, after we met, I battered your cousins with questions about you because you fascinated me. The first time I saw you, I wanted you. Tell me, does it bother you to be called 'the little, dark one'?"

"Not as the words come out of your mouth." She found it easy to smile; his eyes sparkled so brightly as he spoke. "I don't feel like a half-grown child when you say it."

"No, you are definitely a woman. With the sweetest mouth a man could want." He laughed, catching up one of her hands to press to his lips. "And hands as quick as your mind. You hardly needed my help, that day by the river. You should have heard the others speaking of you later, and seen the bruises and cuts you gave our poor Aias. Menelaos said you were born an Amazon, switched in your cradle with the true-born daughter of Ikarios. The king and your cousins were rather pleased by that."

"And you?" Her hands trembled as she freed her hand to spread honey on the bread. Warmth spread through her body from the mischief and laughter in his voice. Please, Aphrodite and Athena, let it be always like this for us.

"I was terrified you would catch the heart of another prince or two. The timing wasn't right for me to speak to Tyndareos. I feared before I did, someone else would lose interest in Helen and begin speaking of you."

"Lose interest in Helen?" She nearly dropped the bread. A few birds by the shore rose up at the shock in her voice. Penelope laughed, surprised at the bitterness in the sound.

"You have still to grow fully into your beauty, Penelope, and despite your cunning mind you cannot see that. I thank Athena who guides me, I saw your promise before any other man." Odysseus caught her chin with two fingers, to make her look at him. "Your mind is as swift and beautiful as your body."

"You were hiding in the trees, watching our games and listening to us, weren't you?" Penelope laughed when he pretended to be ashamed and look away.

"Many nights, lying in my bed, I thanked Athena I was too proud to leave when I knew I didn't want Helen. I nearly left for Ithaka before you arrived."

"I considered pretending to be a boy and traveling the world," she confessed. "Perhaps we might have met and joined forces?" Her words brought laughter from him. Odysseus wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to kiss her. "Please, Fates, let me make you happy," she whispered against his lips.

"We will be happy, Penelope. Many long years together. I promise you."

"When do we leave for Ithaka?"

"Not soon enough." He sat back as he released her and glanced up at the sun, then back through the trees toward the palace. "The day progresses. They will be searching for us soon, I fear. More games and contests to celebrate our marriage."

"You need your strength, because you will win them all," she said, pressing a piece of bread into his hand. The honey had begun to dry, glistening and crystallized in the morning warmth.

"Merely because I am the bridegroom?" he asked, laughing, before he took a bite.

"No. Because you are Odysseus."

A few droplets of honey caught in the curling hairs around his mouth. They glistened like polished gold in the sun. Daring and longing mixed in her. Penelope leaned forward and kissed him, tasting the honey where it smeared his lips.

Eurynome's voice rang across the plain from the gate where the palace opened out toward the river. Penelope paused, startled out of the warmth and pleasure of Odysseus' arm around her waist as they walked back to the palace. She was surprised to see her nurse come running to meet them.

"My-my lady, where have you been?" the woman gasped, her hand pressed over her heart. Eurynome's hair hung loose from a badly made braid. Penelope guessed the woman had dressed hurriedly, likely roused early from her bed.

"We went to the river to bathe," Penelope said, unconsciously pressing closer against Odysseus. His arm tightened around her, then released her to hold her hand.

"My wife, I believe we have put the palace into an uproar." He smiled, but no humor showed in his eyes or his voice. "How many new brides and bridegrooms have vanished on their wedding mornings?"

"The king is in a fury," Eurynome whispered. Her gaze flicked away from Penelope, to rest on Odysseus with something like respect on her face.

Penelope nearly laughed to realize her nurse didn't particularly care for Tyndareos. Odysseus' hand tightened on hers as they walked to the gates of the palace. Glancing at him, Penelope knew he didn't share her humor. She remembered his argument with her uncle and knew the king's fury was only a continuation of that afternoon talk.

Someone else must have seen them coming, because Tyndareos came storming down the steps into the courtyard before they stepped through the gate. Her uncle's eyes blazed and his stride was stiff as he crossed the pavement to meet them. For a long moment, he looked at Odysseus, mouth held in a stiff, straight line.

"Penelope, go to your room. This is no place for you," Tyndareos said, his tone hard and brittle. His eyes burned even when they rested on her.

"My place is with my husband," she returned in as gentle a voice as she could manage. Odysseus squeezed her hand. She hoped it was approval of her tactics.

"I am your uncle-"

"And as such, you gave me to Odysseus. Now it is for my husband to tell me to stay or go."

"Penelope." Odysseus released her hand. "Will you go to your room, or will you stay and hear what the king has to say to me?"

"I would stay." Her lips trembled a little as she forced a smile. Penelope slipped her hand back into his grasp. "Whatever makes you so angry, my king, we have done together this day."

"What sort of game-" Tyndareos' face went crimson. "What tricks is this, Odysseus, to steal my niece-"

"Steal?" Odysseus' voice grew hard as a sword. "How can I steal my own wife? Or do you now take her back? Did you change your mind in the middle of the feast?"

"Be careful what accusations you make," the king said, his voice a barely controlled growl. Behind him, Helen and Menelaos came through the doorway and paused on the steps.

"Uncle," Penelope said, trying to make her voice soft and placating, when she felt fury beginning to boil. "We only went to the river to be alone. We wanted privacy."

"He needs no protection from you," Tyndareos snapped.

"He needs no help from anyone." She nearly laughed at how the king flinched when anger touched her face. "I was in the garden, Uncle. I heard you insult Ithaka and Odysseus when he asked for me. I know I am the payment to safeguard Sparta. Why are you angry with my husband?"

"I think the king repents his bargain," Odysseus said slowly, his eyes hooded, voice too soft. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm. "Penelope, your uncle wishes you to turn from me. Maybe he hopes you will beg him to take you back."

"Such insults-" Tyndareos began.

"Insults such as you threw at Ithaka and my bloodline?" Odysseus snapped. "You were by the gate between the gardens, weren't you, Penelope? You didn't hear what he said further into the garden. If the king's words were true, you are the wife of a man less than a slave, the foulest coward, destined to live on a cursed piece of rock even the gods don't acknowledge."

"My husband, take me home to Ithaka," Penelope begged, gripping his hand with both hers. Anger trembled through her body. "I won't stay here another day."

"Penelope, think what you say." Tyndareos paled, and this time not in anger. Penelope knew her uncle began to regret what he had said. "Think of the festivals, the games to celebrate your marriage."

"Celebrate what you regret?" Odysseus asked, his voice chill. "Yes, Penelope. We will leave. Today."

"You can't leave so quickly!"

"I won't stay in a household where my husband is insulted." She tugged her hand free and turned to Eurynome. "Call Dolios and tell him to report to my lord for his orders. Then join me in my room and help me pack." Penelope hurried to the door. She glimpsed Helen turning to follow her but didn't slow for her cousin. By the time she reached her room, the trembling had left her legs but a longing for tears wrapped around her instead.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Odysseus had a chariot borrowed from King Nestor. Dolios harnessed the horses for the return trip before coming to Penelope's room for her belongings. He said little, except that he and his family and Eurynome would leave as soon as they were packed and rejoin her in Pylos. Dolios revealed little emotion when he told her the arrangements Odysseus had made, but Penelope guessed the man was bewildered and worried for her. She could not summon the words to reassure him, being unsure herself what she wanted or felt. She had chosen her husband's side of the argument, which was her duty. She couldn't decide if she had acted out of duty, or because Odysseus had touched her heart.

Menelaos and Helen came down to see them off, waiting on the steps of the palace until Dolios loaded the chariot and left. The two cousins hugged, wordless. Penelope knew Menelaos and Odysseus exchanged words, but she couldn't make herself listen. She let Menelaos help her up into the chariot and his hands were gentle. Sorrow touched his eyes. She had thought badly of him after Helen's bridal night, but decided now that the man merely had weak places. He did care for Helen. The blush on Helen's cheeks when her husband wrapped his arm around her waist showed all was well.

"King Tyndareos says you leave too quickly to claim his bride-gift to Penelope," Menelaos said, his words halting.

"I have more treasure in my bride than her uncle will ever know," Odysseus returned. He guided Penelope's hands to the straps to brace herself when the ride grew bumpy. "As it is," he added, a smile growing on his face and in his voice, "I won't have it said Tyndareos and Sparta made Ithaka rich."

Penelope choked, caught between wanting to laugh and cry. She felt the pride and humor that brought such words to her husband's lips. She smiled up at him. The brightness in his eyes overwhelmed her with longing to be far from Sparta.

"He will be over his anger soon-then we can send messages," Helen said. "You can visit, or we'll visit you next spring."

"You could be fat with child by then," Penelope said. Odysseus' hand tightened on her shoulder. Was it in anticipation of their own child or because of Tyndareos' words about Ithaka? If the island kingdom wasn't fit for Penelope to be its queen, how could it be fit for Helen to visit?

"We could both be," Helen returned with a smile.

"As the gods will it," Odysseus said. "Menelaos, when the king is kinder toward us, tell him I would not have Sparta an enemy. If the oracles' words are to be believed, we will all need to be allies."

"I will tell him." Menelaos pressed his hand over his heart in oath.

"Ready?" he murmured, releasing Penelope to take up the reins. She nodded.

With a gentle lurch and a clatter of hooves on the paving stones, the chariot moved forward. It gained speed quickly on the smooth path from the palace, through the wide streets around the edge of the city. Penelope closed her eyes until the jouncing rattle of paving stones under the wheels turned into the smooth hissing of dirt road.

"Regrets, Penelope?" Odysseus said, as she opened her eyes and looked around. His mouth quirked up in a thin smile, but she saw no humor in his eyes.

"You are my husband. My place is with you." She bent her head and studied the straps, twisting her hands through them to brace herself more surely.

"You demean yourself, playing the submissive little bride." A spark of laughter touched his eyes when she met his gaze. "I hear you rebel against your uncle. You told me your dreams when you pretended to be Dyvis. I know you."

"I was angry with him," she admitted. Her face warmed under his scrutiny. "What you told me of Ithaka...it is beautiful, even if rocky and isolated and not as rich as Sparta. You love Ithaka and it is my home now. He had no right to mock you. He had no right to be angry that we wanted to be alone."

"And you were still angry with him, using you to buy peace for Sparta and Helen."

"That as well."

"I promise you, Penelope, you won't regret being my wife and queen of Ithaka." Odysseus turned away for a moment to correct the horses' path. He let go with one hand so he could slip his arm around her waist and draw her against him. "I wish I could show you the surprise on your face, enjoying our first lovemaking."

"There are benefits to marriage." She laughed with him and let go of the steadying straps so she could wrap both arms around his waist. Through Odysseus, she learned the swaying rhythm of the chariot better and grew steadier.

"Do you like to sail, Penelope?"

"Very much. I prayed Athena to let me be given to a prince who loved the sea."

"Shall I teach you to sail, then? I did promise to take you exploring and tell you all you wanted to learn."

"I would like that, very much."

"We have work waiting for us when we reach Ithaka, to prepare for winter. The last few years have been lean, rough ones-you and I will remedy that. But there will be time to explore. From the northern tip to the southern shore. You will know all the places precious to me."

Penelope nodded, not daring to reply for the happiness that threatened to choke her. She tightened her arms around him as Odysseus whipped the horses into a run. The chariot sang along the dusty road, leaving clouds in its wake that settled slowly in the warming morning.

The journey passed swiftly. Penelope closed her eyes from time to time and pretended the swaying under her feet and the tugging of the wind against her hair came from waves and sea wind. Just when she attained the illusion, a horse would snort or whinny, or a cloud of dust would brush her face, making her choke. Odysseus spoke little, except to point out places along the road she might find interesting. Penelope decided he didn't quite trust the horses and gave all his concentration to controlling them.

She gave up holding onto her veil early. The wind tugged it off her head and tore strands of hair loose from her braids. She tucked the veil into her belt and leaned to face directly into the wind so it wouldn't whip her hair into her face. She smiled, remembering how Odysseus had played with her hair the night before-and what a struggle it had been to brush it straight in the morning.

"You like riding in chariots, then?" Odysseus said, when they reached a rocky stretch of road and had to slow. He shifted back to holding the reins in one hand, and brushed tangled, dusty strands of hair out of her face.

Penelope smiled, looking up at him. Her ready answer died on her lips when she saw the odd, intense light in his eyes. It made a lie of his light tone and easy smile. Her answer was important to him, for some reason. She shook her head, then finger-combed her hair in a different direction.

"Men know nothing about women's hair," she said, wrinkling her nose at him. His snort of laughter reassured her, but not enough. "Yes, I suppose I like chariots," she said slowly, choosing her words with care. "Comparing this trip to riding in that horrid cart, I adore chariots." Penelope watched his face carefully. Nothing had changed in his eyes. "When I reached Pylos, I didn't want to get off the ship. I wanted to keep sailing around the world."

"Did you?" Odysseus glanced up to check the horses for a moment, then looked back down at her.

Had she imagined it, or did a slight tension leave the muscles under the curve of her arm? Did a new spark of light enter his eyes?

"I love the sea, sitting in the prow of a ship and feeling the wind against my face, listening to the singing of the waves. I wanted a husband who lived near the sea, who might be kind enough to take me out on ships with him. Ships are much easier to tend than horses, I think."

"You think so, do you?" He chuckled.

"If something is broken on a ship, you find a new piece of wood or rope, and repair it. If a horse is broken, you have to kill it."

"There is that," he admitted. His arm tightened around her. Odysseus checked the horses again, then bent to brush a kiss across her forehead. She felt the slight grit of dust on her skin, under his lips. "Ithaka is too rocky and rough for horses. Everyone walks, and the ill, weak or old ride little donkeys my grandfather brought over."

"Then we have that advantage against raiders who might think to overrun us riding horses."

"Raiders?" He laughed. "Where did you hear about raiders?"

"It's a long journey by sea from Alybas. I listened to everything the sailors said, and the gossip at the ports."

"A wise woman, I have found." His tone grew gentle, soft, so she almost didn't hear his words over the thudding of the horses' feet.

They found a sheltered grove of trees at dusk and made camp around a shallow spring. Odysseus gathered long grass into a soft pile and spread their blankets over it. Their dinner was simple, bread and warm wine and olives. He asked her to sing for him, the songs she had sung with Helen and the maids by the river. Already it felt like a lifetime ago since those idle days.

They needed no fire in the warm night air, and went to bed soon after night fell. Penelope lay awake long after Odysseus fell asleep, studying the stars through the lacy canopy of leaves and branches. Her thoughts twisted and skittered like windblown leaves, sorting through the last few days.

Everything had happened so quickly. She felt some shame but no real regret in standing against her uncle. Penelope knew she had matured in leaps. The reason lay next to her. What other man would see through her disguise and yet let her keep her illusion of freedom, answer all her questions and value her as highly as he had confessed to the king? Penelope liked to learn, to know what went on in the world beyond the walls of her home. Simply by listening, by trying to understand, she thought she had a clearer picture of the world of the Achaians than most women.

Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, was the leader of the kings of Achaia. His rule was strong, his reach everywhere. Odysseus had gone to Mycenae to advise him several times. Times were treacherous, though. The sailors who brought her to Pylos carried knives in their belts and spears were always ready within reach. Tensions rose on the merchant vessel whenever a strange ship approached. Ithaka, being an island, was a tempting prize for raiders, a place strangers would find hard to defend perhaps but a good leaping point for those who wanted to raid the mainland.

She sat up. Odysseus murmured in his sleep and shifted the arm he had draped around her. Penelope smiled at his reaction. He was so careful of her, so eager to give her pleasure. Her breath shortened and her pulse quickened, remembering how he had guided her hands in their lovemaking that night, how he had taught her to guide his hands where his touch gave her pleasure.

"The old women don't know half," she whispered. Penelope remembered Eurynome's whispered instructions the day before her marriage. There had been other talk Penelope overheard growing up, about a woman's duty to pleasure her husband, to endure discomfort, to bear as many children as possible. They said carrying a child was the only time a woman had relief from her husband's demands.

The smile faded from her face as Penelope considered those overheard remarks. If she carried Odysseus' child, she would lose the pleasure of his bed for a time. She didn't want to become pregnant soon, if ever. Her aunt had taught her it was better to grow a while after becoming a woman, before bearing children.

Penelope slipped from the nest of blankets and crept to a smaller chest amongst her possessions. Among the healing powders and ointments and perfumes lay a tiny box, wrapped in cloth. The seeds and roots and leaves were whole, to preserve their strength. She brought out her tiny mortar and pestle and ground a pinch of the mixture, pouring water into the container and drinking the potion immediately. It was better heated and mixed with wine, but still potent cold and would keep her from conceiving. She gagged on the bitter, chalky mixture but drank it down.

They reached Pylos in the early afternoon of the next day. Slaves waited at the city gates to take messages and Odysseus called one, sending him ahead to the palace. Penelope reluctantly loosed her comfortable hold around Odysseus' waist and set herself to fixing her hair and wiping away some of the grime of travel.

Nestor's son, Straltos met them at the gates of the palace. He was a few years older than Penelope. She remembered him as being full of mischief, too tall for grace, always ready to pull her hair when no adults were around. She decided not to mention that memory to him-but if it would make Odysseus laugh, she would tell her husband later.

Straltos had gained grace and graciousness. He favored his father, with wide shoulders, long-fingered hands, and a face like a falcon that would have been fierce except for the brilliant light of joy in his eyes, the ready smile and laughter on his lips. Penelope smiled but said little in greeting. She felt Odysseus stiffen, his hand tightening around hers when Straltos kissed her forehead in greeting. It bothered, then flattered, then worried her when she considered his reaction later.

No one had exaggerated, comparing Nestor's palace favorably against the palace in Sparta. Every wall was painted, murals in bright colors depicting scenes from legends, or pictures to give honor to a god or goddess, or simply beautiful patterns of squares and circles and vines running throughout. The colors glistened as if freshly painted-strong black, red brighter than blood, blue deeper than the sea. Even the tiles on the floors were in colors and patterns: bold black and white checkerboards, as well as soft yellow with varying shades of green, reminding her of the haze of young grain in the fields in the spring.

She nearly laughed aloud, partly in relief, when she saw the plain white ceiling and one bare wall in the chamber she entered. She could not, though. The housekeeper waited for a word of approval and two maids waited to help her bathe. All three looked enough alike to be mother and daughters, all pale gold hair, brown eyes, and round, somber faces. Penelope put on her mask of distant graciousness, thanking one, giving instructions to the others.

Her thoughts wandered to Odysseus as the maids bathed and oiled her tired body, plaited her hair and helped her dress. Her husband had likely hurried through his own bath and followed Straltos out to the beach. The king and the rest of the royal household were performing sacrifices there to bless the change of seasons. The men would eat dinner together and talk-likely about war, piracy along the coasts, and the preparations for winter. Penelope would join the king's daughter, Polykaster for dinner, along with whatever brides had married his many sons since she had last visited.

Penelope found she looked forward to it. She was a married woman now. She could laugh with the others and understand the hidden meanings that had escaped her before. In the evening, Odysseus would come for her so she could talk with their host. Penelope felt torn in her desires. She wished Eurynome and the others would prolong their trip, to extend the stay in Pylos-and wished she and Odysseus could set sail without them.

King Nestor declared a celebration the next day. Penelope was awed and delighted to realize the man showed as much delight over Odysseus' marriage and choice of bride as he would have for one of his own sons. He ordered sacrifices to ensure blessings on the bridal couple, fertility, and safety in their voyage to Ithaka. The feasting and dancing and music started soon after dawn and lasted past sunset. Nestor ordered a special canopy erected for the women at the edge of the gaming field. Slaves with fans and jugs of wine, bowls of fruit and anything else necessary for their comfort waited at their pleasure.

Odysseus excelled at the games, as she had predicted he would in Sparta. Penelope knew her face was in continual blush from the attentions he paid her and the comments other men made in her hearing. She didn't mind-even when she heard men laughing at how wise, cunning Odysseus was besotted with his bride.

Her husband joined her after every contest, often kissing her in full view of everyone. He sat at her feet and shared her wine cup, careful to place his lips where hers had touched. She grew drunk on more than the wine and the excitement of the games. The promises in his eyes made her eager for the night.

Shadows stretched long, thin and dark through the halls and chambers of the palace. Singing and laughter still rang in the open courtyards where some men and boys insisted on continuing the games. Penelope slowed her steps through the long hallway, listening for people moving about. She would be teased by those who knew her. Others would whisper, some elders smile indulgently if she were caught here, far from her chamber. A bride of two nights, she was supposed to wait for her husband to come to her, not wander the halls looking for him.

Penelope shook her head. She didn't wander. She knew exactly where Odysseus would be. After the long, hot, dusty day of competition, he would be in the baths. Perhaps by this time he would be lying still, with a servant rubbing warmed oil into his muscles. After such ministrations, she knew he would be tired and relaxed, eager for sleep. Penelope bit her lip against laughter at her thoughts and desires. She didn't want her husband to merely come to their bed, kiss her, and fall asleep.

As she thought he would be, Odysseus lay face down, naked on a padded bench, with a slave woman starting to rub oil into his shoulders. His eyes were closed, hair dark and curling from his bath. The room was otherwise unoccupied, damp from the water that had been poured out, and with wet sheets hanging to dry. The air was heavy with scented oil and the torches slowly burning out.

Penelope signaled the servant to be quiet as she entered the room. A smile of understanding touched the older woman's face. She nodded and stepped back, snatching up a towel to dry her hands before she left. Penelope picked up the vial of oil and poured some into her hands. She rubbed it into Odysseus' back, working down to his waist.

Odysseus tensed for a moment. She watched him carefully, waiting, but he relaxed after a few seconds and lay silent, eyes still closed. She worked his legs, remembering how the muscles had knotted and gleamed during the contests of strength. Even coated with dust and sweat, he outshone all the other men that day.

"Witch." Odysseus' voice came out low and rumbling. "Are you trying to put me to sleep?" Without a twitch of warning in his muscles, he sat up, twisting around on the bench. He caught her by her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. "Are you?" he demanded, pretending fierce anger. Then he kissed her, as hungrily as if they had been parted for days.

"I didn't want to fall asleep waiting for you," she said, when he finally released her mouth. He laughed, shook her, and then held her close again.

"A witch indeed. An enchantress. Did you think I wouldn't recognize your touch?"

"I had hoped," she admitted. "Do you forgive me, shaming you like this by seeking you out?"

"Shame?" His chuckles vibrated through her body as he held her close. "Oh, my sweet Penelope." His laughter turned into a groan. "I should spirit you away this very night. I do fear others will realize what a treasure you are and try to kill me to make you their own."

"Whatever you decide, I will follow."

"Something bothers you. Your uncle's words?" he asked, releasing her enough to see her face in the torchlight.

"Not fully. Maybe it is just woman's worries...or fears of losing you to another," she added, giving him an impish look.

Odysseus shouted in laughter and kissed her again. Many long moments later he released her enough to let her breathe and speak.

"I have a fear of my own, in truth," she continued in a whisper. "We will not be fully wed, our life together fully begun, until we are home in Ithaka. And though we are both young...my dreams shout to hoard our time together. We live an illusion of many years before us." It took a few seconds to meet his eyes again. Penelope had never spoken about her dreams to anyone else before, not even Eurynome. Her dreams the night before, though woven with happy images of her life with Odysseus, had been troubling.

"I've already sent word to my men to prepare the ship," he said, releasing her and gently nudging her off his lap. He stood, reached for his tunic and pulled it over his head before he spoke again. "When your people join us, we'll sail." He twisted both hands into her hair as he drew her close again, and chuckled when she smiled. "That pleases you?"

"I heard King Nestor speak of keeping us here to celebrate for a week, at least."

"Nestor is a good friend and a generous host, but he understands that Ithaka calls us back. And he thinks I am merely an eager, jealous bridegroom. Which I am," he added. He twisted his grin into a frown when she laughed in pure delight. "Woman, don't mock your lord and husband."

"Odysseus-" Her words were lost in a gasp when he bent and slung her over his shoulder. She couldn't breathe for laughing. Her hair, loosed for bed, hung in her face, blinding her.

"You must learn not to awaken a man ready for his sleep, Penelope. And learn the consequences when you do." Odysseus strode out of the room, down the hall, up the stairs to their chamber. Penelope knew members of the household saw them, laughing together, her half-hearted struggles in his arms. She couldn't see them for her hair in her face or hear them for her heart thundering in her ears. She didn't care.

CHAPTER NINE

Eurynome, Dolios and his family arrived in Pylos late in the afternoon the next day. A little messenger boy came running to tell Penelope, finding her in the gardens walking with Polykaster. The two were taking a rest from the heat and excitement of the games, though Penelope wished she could watch Odysseus continue winning. She thanked the messenger and hurried with Polykaster to the palace gates to greet the rest of her household.

They all looked tired, dusty and hot from their journey. Penelope recalled too well the discomfort of riding in the carts and she pitied them. Polykaster called for servants to come and help the newcomers, to lead them away to baths and clean clothes. Penelope wanted to laugh for joy-in the morning, they would leave for Ithaka.

When Eurynome came to attend her before bed that night, Penelope didn't notice the woman's somber mood at first. She chattered about the games and the richness of Nestor's palace while the woman brushed her hair and tended her. Only after a while did she notice her nurse's unusual quiet. Penelope doubted Eurynome was only tired from the trip. When she asked what bothered her, the woman shook her head.

"No, the trip was easy-Dolios sets a good pace. It's that girl." Eurynome put down Penelope's brush and gestured for her mistress to lay down so she could rub her with scented oil.

"What did Melantho do?" Penelope smothered a sigh, wondering what new tricks her maid had discovered.

"She tried to run away. She said Lord Aias was going to ask for her."

"I can believe that." Images of Melantho lying under Aias' writhing body came back to Penelope. She felt some pity for her maid, wondering if she had ever found pleasure with the man.

"Be that as it may, you and Lord Odysseus were not there to listen to her screeching and crying. Dolios nearly had to tie her to the cart, to keep her from running. The girl dared to say you had left to prevent Aias from asking for her. I would avoid her hands until her temper cools."

"Is that why she isn't helping you tonight?" She smiled, thinking of Melantho trying to hurt her with nails or barbed tongue. Penelope was too happy to let such petty things bother her. She had heard Nestor telling Odysseus if he were younger or his youngest son were older, he would have requested her for his own family. Odysseus had laughed, but she saw the spark of concern in his eyes. It delighted her that her husband felt even a slight bit of jealousy.

"Your father was a good friend," King Nestor said, standing on the docks at Pylos. He rested his hand briefly on Penelope's head in blessing. "He would approve very much of your husband. You are blessed, child. He will care for you and give you happiness if you stay true to him."

"I know." Penelope fought the feeling of being very young and small and helpless.

"Even so young, your husband is known for his cunning and strength. The other princes and kings of Achaia look to him for advice. There are greater riches than a large house, fertile land and gold." Nestor nodded, emphasizing his words. "You hold his heart. Treat it gently."

"I would never willingly hurt him," she whispered. She tugged on the edge of her veil, as the breeze off the water tried to pull it free of her clips.

"No...you would not." He smiled and offered her his hand. He helped her step up the sloping plank into the ship.

Odysseus' men worked to raise the sail, checking lines and stowing last-minute supplies. Penelope stood by the rail, unsure where to go.

Then Odysseus was there, glowing with eagerness to set sail. He had left her sleeping hours before to prepare the ship. Penelope wondered that he had ever willingly left Ithaka to come so far away to seek a bride. She murmured her farewells and thanks to Nestor, paying more attention to the last minute flurry of preparations, the way the final shreds of mist lifted from the water. Farewells always hurt, she decided. She wanted to be done with them and away.

Then the plank slid off the rail and the sailors hurried to their posts. Odysseus led her to the stern of the ship, where he plied the rudder. Joy lit his face as the ship slowly pulled away from shore and out toward open water.

Penelope leaned against the railing at the stern and watched Pylos vanish in the early morning haze from the sea. She heard the thud of feet as sailors tended to the sail and readjusted the cargo in the hold, the creak of the rigging in the wind, the splashing of waves against the blue-banded, black keel of the ship. She laughed for pure delight and turned in her perch to face Odysseus as he tended the rudder.

"Such a sad face, my wife," he said, shaking his head. The laughter sparkling in his eyes ruined the disappointed expression he wore. "Someone would think you were glad to leave such a gracious host as King Nestor."

"Perhaps you enjoy spending the day talking about ships and building them, fishing and sailing, the winds, and whether Ilion will increase its strangle hold on the Dardanelles. And then starting over again," she added quickly, when he opened his mouth to interrupt. "I would rather be on the sea than listen to talk of it, and mistress of your household rather than the most honored guest in the most beautiful palace in all Achaia."

"You should have been born a bard. You have a gift for words." Smiling, he gently took a handful of her loose blowing hair and drew her close for a kiss. Penelope rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

They sat in silence for a while, the gusting of the wind, the splashing of the waves, the creaking of the ropes and boards a music far different from that inside the palace. Penelope welcomed it and the changes it signaled.

During the last day of feasting and games, she had noticed a change in Odysseus. The richness and grandeur of Nestor's palace bothered him sometimes. Someone would praise the fine drinking cups or the beauty of the wall paintings and Odysseus would grow silent for a moment, studying the item praised. Penelope thought she saw uncertainty in his eyes then. Waiting for Odysseus to come to their bed that night, she suspected where the problem lay.

Tyndareos' insults to Ithaka had hurt her husband. His love and pride in his home made him susceptible to insult and mockery. He compared Pylos with Ithaka, the household that waited for them, and found his home lacking. Penelope wondered if he feared her reaction when they reached Ithaka. She had a good idea what to expect, but how could she tell him that she welcomed the thought of a smaller house, a simpler lifestyle? Life was pleasant in Sparta and Pylos, yes. The riches and countless servants made living easy. But she wouldn't welcome the task of being mistress of such a household. Penelope knew she couldn't simply say those words. Instead, she asked questions about Ithaka that night until he laughed and pressed his hand over her mouth.

"I beg you," he had said, leaning over her, "wait until we are home and let me have my sleep now." He removed his hand and covered her mouth with kisses instead. When she was breathless, her heart pounding, he lay down again and gathered her into his arms. "We have enough for our needs on Ithaka. Food and clothing, solid homes, good hunting. Our shores are good for fishing and our shipmasters are the envy of other ports. Our men are born to the sea. We are strong because of our rough winters and the demands of the waves. Nothing beyond that, to claim fame or riches."

"It is the home of Odysseus," she had whispered into the darkness. "That is more than enough fame for any land." A last knot of worry had dissolved when he laughed.

Now, sitting beside him, Penelope hoped his worries had gone. She knew she would be happy in his home, no matter how simple. She promised herself, and him, she would manage his household well and make all other men envy him.

The second night out from Pylos, the ship made land between ports, on a wooded finger of land sticking out from shore. Penelope stayed on the ship while Odysseus, Dolios and his sons searched the woods. Sailing with the merchant ship before, Penelope had always spent the nights ashore at ports, not making camp. She wavered between excitement at the roughness of their lodgings and worry over Odysseus' caution. When the men emerged from the woods, she cheered with the others. They carried a young boar strung on a pole between Dolios and his oldest son. Fresh meat for dinner.

The men had blankets in the grass far up from the pebbly shore, while Eurynome and Melantho shared one shelter of cloth and leafy branches, Aris and Dolios had the second, and Penelope and Odysseus shared the third.

When night came and the fires cast warmth in wide circles against the chill off the water, Penelope was glad they had stopped at this place. There was a pleasant feeling to this simple life. One sailor played pipes and another had a lyre. Between them, they played music the others could sing to. Melantho slipped off into the darkness, avoiding her mother's reproving frown. Soon giggles and stomping feet revealed the girl danced with one sailor or another.

Penelope smiled and leaned into the warmth of Odysseus' arm around her. She wondered what he would say if she told him she dreamed they had nothing but their ship, and nothing to do but sail the world and see new lands. She knew he would laugh and kiss her, and if she looked closely she might see longing in his eyes.

She felt him tense and looked up to see him glancing around. Penelope listened and watched the other sailors. They had caught some clue from their master and came alert. The laughing and music around the fire faded away. Penelope caught a glimpse of one sailor, then another slipping into the darkness. Then she heard the crunch and slide of feet walking the pebbly shore. She looked to the left, down the shore toward the curve of the mainland and saw a soft glow that grew brighter as a torch emerged from behind the trees.

"Greetings, strangers!" a man shouted. A pale speck in the darkness resolved into a man's face, lit by the torch, and several faces behind him.

"Greetings to you," Odysseus called, slowing rising to his feet. He shook his head, gesturing for her to stay put when Penelope made to stand with him.

She glanced to Eurynome. Her nurse had wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. When she saw Penelope watching her, the woman lifted a portion of the cloth so it covered her hair. Penelope did the same. She was glad of the cloth around her shoulders, hunching into the warmth. The pleasant chill of the night air had grown clammy.

The newcomers were ten, all carrying knives or short swords. They smiled, but Penelope didn't trust them. The other nine men looked everywhere with appraising glances like traders on the docks, while their leader spoke with Odysseus. In the shadows and flickering firelight, they all looked alike-bronzed from the sun, shaggy hair, unkempt beards, some dressed in little more than loincloths. They had the distinct look of men who lived by their muscle.

"I am Aithon of Sikania," Odysseus said, in answer to the man's questions. "I serve a noble prince of that land."

"Why are you so far from home, then? And with so few companions?" The leader smiled wider, glancing around the group still sitting by the fires.

Penelope tried to hold still and ignore him when his gaze rested on her. She shivered inside her cloak. The man looked too pleased with their small numbers.

"My master sent me to find the fastest ship of all the Achaians and buy it for him. The sailors of Sikania are reputed to be more able than the local sailors, so I only brought as many as I thought I would need." Odysseus shrugged. His face had become a mask to Penelope, a mixture of welcome to the strangers and embarrassment. She watched his back gradually stoop as he talked, and wondered if anyone else had noticed his tactic. In moments he was a stranger, a short, crooked man, somewhat simple in his thinking. No one of any threat.

"And the women?" The leader gestured with a negligent wave of his hand at Eurynome and Aris, then Penelope, and then out into the darkness beyond them.

Penelope studied the man more closely. He knew about Melantho though the maid and her sailor were hidden in the darkness. She dared not look at Odysseus, but she knew he caught the implications. These men had spied on their company before letting themselves be seen.

"Servants for my master's house. They are not for sale at any price," Odysseus added after the slightest pause.

"We are too poor to buy, even at the smallest price," the man responded, laughing. Penelope didn't like the rocky sound of his laughter. It held hidden meaning that made her scalp prickle in warning. "If you like, we will stand guard nearby to protect your precious cargo."

"I thank you." Odysseus bowed to the man, like an inferior. "But the men of Sikania are fierce warriors. We have nothing to fear."

"You are blessed with luck, then."

They exchanged a few more words, the leader of the men offering their protection again. Odysseus declined again, emphasizing how well his sailors could fight. They spoke of the weather for the next day, and hazards to ships in the local waters. Then they parted.

Odysseus stayed on his feet, watching until the torch vanished in the distance and the sound of pebbles underfoot faded. Penelope said nothing as he settled down next to her again. Speaking her worries would not do any good and might distract Odysseus from precautions he was likely planning. She welcomed the warmth and the strength of his arm around her and leaned against him. When he told her to go to bed a short time later, she obeyed in silence.

Penelope still lay awake when Odysseus joined her in the shelter. The moon hung straight overhead and the last hooting cries of night birds faded as the creatures moved out to hunt. Penelope had gone to bed fully clothed and tucked her sandals under the blanket, within easy reach. When he joined her, Odysseus didn't take off his clothes before he slid under the blankets.

"You think they won't come back now?" she whispered. Her husband stiffened, then a low gusting sigh escaped him. He turned onto his side and gathered her into his arms.

"Any other woman," he whispered into her hair, "would be asleep by now, thinking everything was fine. My sweet witch knows my thoughts, I can see."

"Other women were not trained by harmless madmen to consider numbers and strengths. We're in their territory. From their looks, they make a habit of greeting strangers."

"Too strong a habit," he agreed. They lay silent for a while. Penelope felt the tension running through his body, an alertness that made his pulse thud a little faster. She waited, listening to the darkness until he relaxed a bit.

"Who is Aithon of Sikania?" she whispered. A chuckle and a kiss rewarded her.

"No one, and anyone I wish him to be. Those men will try to rob us, I have no doubt. Whoever they think we are will affect the way they attack. If they knew we were from Ithaka, if I had given them my name, if they knew we were newly-married...they might come back with more men and greater stealth. They see foolish merchants, foreigners, with a silly, boastful man for leader. They will come with too much confidence and not enough men. I hope."

"You frightened me," she said, pressing closer to him. She felt the pulse in his neck against her cheek.

"Frightened you how?" A low chuckle accompanied his whispers.

"I thought you had deceived my uncle, and you were not Odysseus at all."

For answer, Odysseus rolled her onto her back and began to kiss her most thoroughly. It was hard to breathe with his mouth hard against hers and his hands finding every ticklish spot on her body, even through her clothes. The only way to resist was to press close to him, blocking his hands.

Then his touches changed, raising waves of desire. He mumbled a curse and tugged her skirt up to her hips. Penelope could only laugh, breathless and eager.

"Doubly a witch," Odysseus muttered, then kissed her again, lingering. "I should be grateful you didn't wear your cloak to bed as well."

Before she could think of a response, she felt him grow tense and alert again. She opened her eyes. In the pale glow of the waning moon, she saw him raise his head and look out over the camp. Bushes and tall grass stood between their shelter and the rest of the camp, for privacy. Penelope shivered, feeling isolated. She listened and thought she heard footsteps through the soft, leaf-covered ground of the forest behind them. Or was that only her heartbeats? She felt Odysseus gather himself to get up and she released him. He crawled out of the shelter without looking backward. Then a moment later came back and pressed a length of wood into her hands. He kissed her fingers around the wood, and was gone again.

Penelope tugged her skirt back down past her knees and rolled onto her side, to look out over the camp. She could see nothing but stars and the dark shadows of the high grass. She felt along the length of the wood, not at all surprised to find the bronze spearhead at one end. She reached for her cloak and wrapped it around herself.

She listened to the night until the only sound that filled her ears was the beating of her heart. Even the lapping of the waves had gone away. She rested the spear on her lap and began braiding her hair, to get it out of her way. She had nothing to fasten it with, but she twisted a temporary knot into the end and it held.

Time dragged. She waited and listened until her eyes grew heavy and the soft shadows in the moonlight began to blur. She could see nothing but bushes beyond the opening of the shelter. Shivering, she knew fighting her weariness would do no good. There had been no outcry, not even the rasping of voices in the night. She told herself Odysseus was only walking a few times around their camp to assure himself all was well, and then he would return to her. Penelope lay down facing the back of the shelter, one arm over the spear. She pulled the blankets up to her shoulders and tried to relax. Her heart slowed and she listened to the whispering of the waves on pebbles. The tension began to seep out of her muscles and she could close her eyes again.

Hushed footsteps came to her drowsy hearing. Penelope lay still, waiting. The footsteps paused at the front of the shelter, then the person knelt and crawled in, taking care to be quiet. She smiled, wondering what Odysseus would say when he found she had put the cloak on. He lifted the blankets and slid in next to her, pressing tightly against her back. His arms slid around her.

She smelled the metal tang and salt of old, dirty sweat, sour wine, and the stench of dirty, salt-crusted hair. Penelope gripped the spear as the man groped up her chest and dug his fingers into her breast. Fury bloomed, choking back the scream rising in her throat. She jerked the spear around, managing not to catch it on the poles of the shelter. She caught the man in the shoulder with the bronze point. He shouted in panic. Penelope smelled the salt of warm, gushing blood and twisted free of him. She left her cloak behind in his grasping hands as she thrashed her way through the leafy branches on that side of the shelter.

Somehow, she managed to keep hold of the spear through her struggles. Her hair tangled in the branches. She felt scratches on her face and heard her dress catch and tear. Penelope scrambled to her feet, gasping, listening through the pounding of her heart for sounds of struggle in the night. She ran from the shelter, holding the spear ready as Odysseus and her grandfather had taught her.

Another man shrieked, and then stilled. From far off, she heard the thud of a body hitting wet sand. Fighting at the water's edge. She heard the crunching of feet on twigs and stones and backed further into the woods. In the haze of moonlight, she saw a man scramble out of the front of the ruined shelter. She saw his features clearly-the leader of the raiders. He moved hunched over. His arm hung loose, useless, and he clasped his other hand over his shoulder. She thought she saw dark, glistening runnels moving down his arm, but couldn't be sure.

"Athena, thank you," she whispered, sure it was her husband's patroness who had guided her hand.

Penelope took two steps toward the woods to hide when Eurynome screamed. Her decision to stay hidden and give Odysseus free rein to fight vanished. Images of what the raiders could be doing to her nurse splashed across her mind. She ran toward the sound, trying to hold the spear level and high, ready to throw or thrust.

Dolios reached Eurynome before Penelope and swung his sword around like Penelope had seen him use a scythe. The raider fell like wheat during harvest. Aris and Eurynome watched, standing before the ruined shelter. Their faces were identical pale moons, wide-eyed, lips pressed tightly together. They turned, startled by Penelope's appearance and stared at her.

"My child-" The nurse's voice choked off in her throat. She hurried to Penelope, raising her arms to gather her close. Dolios followed, glancing in every direction to ward off attackers. Eurynome stopped short, a tiny gasp escaping her. "You bleed!"

Like in a dream, Penelope looked down. Drying spatters of blood darkened her bare arm. A crooked smile twisted her lips. The blood was not her own. Penelope shook her head. She had to think, to react like a man would in this battle. It was hard. She wondered that she had ever dreamed about pretending to be a boy and having adventures.

"We have to hide," she said, squeezing the words out of her throat. "The less people to defend, the better our men can fight."

Dolios nodded. A smile of approval cracked the dark mask of his face. He gestured for Penelope to lead. They barely took three steps toward the safety of the trees when Odysseus stepped out of the shadows. His tunic was torn clear off one shoulder, hanging onto the other by a few threads. Blood streaked his sword arm and spattered his legs. In the shadows, his hair looked like dried blood, burning in the moonlight. A wild, furious fire gleamed in his eyes and his mouth was open as if caught in a shout. He stared at them, blinked, and all the wild anger fled him like water flowing away.

"Penelope-"

"We're all right," she hurried to say. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and hide there. The blood and his fighting fury stopped her. This was a side of him she hadn't seen, even when he threw Aias off her. For a moment he had been a terrifying stranger and that moment frightened her more than the fear he had been hurt.

"Go to the ship," he said, nodding. "The battle is over. Leave us to clear the field."

She stared at him, meeting his eyes in his dirty, blood-spattered face. Slowly, she nodded and turned, gesturing for the others to follow.

"Penelope!" Odysseus caught her by her arm and turned her. "You're bleeding." His voice broke.

"Not my blood. One of them tried to-" She caught her breath and forced herself to smile at him. "One of them tried to climb into bed with me. His blood, not mine."

"Which one?" His voice was a growl.

"Their leader, I think." Something in his voice warmed and thrilled her, even as another shiver of apprehension passed over her body. Penelope hurried to the ship when he released her, glad she would not see what would happen next.

"Melantho," Eurynome gasped as she and Aris ran to catch up with her.

"What about her?" Penelope tried to remember if she had heard a woman scream besides Eurynome. Everything was a blur of fury and surprise. She studied Aris, the woman quiet and expressionless in shock.

"She slipped out after I fell asleep. A sailor..." Eurynome's face looked gray in the moonlight.

"If Melantho is hurt, it's her own fault." Penelope bit her lip to keep back more angry words. How could she make them understand?" She chose to leave our camp. Even a fool would have known those men weren't going to leave us in peace. If she is hurt, Odysseus and Dolios will discipline the man she was with, not you." She lifted her skirts, tucking the torn end into her belt. She didn't wait to see if the women followed, but waded out to the ship.

The fire on the beach grew brighter, taller. In its light, Penelope watched the men moving about, cleaning up after the battle. She knelt in the prow of the ship and waited. The anxious tightness in her heart eased a little every time she glimpsed Odysseus in the firelight.

Dolios and a sailor, anonymous in the shadows, made several wading trips between shore and ship to bring their supplies back. Eurynome and Aris worked in silence to pack everything away, always hurrying back to the railing to look to the shore. Penelope found herself reaching for the spear from time to time, as if it would bring safety to the men.

The third trip back, Dolios led Melantho. The girl quietly wept. As she reached the ship and handed up her basket of tumbled food, the maid's face showed bruises. Penelope said nothing until Melantho had climbed up the rope ladder into the ship and Dolios returned to shore.

"Were you able to hide?" she asked her maid, detaining her when Eurynome went into the hold with an armful of blankets. Melantho nodded, hurriedly wiping more tears off her face. "How did you get hurt, then?"

"He hit me." She looked up, her movement sharp and furtive when Aris stepped into view. The woman looked at her as if she had never seen her daughter before.

"Who did?" Penelope held her breath. She had seen Odysseus' anger now, in different phases. She would have been hurt but not surprised if he had hit the girl for acting so foolishly.

"Pherios. For taking him away when there was a fight." Melantho choked, wiping once more at her face. "Men can be such fools, sometimes."

"Sometimes," she agreed, then gestured for the girl to help Eurynome and her mother. Penelope silently scolded herself for expecting such things of her husband.

Dawn touched the sky with pink and gold when the fire on the beach suddenly caught and spread in a high, long pile. Penelope thought a moment, trying to see through the flickering, blinding flames. She knew it had to be a funeral pyre. She knew of many men who would deny their conquered adversaries a decent funeral-who would leave their dead, mutilated bodies to lie and rot under the sky like animals.

Against the glare of the fire, the men waded back to the ship. Some threw their weapons onto the deck and then ducked under the water of the rising tide, washing off the grime of their battle and labors. Penelope watched Odysseus return last. She leaned over the railing, holding her hands out to him. Weariness and the cold, ashy residue of anger made a cloak around him, bowing his shoulders. He looked at her unseeing for a moment, then reached up and took one of her hands. They stayed that way for many heartbeats.

"Wait a moment more," he said, and handed his sword and spear up to her.

Penelope took them gingerly, expecting them to both be spotted with blood. They were clean. Traces of sand from scrubbing stuck to the shaft of the spear. Odysseus dropped to his knees in the water, letting his head go under. He came back up sputtering softly, scrubbing his face and hair with his hands. As he climbed the ladder, she ran and fetched a sheet for him to dry with. He slipped the sheet over one arm, wrapped the other around her waist, then led her to the stern.

"We sail now!" he shouted. The sailors let the sail fall. It caught the morning wind, streaked with pink and gold from the sunrise. Odysseus wrapped the sheet around his waist and took hold of the rudder.

In silence, the ship left anchor and headed out into deeper waters again. The flames of the funeral pyre grew smaller in the distance as Penelope watched. She shivered, wondering if the man who groped her was on the pyre.

"What are you thinking?" Odysseus asked, his voice a rough whisper, softened with weariness.

"How many died?" For a moment she couldn't face him.

"Seven. Their leader among them. Dolios found him before I did," he added, one corner of his mouth rising for a second. "The ones who lived know who they were fighting. Maybe now they will not so easily attack travelers."

"They know...you told them, and released them?" Penelope shook her head, trying to understand. "What if they call their kinsmen together for vengeance?"

"Who would justify them? Who would help them?" He sighed, closing his eyes, and leaned hard into the rudder. "Penelope, they took their lives into their hands in a gamble, and they lost."

"I will never understand battle, or what drives a man to cut the life from another."

"Sweet Penelope, I hope you never do."

CHAPTER TEN

The ship reached Ithaka in mid-afternoon, when the sun just touched the top of the highest peak in the island's backbone. Penelope stood in the prow, leaning against the railing, trying to take in everything at once. Odysseus had described to her the greater and lesser bays. Their unfinished home sat in a narrow span of land, the wasp-waist bridge between the two islands that made Ithaka. She knew it was foolishness to try to see the house, the orchards and the high wall surrounding it, but she tried anyway.

She tried to see everything, how the water changed shades of blue as the depth changed, how the shading of green on the trees differed as they grew thicker and higher, the rippling white and gold of the sand along the shore. Penelope counted the seconds as the ship sailed past a cove on the southern side, going into the greater bay and then swung south and east for the lesser bay. The journey from the landing to their home would be a longer walk, but the lesser bay provided good anchorage and protection.

As the sailors jumped over the side to ease the ship onto the sand for docking, Penelope caught glimpses of people running for the bay and others running away. She followed the path of a boy in a blue loincloth as he hurried up an incline. The ship had been recognized, and someone ran now to tell Laertes Odysseus had finally come home.

Yes, she admitted now, Ithaka was a rough and rocky place. Penelope was glad of that. It made Ithaka hard to overthrow. Only those trained on the island, familiar with all the hidden places and the uneven landscape, could defend it. She turned around, studying the wind-scoured crags, the slope of the beach. Even in the hottest summer, there would be cooling breezes from the shore. Penelope turned to look up to the ridge where Odysseus' home sat. Even from a distance, it looked rich and beautiful. Her husband had said the island had known lean years. Penelope wondered how Ithaka would be in lush times, because it was beautiful now.

"Home," Odysseus said, coming up behind her. His voice was thick with satisfaction, and a longing Penelope had not heard him voice before.

She turned around and looked down at him from her perch. There was nothing she could think of to say, so she smiled and held out her arms. He reached up and helped her down, stealing a kiss and then tugging on her braid before releasing her.

"Tonight, we sleep in our own bed. Tomorrow..." A laugh of exuberance burst from him. "Tomorrow, we make plans."

"Plans for what?"

"Everything." He opened his mouth to say more, but a shout from the beach caught his attention. Odysseus waved in response. Though she turned quickly, Penelope couldn't see who it was. "Come." He strode to the railing and jumped down into the water, then reached up for her. Odysseus carried her until they reached the sand.

Penelope would have known his parents anywhere, just from Odysseus' descriptions. They were surrounded by people, some calling greetings, others watching. Penelope ignored them and concentrated on the couple advancing toward her.

Laertes stood tall despite the stooping weight of years on his shoulders. The flesh had begun to shrink from his face and arms, leaving a deceptive thinness. His hair showed streaks of silver, startling against the warm, thick brown. His eyes were almost amber and sparkled with life and interest. He walked with a firm stride across the sand, guiding the woman with him by a touch on her elbow.

Antikleia, Odysseus' mother was a short, plump woman, her hair tending to gold with much red in it. Penelope saw a tightness in the woman's mouth, and wrinkles around her gray eyes. Sadness and worry hung on her like heavy ivy that sucked at her vitality. Shadows lined the pale, round face, where there should have been a rosy glow. Penelope felt pity for the woman, not the nervous wariness she had expected.

Odysseus set her down on the sand and gripped her shoulder, giving her an encouraging smile and led her to meet his parents. Penelope heard comments now from the crowd. She nearly smiled when she heard a woman remark on her being 'such a little, dark maid.' Penelope found she didn't mind. Until she heard a man remark that he thought Helen was tall and golden. A tiny spark of anger turned quickly to laughter she could hardly repress-these people expected Odysseus to bring Helen as a bride.

A tightness in her chest vanished when Laertes smiled at her. Her face warmed and she felt the blush moving over her neck and face when Odysseus put his arm around her waist, drawing her close against him.

"Welcome, Penelope, daughter of Ikarios," Laertes said, resting his hand on the top of her head in blessing. "As my son has taken you to his heart, I welcome you to our home and family."

"I welcome a new daughter to our house," Antikleia said, her voice soft, almost breathless. For a moment, the worry at the back of her eyes faded and her smile was genuine. She glanced back and forth between Odysseus and his bride, hesitating. Then she leaned forward and kissed Penelope on both cheeks. "You make him happy," she whispered before drawing back. "For that alone, I welcome you gladly."

"I gave orders for a feast," Laertes said, his voice booming and hearty, cutting through the confusing cloud of questions in Penelope's mind. "We were thinking we would have to endure the winter without you. The gossip from the ports said there was no man Tyndareos considered good enough for Helen."

"Menelaos is the chosen one," Odysseus said, looking around at the waiting crowd with a wide grin. "And that is all the news you'll get from me. Question my men to death, if you must know the market talk," he added with a laugh.

Some of the crowd laughed with him and began to scatter. Penelope was glad when Odysseus kept his arm around her as they left the beach. Antikleia walked at her side and Laertes walked next to his son. Penelope contented herself with taking in everything she could see, as they walked up the paths, across the narrow meadows. The men kept the conversation between themselves, Laertes asking questions and Odysseus answering, spinning everything into a tale.

Penelope stole glances at Antikleia from time to time. The woman walked watching the ground. Occasionally she would look up, the sadness in her eyes fading as she looked at her returned son. She was oblivious to all else. Penelope doubted the woman would even hear her if she spoke to her.

Penelope felt some relief, touched with sadness. Odysseus had told her they would live in his parents' home until the house he built was finished. She had not looked forward to any conflict that might rise between his mother and her. As Odysseus' wife, it was her duty to take charge of his household, yet not insult or steal the authority of his mother. Penelope wondered how involved Antikleia was in the day-to-day affairs of the estate, and how much power the housekeeper had. She envied Helen, who had few changes to make in the household of the palace of Sparta.

"My son, you are the one who married her, not I." Laertes' laughter rang from the courtyard below, catching Penelope's attention. "Why do you try to convince me?"

She stepped to the window of her room, her fingers fumbling with the clasp holding her dress up at her shoulders. Through the curtained doorway, Eurynome prepared her bath. Penelope had looked forward to the comfort of a warm bath after days of traveling with cold springs for washing. Until now. Her husband and his father had already bathed and changed and talked in the courtyard alone. She knew it wrong to listen to a conversation that didn't include her-especially one about her. Penelope couldn't push away her curiosity. She hissed as the clasp finally opened and the pin pricked her finger. She held her dress up with one hand, sucked on the injured finger, and listened.

"You sounded skeptical. I merely wanted to convince you of the wisdom in my choice," Odysseus said. The two men stepped into her view now, slowly walking from under the balcony below her feet. He smiled down at his father, one hand on his shoulder.

"When have you ever made a decision that wasn't profitable?" Laertes' voice held teasing and laughter now.

"The reason for your doubts still escape me, Father. What more do I have to say? I asked everyone I could, to find out everything about her. She helped to manage her grandfather's estates. She can calculate like a scribe and keep records. I told you how she defended herself when we were attacked and when Aias-"

"Yes, yes." Laertes shook his head. "I never thought to see you lose your reason for a beautiful face."

"She is more than beautiful, Father." Exasperation touched Odysseus' voice. Penelope felt torn between amusement and embarrassment at the passion of his defense. "She is alive-alert-her mind is quick and remembers what other women would forget in a moment. She has spirit and courage. She is more than just a decoration for my household and a body to warm my bed."

"Ah, and now we approach the problem." Laertes held up his hand, to forestall more protests. "She is beautiful and young and strong. Yet can such a tiny creature give you healthy sons?"

"She is still gaining her growth. If all I wanted was a healthy son, I could have bought any wide-hipped slave girl for that. Father, why can't I make you understand?"

"I understand very well." He sighed and gestured toward a bench next to a pool at one end of the courtyard. Laertes sat down, moving slowly. "For the good of Ithaka, she must give you a son. Soon. If there is any power left in the old worship, it must be invoked now."

"Penelope understands the old ways. She understands more than she lets you guess." Odysseus laughed. "I learned everything about her that I could, then arranged to go to Pylos to see her when she arrived. She escaped her guards to go back to her ship to retrieve a toy, and when Aias accosted her, turned out a tale that later caused him great trouble. I knew then, she was the one for me."

Penelope felt her fingers dig into the stone of the windowsill as his words echoed in her mind. Odysseus had known her from the start? He had come to Pylos to inspect her? Would he have saved her from Aias if she hadn't made a good first impression?

"Someday, your tricks and plans will be your destruction," Laertes said. "Do you trust your wife?"

"As much as I trust you, or Mentor. Father, if I couldn't have won her fairly, I would have stolen her. I spread tales to frighten any noble who showed interest in her. It took all my cunning to win her friendship when she disguised herself as a boy."

"As a boy!" He laughed. "I can see you've found a wife to match you."

Penelope felt something tighten inside, a sense of uneasiness. Was that a compliment? Should she be flattered Odysseus had worked so hard to keep her for himself? These confessions to his father confirmed what she had heard others say about him-and she wasn't sure she liked that.

"Odysseus, you are my only son." The abrupt return to seriousness in Laertes' tone took her from her musing. "You were born late to your mother, whom I married late. The day your first child is born, I am making you king in my place. I cannot wait forever. I want to rest."

"You make me sound like a selfish man," Odysseus said, settling down on the bench next to his father. He groaned, the sound turning into a ragged chuckle.

"Far be it for me to accuse you."

"The women of her family line were priestesses to the Goddess. She could have been a priestess."

"If she was, you never could have brought her here."

"I know that. But Father, the people here who still hold to the old ways, who worship in secret-they will follow Penelope because of her mother's line. She will bring the final unity to Ithaka that all your battles could never accomplish. War is not the way to win the hearts of the women, and they influence their husbands."

"Does she follow the old ways? That is the important question. If so, how does she feel, being given away like a slave when her ancestors had the right to choose?" Laertes looked tired now. Penelope thought he disliked asking the questions he voiced to his son.

"She does. She understands already she will be more a queen than Helen could ever hope to be. She knows I need her, that I chose her because of her wisdom and strength."

"Do you hold her heart, to trust her so deeply? My son, I could believe you bewitched, to be so trusting."

"I am bewitched. And she is a witch." Odysseus chuckled, the sound warm, sending a warm pulse through Penelope in response. "Father, she is alive like no other woman. Alert. Cunning. Strong. She knows how to hold a man with her mind and virtues, not just with her beauty and her sweet body."

Tears touched her eyes and she blinked them away. Penelope berated herself for doubting Odysseus. His ways were perhaps secretive and devious, but his motives were true. She had to believe that.

"I see more than you tell me." Laertes paused, looking his son up and down. "She is strong. A better queen than your mother, perhaps?"

"I honor and love my mother." He stood, towering over his father. "But the day my sister died, my mother made herself no fit queen for you. She abandoned the Goddess and the old ways. Ithaka needs strength. Dreams and oracles and Athena's priests have warned me of dangerous days ahead."

"Penelope." Eurynome's voice, though soft, shocked her as it broke through her concentration on the men below.

She turned and found another woman in the room with her nurse. This woman was dressed plainly, her hair braided close around her head and covered with a cloth. She stood tall and strong and straight; a woman of authority. Brown eyes weighed Penelope. Ruddy cheeks and smooth, firm muscles in her half-bared arms proclaimed this woman a hard worker, healthy, and active.

"I am the housekeeper, Eurykleia," the woman said, her words soft and slow.

A spark touched her eyes and her lips lifted a little at the corners. Penelope had the sense that she had just passed a test. She recalled what Odysseus had said about his parents' household. Eurykleia had been his nurse and a woman of influence in other areas.

"Is there anything you require?" the newcomer continued. She turned to include Eurynome in the question.

"For myself, I have what I need," Penelope said. "Have the rest of my people been settled?"

"And all insisting on taking their duties immediately. They train well in Sparta." The woman gave Eurynome a smile and a short nod of her head.

"My husband said you would be a friend to us," Penelope ventured, encouraged by the knowledge that her nurse and the housekeeper already respected each other. She had worried about that more than any difficulties with Antikleia.

"And so I shall, mistress." Eurykleia's expression warmed. "Come, your bath grows cold. You have had a long, wearying journey, but you are indeed home now."

Penelope nodded. She felt another cord of tension loosen inside her with this new acceptance. She wished that women's gossip told a girl how to find her place with her husband's family, rather than what to do on her bridal night. This was far more important.

While Eurynome tended to her, Penelope thought over the conversation she had overheard and grew uneasy. She had assumed Odysseus believed the old ways, but now she suspected he only spoke the words to placate people. He needed her, yes. He had spoken the truth there.

She was proud Odysseus chose her for her skills and abilities, not just for a royal bride to give him a proper heir. Yet she wished he had dwelled more on how beautiful he found her. Penelope laughed at her foolish pride and when Eurynome gave her a questioning glance, shrugged it off as nothing important.

"The armory will be here," Odysseus said, pacing out a square on the packed dirt. "The threshold, over there, will be raised so the doors shut tight against the winter winds. Hearths in the center of the large rooms. And see this."

He took Penelope by the hand and led her through the arch of an empty doorway. The sky was bright overhead, shining through into the roofless main hall of the half-built house.

They had awakened early, almost with the dawn, to walk the short distance to the unfinished house. Penelope welcomed the chill of mist that slowly burned away with the rising sun. She smiled at Odysseus, delighted with his eagerness and pride as he led her from one echoing room to another, telling her where stairs would be, hearths, partitions, and ceilings to make a second floor. Now he led her outside, beyond the servant quarters.

"I devised a way to bring the water of the springs closer to us, instead of the women carrying jars back and forth all day." He gestured for her to inspect the stone-lined ditch that fed water into a cistern in the courtyard. "When the winter storms blow, we'll be warm in our home and no one will need to leave it for anything."

"You're like a little boy with a new toy," she scolded, teasing.

"Does a boy think only of guarding his treasure?" Odysseus returned, drawing her close to kiss.

"So many plans and schemes," she murmured. "You will drive yourself half mad someday, with your tricks and tales. How do you keep your stories from tangling in your head?"

"I do it because I must." He shrugged. "Here, I want to show you something, and then we must go back. Father has called an assembly of the elders this morning so I can answer all their questions at once." Odysseus sighed, putting on a mask of long-suffering.

Penelope shook her head, knowing he acted for her amusement. She knew he reveled in having an audience, drawing reactions from them with a twist of a phrase or the change of a single word.

One section of the house had its roof already, next to the main hall. Behind a door bound with bronze, a narrow, sheltered stairway led to the second floor. Odysseus took her up the stairs, to a series of three rooms overlooking the inner and outer courtyards. Bronze shutters were closed to protect the furnishings already placed inside. Odysseus flung open shutters in all three rooms and gestured for her to inspect them.

The walls were plain, clean white, awaiting decoration. A long table, a wide chest and a bed frame, all of the same dark wood, all carved with the same design of owls, waited in one room. Penelope stepped up to the table and inspected the fine carving.

"Your work?" she asked, already knowing the answer. She looked up and smiled at him. "Owls, to honor Athena."

"To ask protection for my bride." He beckoned, and they walked through the doorway to inspect the other two rooms. They had stools, chairs and tables, waiting for occupants, with different designs than the bedroom but clearly all made by Odysseus' hand. The rooms echoed, waiting. "These will be your chambers, if they please you."

"Very much," Penelope murmured. She looked to the shutters that could lock so tight, keeping all inside warm and dry. She envisioned the rooms flooded with sunlight when the day grew older. She imagined she heard springtime birds singing, smelled fruit ripening on the branches and vines in the orchards beyond the house. The trees were abandoned now as fall approached and the gardens slept. She imagined what the estate would look like, once people lived there.

"When our home is finished, I will make you a loom. Many in Sparta spoke of your skill in weaving," he added, when she looked at him, questioning. "A new loom, for a new bride and a new life for us."

"What should I make first on it?" she asked, smiling acceptance of his promised gift.

"What would you like to make first?" he countered. Odysseus reached for her hand and when she gave it, led her back to the stairs and down again.

"It is bad luck, tempting the Furies and Fates, to make clothes for a child not yet conceived." Penelope smiled when his hand tightened around hers.

"Penelope-"

"Your father wants a grandson very much."

"You heard us." His voice went flat.

"I am flattered you see so much to value in me, so soon. Eurynome once told me a man values his wife for the pleasure he finds in her body, then for the children she gives him, and later learns to recognize her other qualities. You are a most contrary man, my husband." She kept her face and voice solemn as she spoke.

"Be careful, Penelope." He gathered her close as they reached the bottom of the staircase, a strange light burning in his eyes. Then mischief wiped that expression away. He laughed and bent to scoop her up into his arms. "Your sweet body makes me forget all other reasons for marrying you," he said, chuckling. Odysseus carried her to the closed room next to the bottom of the stairs. He fumbled for a moment with a key he had tucked into his belt when they left the house, unlocked the door, then nudged the latch with his knee and pushed the door open. It swung open without a sound into a dark room.

The darkness surrounded them, blinding after the brightness of outside. She lay quietly in his arms, unwilling to upset his balance. Then Odysseus stopped, setting her down so she sat high off the floor. The surface was rough and gave slightly. He sat next to her, making the surface bounce a little. Penelope felt on either side of her and touched a tight, close netting of ropes, then a wooden frame.

"Your bedroom?" she guessed.

"Our most secret and safe place in all the world. That door has been locked since I left for Sparta. In times of danger, the secrets of this room will be a password between us. Give me your hand." He took it before she could respond and guided her hand to the head of the bed.

Her eyes were adjusting now. Penelope could make out lighter shadows and a tall, thin blackness that was a bedpost. She let Odysseus guide her hand over the wood, feeling the designs carved into it. More owls. It frightened her a little, how much he trusted in Athena's favor and guidance.

"A living olive tree, its roots still solid in the ground under this floor. No one can move this bed without first cutting the trunk, and I can only think of one way to do that without ruining the whole." His voice softened, deepened. Penelope wondered what troubling thoughts went through his mind as he spoke. "This will be a sign for us if danger comes and we are separated. If there is treachery and you trust no one as messenger, send me word that my bed has been moved. Whether the frame is cracked or whole will tell me how deep the treachery runs."

"Is danger approaching?"

"Not yet. Perhaps not ever." He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. Penelope leaned into the warmth and strength of his embrace. "Ilion and Troy cause trouble for those who would pass through the Dardanelles to trade or explore. Agamemnon would avoid war, but if the rumors are true it could come. Ilion could retaliate by sending raiders of their own to our lands."

"We are half a world away from Ilion," she retorted. "What danger could Ithaka be in?"

"Perhaps none. I learned it is better to expect danger and treachery on every hand and get by on half a night's sleep, than to trust without reason and be murdered in your sleep. There are few men I trust wholeheartedly. Those I do trust have earned it and have my undying loyalty."

"Your father thought it strange that you trust me so much," she murmured. "I have done little to earn it."

"If I don't trust my wife, how can she trust me?" he returned, tightening his arms around her.

Penelope nodded and returned his lingering kisses. A tiny voice of doubt whispered that he trusted her because she had no choice but to be faithful-or he thought she had no power to hurt him with treachery. She clung to him, longing for the spark of passion to destroy such thoughts.

"Blood sacrifices will not make a strong foundation," Penelope said, as Odysseus closed the door of their bedroom.

"Shall I take you to all the forts that have stood for centuries, built on the blood and bodies of sacrificed warriors?" He smiled as if her words amused him and began undressing.

"Forts, yes. Built for war. We are talking about a home, a place to raise children and live in peace. The Goddess never asked for blood to be spilled, to please her." She sank down on the bench next to the door.

That evening, she had sat quiet with her sewing and listened to Odysseus and his father discuss the sacrifices and ceremonies to bless their new home. It would be ready in only a few days. She had looked forward to the final preparations and listened to their conversation eagerly- there was nothing else to do but sew. Antikleia accepted her, was kind to her, but was no company at all. Penelope had listened, wishing she dared to offer suggestions. Then she realized there would be no blessing as her aunt had taught her. She had grown frightened, then angry, and bit her lip to keep from speaking in front of Laertes.

"Were we talking about our house?" He tugged back the blankets and sat down on the bed. "You never said anything while my father and I were talking."

"Because I am still a stranger here!"

"This is your home. All of Ithaka belongs to you."

"Only as your wife. The people don't accept me for myself yet-because I have hardly left this house since we arrived." She stopped and swallowed hard, feeling tightness growing in her throat, a burning in her eyes that foretold tears. Penelope refused to let her control fall apart so easily. "They don't know me. I hardly know your parents."

"We have all been so busy, preparing our home, tending to island matters," Odysseus said, his words slow. He stayed seated, when she wanted him to come to her, gather her up in his arms and hold her tight.

"I know that. Yet I can't help thinking of the promises you made me, that we would explore Ithaka together. You said you would teach me all about our home. I know nothing, the people don't know me. I am a stranger here."

"When we are in our home-"

"We will have more time to walk and explore and enjoy ourselves. I know." She tried to smile. "Odysseus, please-I'm not complaining. I understand. I can see how everyone demands your time. All I ask is that you change the blessing ceremony. Blood will not please the Goddess."

"The blessings of milk and wine will not please the other gods. Or the nobles of Ithaka. The Goddess is more understanding than our neighbors." He shook his head and held up his hand to forestall more argument. "Penelope, I know what you want, and why. I'm glad you're careful of the old rituals. But in this matter my decision must stand. Come to bed."

Slowly, she stood and walked to the other side of the bed. Penelope blinked hard against the tears that still threatened. Eurynome had warned her times like this would come-she simply hadn't expected it so soon. She managed to smile for him as she took off her dress and hung it on a peg on the wall. Odysseus took her into his arms when she climbed into bed next to him. He kissed her and closed his eyes to sleep. She held still in his arms and stared up at the ceiling, making plans.

The night their home was finished, Penelope waited until Odysseus slept before she followed her plan. She slipped out of their bed and dressed in the dark and hurried barefoot through the darkness to the empty, waiting house. She carried three small jugs, filled with wine, oil and milk, to bless the house as her aunt had taught her. Whispering prayers to the Goddess, naming her Athena, Penelope anointed the doors and the foundation from the three jugs.

The Goddess didn't demand spilled blood and death to call down her blessings. Laertes would perform sacrifices to bless his son's house in the morning. She wouldn't stand in the way of his duty. She simply knew that blood would not bring all the protection and blessing their home needed.

Penelope lingered over the large, ornate bed in Odysseus' room, remembering the tale he told her of fashioning the bed frame. He loved his puzzles and riddles and tricks, she knew. Every turn and twist that foiled an adversary was another victory in the struggle to protect everything precious to him. Penelope took special care in anointing his bed, to bring him protection.

When she finished the entire household, hurrying to keep from being discovered absent, Penelope returned to the wide, well-set door to anoint it a second time. She pushed it open to step out, clanking the nearly empty jugs against each other in her arms.

Seven silent, pale faces greeted her as she stepped out into the courtyard. Eurykleia stood at the head of the group. She held three clay jugs cradled in her arms. For a moment, Penelope regarded her husband's nurse in silence, returning the woman's silent scrutiny.

"Ithaka has a queen again," the woman said, a smile stretching across her face. She gave a deep bow of respect to Penelope. The six older women behind her smiled as well. "Come, your blessing must be finished properly, as the Goddess instructs us."

Penelope nodded and let the women lead her out of the courtyard, to the rocky cliffs three bow-shots away from the house. She didn't dare trust her voice. Relief made her knees weak, while exultation at discovering secret worshipers made her heart soar. It was important, she realized, to have Eurykleia's approval-even more than the support of Odysseus' mother.

The seven women led her down a narrow path along the cliff face to a cave overhung with creeping vines, damp with a spring that soaked through the cracks in the rock. The opening was narrow and long, like the opening of a womb. There had been no such place available in Alybas, the former sanctuary destroyed by warriors who attacked the area. The ruling elders, all men, had said it was useless to rebuild it-no one needed such a place any longer.

Penelope began to tremble with excitement, seeing at last a proper sanctuary, attended by women as the Goddess instructed.

She heard a scratching sound behind her, then a hiss and sputter. A lamp flared into light and a woman put away the bit of flint used to strike the spark. Rough, rounded walls gleaming with paintings and damp surrounded Penelope. She stood still, gazing at everything until Eurykleia raised her hand to gain her attention. The woman took a folded bundle of cloth from her outer wrap, put it on the low stone in the center of the cave and gestured for Penelope to unwrap it. Inside were honey cakes, pressed packets of raisins and dates, all wet with wine and oil. Penelope understood what was to come next, though she had never before made an offering to the Goddess.

She walked around the stone until she found the hole in the rock, with cracks radiating out from it. As was proper, she knew the hole led down to the bowels of the earth. Penelope knelt before the hole and held out her hands. While the other women chanted prayers for blessing and peace, fertile wombs and fertile fields, asking for warmth and shelter during the winter to come, Penelope took the jugs from Eurykleia's hands and poured their contents into the hole. Milk, wine, and oil. Then one by one, she slipped the cakes into the hole, to follow the libations into the bowels of the earth.

"We have a queen again in Ithaka and all will be well," one woman whispered as the ritual finished.

The other six women filed out of the cave, leaving Eurykleia and Penelope alone with the flickering lamp. Eurykleia said nothing as she led the way out into the open air and the waning night. Penelope thought she felt approval and support from the housekeeper. It took the chill of the night away. She had come barefoot and without a cloak as was proper, letting little come between her and the Goddess' soil and sheltering night.

They walked back to Laertes' house together, quiet companionship drawing them closer. Penelope wished Eurykleia would be part of her household.

As they stepped through the wide door into the front hall, where feasts and councils took place, Odysseus entered from the back of the house. He looked like he had awakened only moments before and dressed quickly. He stood still as a statue, watching Penelope and Eurykleia come into the house. Penelope saw him and something tightened around her heart. She had been gone too long and he had awakened and missed her. She had no idea what to say to him, how to explain. Would he be angry? She had disobeyed. Eurynome's advice was not as sound as it had seemed at the time. Then Odysseus' gaze shifted to Eurykleia and his guarded look relaxed.

"You must be cold. Get you back to bed." He nodded to his old nurse, his smile more in his eyes than his lips. Odysseus slipped his arm around Penelope's waist and drew her close against him. "Your clothes are damp," he murmured as Eurykleia left them alone.

"Forgive me for worrying you."

"I should have known better, but..." A muffled chuckle escaped him. "A dream woke me, and it was such that I reached for you before I woke."

"A dream?"

"A terrible dream." He led her back to their room. "I dreamed you stood in our feasting hall with one hundred men pressing their suit to marry you and you looked at me and didn't know me."

"The day another man tries to claim me, I will be Dyvis again and run away." Her voice shook a little. She knew he wasn't angry.

"Penelope..." Odysseus caught her close against him to kiss her. She clung to him, feeling the warmth of desire begin to pulse. "You come from the Goddess," he whispered. "Penelope, bless me with your loving."

As he picked her up and carried her to their bed, Penelope felt a moment of regret for the potion she had taken earlier. This night of all nights, a child so conceived would have been doubly blessed.

Later, as drowsiness wrapped around them, her thoughts returned to his reaction when she returned. Penelope pressed close against Odysseus and twined her limbs around him.

"Are you cold?" he whispered. He reached for the blankets they had pushed off the bed in their passion. All were out of his reach and he chuckled as he released her.

"You wanted me to go to the Goddess tonight, didn't you?" Penelope sat up, watching as he leaned over the side of the bed. It comforted her a little that Odysseus looked slightly shamed when he turned back to her.

"Would you have understood if I said, go and bless the house, but at night so no one sees you?"

"I think I understand a little, but...did you plan on my meeting Eurykleia and her companions?"

"That was a stroke of blessing." He settled down next to her and draped a blanket over them both. "Everyone knows the plans for the sacrifices. The servants of the Goddess will know what you did in the dark of the night, without your husband's approval. You have made yourself priestess to the Goddess and proper queen of Ithaka."

"Eurykleia said that." Penelope sighed and closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. The warmth of him felt good in the deepening chill of the night. "Odysseus, must everything you do have a thousand reasons?"

"Not always." He kissed her, lingering, waking a spark of desire she had thought quenched for the night. "Penelope, trust me, even when you don't understand."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There came a day when Odysseus didn't have visitors coming from every side of Ithaka asking advice or judgment or help of some kind. It was a warm, early fall day, bright, with no clouds threatening on the horizon. Odysseus told Eurynome to pack some food in a cloth; grapes and bread, cheese and a skin of wine. He found Penelope in the courtyard, directing the planting of olive trees. When she turned to him, he caught her around the waist and began to lead her to the outer gate of their house.

"They can work without your leading," he said, when she opened her mouth to protest. "Today is ours, to waste as we please." He laughed at the staring servants and gestured for them to go on with their work.

"But Odysseus-" Penelope stopped short to avoid running into a stack of firewood.

"I promised to show you Ithaka, months ago. This may be our only chance before winter storms keep us housebound."

Penelope could think of no argument to his reasoning. She laughed and gave herself up to his leading. Whatever they did that day, she knew she would enjoy it. She missed the moonlit talks in the garden in Sparta, the hours of talk they had enjoyed on their journey to Ithaka. Lately, she only saw her husband in the evenings or when he came to her room to share her bed. Odysseus carried most of the duties of Ithaka's king for his father and it took large amounts of his time. All the more reason, she knew, to enjoy these few stolen hours with him.

They were barely out of sight of their home when they met a farmer and his grown son heading to the harbor with a load of grain on two donkeys. Both men saluted Odysseus and he returned their greeting cheerfully. Neither smiled; their bows of respect to their prince were stiff. They hesitated, studying Penelope a moment too long before greeting her and wishing her well. She smiled, nodded and stayed quiet. Penelope didn't miss the way the men slowed their steps, watching her as they passed.

"Is it because I'm a stranger here?" she asked Odysseus, once the men were out of earshot.

"Hmm?" He looked at her, then back over his shoulder. "You strike every man speechless with your beauty."

"Odysseus, don't mock me." Despite the strange prickle of warning, she smiled.

"Who can guess the thoughts in a farmer's mind? Rumors travel this island faster than the wind. There's little anyone can do to stop the people from believing."

Penelope decided to give up. Odysseus wasn't about to say-either because he didn't want her to know, or he didn't know. She had expected all Ithaka to admire their prince. Whatever the farmers had heard, they had no affection for Odysseus at that moment.

A short time later, they came to a rise in the path. Trees lined the way and it curved so they couldn't see what came before or behind them. Shadows made a pleasant change from the warm brightness of the day. When Odysseus halted, Penelope was glad. She slipped her arms around his neck when he turned to her. Laughing, Odysseus wrapped both arms around her, lifting her so her toes barely touched the ground. They had barely begun kissing when she heard the distinct bleating of goats coming over the hill ahead.

"Did you bring me out here only to seduce me?" she whispered.

"Witch," Odysseus growled. His scowl became a grin. He set her down, releasing her with a caress. "I should pray for a storm to keep us prisoner for a week. Then I'd show you seduction."

"I am always willing to learn, my lord." She laughed when he snatched at her, and darted out of his way.

The goats poured around the shadowy bend, filling the path. Penelope pressed against a tree trunk as an aromatic flood of shaggy brown, white and speckled coats separated her from Odysseus. He stood on the other side of the path and laughed at the surprise on her face. In another moment, the herder came into sight. The man's mouth dropped open when he saw Odysseus. He ran up through his milling goats, using his staff to push the animals out of his way.

Penelope didn't like how the man looked her over and grinned before turning to speak to Odysseus. From the stiffening of her husband's shoulders, she guessed that he didn't either. The goats' bleating assaulted her ears, a piercing sound that kept her from hearing what the man said.

Then the goats were past and she could cross the path again. Odysseus didn't reach for her when she rejoined him. Neither did he introduce her to the herder.

"Despite the sparse rains, the meadow is filled with thick, sweet grass," the man said. He looked to Penelope and nodded to her. "You'd especially appreciate that, lady."

"I have no idea what my lord intends," she returned. She looked to Odysseus to avoid the herder's gaze rather than find explanations in her husband's eyes.

"He should set his cunning to aide Ithaka, not the lords of Mycenae." The herder's voice grew sharp.

"You should tend your goats before they are stolen," Odysseus returned. The bitter quiet of his voice sent prickles of warning up Penelope's back. Though she never heard that tone before, she knew him well enough to guess it was the quiet before the storm.

The other man paled and backed away. Mumbling about his goats, he turned and left without any farewell. He started swinging his staff, whistling for his creatures.

Odysseus took her by the hand and led her away. The pace was quicker than before and she stumbled once before she could adjust her stride to match his.

"Penelope." Odysseus stopped. He looked away, his jaw clenching moment. "Forgive me. You are the last person I should punish for an idiot's words."

"Can you tell me what he said?" She waited but he didn't answer. "It has to do with the meadow?"

"That cursed meadow should have been-" He released her hand and stepped away. He kicked at a branch in the path, then stopped and seemed to regain control. "Legends. Foolish legends, which people grasp at like dying men grasping bits of woods in a stormy sea. At one of the high places, there is a meadow sacred to the Goddess." He turned back to her, his mouth twisted in a tight smile. "Her priestess made the sacred marriage there to bring crops in the lean years. Once a child was planted in her belly, the seasonal king was strangled and buried in the meadow."

"He said-" A thrill of horror chilled her. Penelope envisioned Odysseus still and cold, his face purple from the rope. It echoed dimly one of her visions of disaster.

"No, he wouldn't dare." Odysseus' smile took on a sharpness that made her shiver. "What he did say was that I should take you there, to return prosperity to Ithaka. You were no proper queen until you gave me a son, and I was no proper heir if I couldn't get you pregnant."

"If it would help-"

"Penelope!" His bark of laughter had a harshness. He stepped toward her, holding out his arms. She gave herself into his embrace. "Little witch, much as I welcome any excuse to enjoy you... I will not parade you, naked, in front of a leering audience."

"They would watch?" Horror made her stiffen in his arms. She would have pulled herself free if he hadn't held her so close.

"They may try, but we won't be there. You are mine, and I share you with no man. Not even in his dreams." For a moment, Odysseus' embrace squeezed the breath from her.

That night as Eurynome bathed her, Penelope told her nurse of the encounters. She wished she could have gone to Eurykleia as well. The few times the housekeeper had come to fetch Penelope for night rituals, she had given bits of advice or explained relationships and family standings on Ithaka that had escaped the young wife before.

"We were better off in Alybas," Eurynome said with a snort, when Penelope had finished her story. "I've heard similar tales and people dare to come to me and ask-" She huffed, and turned away to get a brush.

"Ask what?" Penelope thought she could guess.

"They want to know if you are with child yet. The harvests aren't good this year. They want you to give them assurance of a fruitful year next year. Savages. In Alybas, you might have been laughed at, but not treated like a breeding slave."

"My duties do include providing a son for my husband."

"That is between you and him. The rest of this benighted island has no right to watch for your moon flow and study the size of your waist." She brushed hard, making Penelope's head jerk twice before softening her strokes. "Your husband does not help matters."

"He handled it well this afternoon." Penelope began to regret bringing up the subject.

"Yes, today. But I have been watching and listening, child. These people of Ithaka-they are a stubborn, selfish lot. They'll follow Odysseus because they know he'll always come away with a profit. They know he's clever and strong and no one who follows him will suffer. But I see little love for him. They'll always need a reason to obey. That's not good."

"He's still young, and he's not yet king." She sat forward, tugging her hair free of her nurse's hands. "My husband will win their love. It takes time. He has plans to make Ithaka prosper. They will love him then."

"For your sake, I hope so." Eurynome snorted again. "I hope he doesn't expect you to produce a child every year."

"He has no say in that regard," Penelope whispered. She could almost taste the bitter, chalky potion Eurynome would prepare for her before bed that night. Her resolve wavered a bit, weighing duty to the Goddess against freedom of choice.

Eurynome's words returned to her thoughts. It was true, the people of Ithaka didn't love their future king as they should. Penelope remembered the small criticisms spoken against Odysseus in Sparta, the unkind looks she had seen cast at him. She remembered her other moments of doubt. The moments he hid the truth from her, used her to get a reaction from someone else. All small situations, easily forgotten at the moment. She wondered if he used others to manipulate her in turn.

Am I spellbound? she wondered. Am I too happy? Does he make me happy for other reasons?

The first bitter storms of early winter lashed Ithaka. Penelope liked listening to the soft brush of wind-driven rain against the sturdy shutters in her workroom. It spoke to her of the strength and sturdiness of the whole house. She spun the wool from the fall shearing-that harvest, at least, had not been disappointing-and designed her first weaving project in her mind. When the day's work was done and there were no island matters to attend to, Odysseus came to her rooms to build the loom. Progress was slow, but she didn't complain. She watched the growth of the loom under her husband's hands and wondered how it would be to weave baby clothes and sheets.

Members of the household watched her for the first sign of a baby blooming in her belly. The days and weeks went by, the phases of the moon changed. Her body continued to fill out, slowly, but not the drastic changes of a baby in her womb. She still took Eurynome's potion. Part of her dreaded Odysseus' reaction if he ever learned the truth. His disappointment frightened her more than his anger. Penelope scolded herself not to care what the servants thought, and devoted herself to running the household.

Helping her aunt had been good practice. With Eurynome's help, Penelope established efficient routines for the new household from the beginning. Melantho enjoyed her role as second to the mistress of the house. Penelope had worried about her maid's sullen moods the first few weeks after arriving in Ithaka. All seemed well now, and Melantho was a loyal, hard worker once more.

Penelope welcomed the storms. She was greedy for her husband's time and company. The storms kept the ships grounded and men caught indoors. Odysseus had more hours to spare for other duties beyond resolving problems and giving leadership. More time the two of them could spend talking, making plans for their future. Odysseus put half his vineyard and orchards and some of his sheep and cattle into her care, for her chosen, personal servants to tend. Aris and her sons were put over those possessions, while Dolios stayed in the house as steward, aiding Eurynome. Working with Odysseus, Penelope found, was as pleasant as the drowsy contentment that wrapped around them before they fell asleep in each other's arms.

"Exactly." Odysseus nodded and gestured for Penelope to stand back. He knelt, sighting down the line of bronze axes balanced against each other, twelve pairs in a straight, narrow dirt trench in the middle of the feasting hall. "It feels like years since I've done this," he muttered.

Outside, a storm howled and battered uselessly against the sturdy walls of the house. The evening meal was long over. The elders of Ithaka had come to Odysseus' house to discuss winter damage and how the ships had fared last season. Laertes had come, but he listened more than he spoke, turning more of the leadership of Ithaka over to his son. Penelope had left her stairway and chamber doors open so she could catch snatches of conversation-whenever the howling of the wind lowered enough to let her hear.

She knew soon, Odysseus would be king of Ithaka in everything but name. That last waited on her. Sometimes, though she liked Laertes and enjoyed his company, she resented the man for resting the confirmation of kingship on the birth of his son's heir.

Now, everyone had left for their homes before the worst of the storm hit, except Laertes. Penelope had come down to join father and son by the hearth, to tell stories and talk. She was coming to like her father-in-law and enjoy his company. She suspected Odysseus' tales of her disguised as a boy made it easier for the man to talk to her.

Their conversation had turned to the wooing of Helen and the suitors' contests of skill. Laertes mentioned Odysseus' bronze-bound bow and the test of skill he had devised for himself.

"The idea is to set up a narrow channel between the angle of the axe heads," Laertes explained. Penelope stepped away from helping Odysseus and went back to the hearth. He smiled at her and wiped some ash off the edge of the hearth so she could sit next to him.

"And then shoot the arrow along that channel without touching anything," she guessed.

The man nodded. Penelope turned to study the long line of axes down the length of the feasting hall. A thick cushion hung from the wall to catch the arrow at the end of its flight. If it was not knocked off course, its energy spent by brushing against one or several axe heads.

"Perfect," Odysseus declared, standing up now and walking back to join them. "Penelope, you have a deft hand and a true eye. No one else I know of could have set them so straight and true." He bowed extravagantly to her, making her laugh.

"Excepting yourself," his father said, his tone dry, eyes dancing with laughter.

"True. Now, for my bow." He reached for the ox-hide case lying flat on the nearest table. He paused, a lopsided smile on his face. "Every time I come back to it after a long absence, I wonder if I will still be able to bend it." He slid the bow out of its case, firelight reflecting on the bronze wrapped around the tips and the grip. Wood and carved ivory gleamed with a warm, soft light as he ran his hands up and down its length, checking for rot or worms or dampness that might have harmed it.

Penelope knew little about bows beyond what she overheard her cousins say. Her grandfather had preferred the spear or slingshot. The bow had a different design from others she had seen, more curve coming away from the grip. She wondered if this was what Kastor had meant by a bow that was tight and stubborn, only yielding to a loving touch.

"Coward," Odysseus muttered at himself, grinning. He tossed the ox-hide cover aside and balanced the end of the bow on the ground, braced against his sandal-clad foot. His muscles tensed, then he pressed from the top, catching the bow string up quickly and slipping the loop over. It caught, and the bow gave off a low, thrumming chord as Odysseus plucked the string. He snatched an arrow from the quiver lying on the table, strode over to the end of the dirt trench, knelt and swiftly loosed the arrow.

Penelope held her breath as the arrow skimmed down the narrow gap of the axe heads. She listened for the click or hum or the ring of bronze that meant the missile had gone awry. Silence, except the subdued howling of the wind as the storm gathered its strength. Then a solid 'thunk' as the arrow hit the cushion on the wall. She leapt from her seat and ran to Odysseus, to fling her arms around him. He hugged her one-armed, holding the bow aside. He kissed her and laughed and spun her around the open floor.

"Oh, Penelope, Penelope." Odysseus sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head against the top of hers. "You make me think I can do anything, that you never doubt me."

"You are my husband," she retorted, half teasing, half serious. "If I don't stand behind you, who will?"

"Indeed," Laertes said from his comfortable seat by the fire. "Son, guard this one carefully. I can see a hundred men coming to steal her from you, the moment you give her cause for complaint."

"Put no ideas in her head!" Odysseus said, mocking fear twisting his face into a comical mask. He led Penelope back to the hearth and sat down, with her between him and his father. "I admit, I did doubt my skill for a moment."

"A very brief moment," his father muttered, drawing a giggle from Penelope, a long-suffering sigh from Odysseus. "Have you told her the tale of the bow yet?"

"No, he has not." Penelope bent down and snatched up the ox-hide cover from the floor before Odysseus reached for it. "A thousand tales he has told me, but this is the first time I heard about the bow or the axes. Tell me now." For good measure, she sat on the cover.

"Father, I swear before all the gods, you're a bad influence on my wife. She only torments me like this when you're around." Odysseus braced the bow against his foot and loosed the bow string, then balanced the weapon on his knee. He scowled at them, but Laertes and Penelope only waited. "Very well, if you both insist." He took a deep breath and the look in his eyes became distant.

"I was just seventeen and my sheep had been stolen by raiders," he began, looking at a spot on the floor, among the blue and green tiles. "Father gave me my own flock when I was twelve. The raiders took every one. I was furious."

"He was," Laertes muttered in Penelope's ear. "You should have seen the water jars he broke." She muffled a chuckle behind her hand, eyes sparkling.

"So," Odysseus continued, "I took a ship to the mainland to follow them. Only a few boys my own age accompanied me, to sail. On land, I went on by myself. The second morning after leaving the ship, I met Iphitos, son of Eurytos, the famous bowman. He carried this bow with him for luck while he searched for some stolen horses. His horses were closer than my sheep and we made an agreement to help each other." Odysseus paused, frowning.

"We were like boys anywhere, enjoying the adventure so much we didn't mind the discomfort and the hard work. Or the danger. He taught me a few tricks with the sword I didn't know, and I taught him spear work where he was lacking. We were like brothers." He chuckled, glancing over at his wife and father a moment. "We found his horses, took them to some people he trusted and then went after my sheep. Iphitos teased me unmercifully about my lack in riding horses. We had a few friendly fights, and then I challenged him to ride the rudder of a fifty-oared ship during high seas. That silenced him for a while.

"His horses and sword didn't help us much when we finally found the raiders who took my sheep. They had joined up with their kinsmen-twenty men against two arrogant boys. We managed to rescue most of my sheep. The raiders paid dearly for the ewes they ate.

"Iphitos and I took wounds away. Our smaller numbers were the only advantage we had, chasing through the darkness in unfamiliar territory. I saved his life, staunching a wound that could have killed him, so he gave me this bow. It is said that only the true owner of this bow is able to bend it. No other man can bend it unless given him as a gift...or until the owner has died," he added, his voice softening.

"Where is Iphitos now?" Penelope whispered, feeling the old memories that wrapped around her husband. She rested a hand on his knee and leaned against his shoulder.

"In the shadow lands. One of his precious horses threw him and broke his back."

Silence for a long moment, when even the wailing of the wind had softened as if in respect for the end of the tale. Penelope stood, picked up the ox-hide cover and gave it back to Odysseus. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm. She wondered at the distant wistfulness in his eyes. Did he think about giving the bow to his son? She tried not to jerk her hand away from his grasp before he released it.

To move her thoughts to something else, Penelope stepped over to the table where the full quiver sat. Some arrows had a greenish-gray stain on the tips and were bound together into a bundle with black-stained leather thongs. She reached to pick it up and Odysseus caught her hand to stop her.

"Carefully. Those arrows are poisoned. I traveled two months to find the plant and learn to make that potion." He reached beyond her hand and picked up the quiver.

Penelope kept her back to Odysseus and his father, waiting until they turned to another subject before she faced them again. There were many things she had learned about her husband that night, she realized. When he told a tale with no embellishments, he spoke simple truth about things that affected him deeply. The embellishments, the twisting of the truth, were for strangers, for people he didn't trust, people he manipulated with his story for the sake of protection or profit.

How many stories he told her, she wondered, were simple ones and how many to turn her thoughts and feelings where he wanted them?

She had been raised to believe the use of poison was a choice of cowards-yet she had never heard anyone speak disparagingly of Odysseus' bravery, skill or leadership. There had to be another reason for using such arrows. That they were bound meant he took precautions that they not be used lightly. But what use were they saved for?

Her husband took few chances, she realized, unless he had a better than average chance of winning. He manipulated the conditions. She remembered Aias accosting her, thinking she was a servant girl to be toyed with. He had acted out of ignorance. Odysseus wanted her from the moment they met and had taken steps to kill others' interest in her. She knew he had held back his plan for the suitors' oaths until Tyndareos was desperate, willing to pay any price for help. Penelope felt some pride in a husband so cunning and clever, but it disturbed her all the same.

How many people did Odysseus really trust? She had listened to snatches of conversations that came up the narrow stairs from the great hall when her husband led discussions. When he told her his plans and concerns beforehand, she could follow his trail of thought. Many times, he started in opposition to his true direction. Then, playing both sides of an argument or proposition against the other, he turned both sides to follow his lead. She admired his skill, his persuasiveness. Now, she wondered how many of his friends, his followers, realized that he manipulated them as easily as he did his detractors.

There was only one man on Ithaka, besides Laertes, that she knew Odysseus trusted with his deepest thoughts and secrets. Mentor, an elder of noble blood, a warrior crippled in a boar hunting accident. Odysseus had told her-in simple words-about the boar attack he suffered as a boy that left the scar above his knee. Mentor had survived a similar attack, but nearly lost his leg. Penelope wondered if it was that shared experience, the pain and fears, which drew the two men together. Did it bridge the wall of stories and clever deceptions her husband used to protect everything dear to him? She only knew he never spoke a false word to Mentor in her hearing.

"You're too quiet," Odysseus said, coming up behind her to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Something troubles you?"

"No trouble." She smiled at him, shivering a little at a sudden rise in the wind, the mumbling moan turning into a shriek. "I realize there is still so much I don't know about you. I feel myself a part of you, and a heartbeat later you are a stranger." Penelope shook her head. "This is foolishness-I'm just tired."

"I should go home before the storm grows worse," Laertes said in the silence when Odysseus looked into her eyes as if trying to see into her thoughts.

"It's bad enough already," she hurried to say. "Let me have Eurynome make up a bed for you."

"No. Antikleia will send servants after me." He chuckled. "She treats me like an old grandfather with brittle bones. I can reach home long before the cold touches me-and prove to her I'm not helpless yet." Laertes rested his hands on her shoulders, bending to kiss her forehead. "Good night, Daughter."

"Please be careful, Father." Penelope hugged him, then stepped to the far wall, where cloaks and boots hung from pegs. She heard Odysseus' voice, but couldn't make out his words as he spoke with his father. Whatever the two men discussed, they both smiled when they joined her and she handed Laertes his cloak.

The wind gusted in, tearing at the heavy doors like a wild animal when Odysseus pulled a bronze-bound panel open for his father to leave. The rain swirled in, heavy and stinging, with a core of ice in each drop. Penelope welcomed his arm around her shoulders, the warmth of him driving away the chill as the winter night tried to penetrate the hall. They watched until Laertes had turned into a shrinking black blot in the stormy night, before closing the door.

"What were you two discussing a moment ago?" she asked, as they went back to the hearth.

"Mother gave him detailed instructions to study you. She's concerned about your health." Odysseus picked up the bow and slid it back into its cover. He took special care to tie the cords that held the case closed.

"She could have questioned me herself. I did invite her. When Eurykleia came with the dye you bought from the new merchant, I sent the invitation. When Eurynome went down to borrow the smaller millstones, she repeated it." Penelope sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It's hard to be a good daughter to her. Sometimes, I think she fears me. Other times she's so quiet, I fear her."

"She loves you. My mother was merely brought up to believe a husband's mother is best loved when she doesn't darken the bride's doorstep too often." He wrapped his arm around her waist. "That does not, however, prevent her keeping careful watch over us both."

"I think she worries more than your father that I'm not fat with a baby yet."

"Why do you say that?" His hand moved lightly up her side, his fingertips just brushing her breast, then down to cup the curve of her hip. She knew he wanted to make love to her, but he would say nothing because she had said she was tired. Penelope chided herself for her earlier thoughts-he was a tender, considerate husband and she had no right to doubt him.

"You're not the only one who can see people's hearts and thoughts in their faces. I listen to what the servants say," she added with a laugh.

"My mother worries about everyone. It's one of the few pleasures left in her life." Odysseus tried to smile, but she felt the hurt in him. "Did you know I had an older sister? No, no one would speak of her yet. Not if they thought my mother would hear. Ktimene died in childbirth. Her death separated Mother from us, as if part of her had already gone down to the land of shadows with my sister. My mother worries because she doesn't see the strength and life in you that I do."

"Once we have a child, she will be more alive again?" Penelope didn't know if she resented this new pressure on her actions. She loved her mother-in-law protectively, as she had Helen. It hurt her to take over the duties of queen of Ithaka so completely, because she knew Antikleia could have handled them if she had wanted.

She was proud to lead in the night ceremonies in the cave. She was glad to give bits of advice to the women who sent servants and children to ask. It was a proverb that Ithaka's women accomplished more in snatches of conversation, messages passed in gardens and side streets, than the men did in a moon of meetings. She knew the people would ask her to intercede for them before Odysseus when they came to know her better. She was queen of Ithaka, responsible for the peace and prosperity of the island.

And Penelope knew the more pressure she felt to bear children, the more she fought the idea. Antikleia's happiness was simply another gust in the wind pushing her. Another force she dug her heels in to resist.

"She would be happy to have someone new to worry over," Odysseus said, nodding. He drew her closer and pressed a kiss against her temple. "She sees you as a daughter. It's not just words to her."

"She hardly speaks when we're together-I'm not sure how she feels about me. I know she worries for you, even when you're only gone for a day." A shiver wrapped around Penelope. "She started to tell me about a dream she had. You were in danger, living in rags, far from home. Gods prevented you from returning. Then she just stopped in the middle of the tale."

"She likely thought you wouldn't believe her."

"Sometimes I have dreams that...hint at the truth," she murmured.

"My mother has always worried overmuch for me. When I was a child, she worried I wouldn't grow to be a man. When I visited my grandparents, she worried I wouldn't return home alive. Then when she learned about the boar that caught me, she worried I would lose my leg- though it had already healed when she heard the tale. When I was old enough to look for a bride, she worried I would never find a girl who pleased me. Then she worried that I wouldn't win Helen."

"And now that we are married," Penelope interrupted, pressing two fingers over his lips, "she worries you will not be a father before she dies." She jerked out of his embrace, swallowing a tiny scream when he bit at her fingers. "Odysseus, we are having a serious conversation."

"Must we?" He put a woebegone expression on his face. She smiled, relenting, and let him draw her onto his lap. "You feel badly because you don't carry a child yet?"

"My duty-"

"Your duty as a wife is between you and me alone. If I say I am pleased, that you are my treasure and delight, no one else's words matter."

"I hear and obey, my husband." Penelope pressed her face into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, her arms tight around him.

"That's better."

"I hear the whispers, when I'm alone in my garden. Everyone expected the first cloth from my loom to be a child's blanket. Yet it would be a waste of an excellent loom, to make it sit idle and my belly still flat." She wondered if now was a good time to tell him about the potion-or ask his advice and explain why she took it.

"I like your belly flat," he whispered, shifting his embrace so he caressed her hip and rested his hand on her belly. "Penelope, we will make a bargain. There is more than enough time for us to have children. You will use the loom, and I will start a new one just for children's clothing the day you tell me you are pregnant. Is that acceptable?"

"You are the kindest, most understanding husband any woman could hope for." She accented her words with kisses.

"Find how understanding I am when you're too fat to share my bed," Odysseus grumbled. "I fear I will hate the child you carry."

"I am not fat now." Penelope slid off his lap. He let go of her reluctantly. His eyes gleamed when she took his hand and led him across the hall to the door of his chamber.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"My daughter barely reached our home before the storm broke. She could have been lost, dead by morning!"

The angry, cracking male voice rang up the stairs to Penelope's workroom. She paused, a warp thread in one hand, a weight in the other. She felt Melantho and the other maids grow attentive.

In the great hall below, several men of the island had come to Odysseus. To complain. Her husband had warned her when the ships were locked into the harbor by winter storms and hunting was impossible, the people of Ithaka grew short tempers. Quarrels and mediation were the main entertainments during the winter. Penelope had thought he teased until now.

The uncomfortable part was when her name came up the stairs several times, on several different voices. No tones had been flattering. However, with the last clearly spoken remark, Penelope understood. More young women had begun to join the ceremonies in the cave. Five days before, with a storm approaching, Eurykleia had summoned her to lead a ritual to ensure safety for the island. No one had been lost in the storm, no animals had wandered lost and died, no homes had fallen in the terrible gales. But now it seemed a daughter or two had taken too long coming home. Their fathers blamed Penelope.

"If you would speak with your wives, your mothers, you would know my wife has brought nothing new to Ithaka," Odysseus said. The reasonable tone of his voice, almost bored, reassured Penelope.

"Foolish old women with nothing to do," another angry voice returned. His words echoed up the stairs. "They were the only ones who still held the old ways-until you brought that foreign woman among us."

"Traitos is still angry I didn't beg for his daughter," Odysseus observed. His words wrung a few chuckles from some men. Not enough, Penelope thought. It was hard to judge from such a distance.

"The girls find merit in the old ways with your wife's support," another said. "We hear she acts as priestess."

"My wife does not trouble me with such small things." A stool scraped on the floor tile. "You have brought me your grievance and your reasons. I understand your fears for your daughters and wives. Be assured I will act. My wife will mend her ways."

"How?" Traitos demanded. "What will you do? This woman is cousin to Helen-perhaps she considers herself a child of the gods as well, and above our laws?"

"What do you want of me?" Odysseus' voice grew deadly quiet, penetrating until Penelope thought the foundation stones rang in response. "Bring my wife out, strip her and beat her in front of you like a rebellious slave?"

The silence echoed in the hall. Outside the walls, Penelope heard the first moans of a new storm. She stayed still, though she knew movement would keep her maids from hearing the rest of the confrontation.

"A storm comes. Tend to the safety of your homes, and leave me to mine." His sandals made cracking taps on the floor as he moved off, away from the stairs. Penelope thought he led his unwanted guests to the doors himself, instead of waiting for a slave.

"Go," she said, finally standing. She turned, daring any of her women to smile at her or disobey. Even Melantho paled slightly and hurried from the room.

Penelope sat down, still holding the thread and the warp weight. She tried not to listen to the sounds of feet leaving the hall, the thud of the door closing, the wail of the wind suddenly cut off. By force of will, she returned to setting the new pattern on her loom. She had finished hanging the weights when Odysseus came to the door.

"You heard?" he said, and leaned against the frame. That he didn't waste time on small talk made her uneasy.

"How could I help it?" She didn't look up. Penelope ached at the wariness in his voice-she didn't want to see his face.

"You will have more supporters soon, Penelope. Those for the Goddess and against me will turn to you now." A broken chuckle escaped him when she glanced at him, startled. "Likely, gifts will come from nobles and their ladies who haven't dared to declare themselves before. If they think we are divided, we can control them."

"Aren't we divided? You said nothing in my defense. Those men have left thinking you are going to punish me-punished for doing what you encouraged?"

"I didn't say I would punish you. I only said you would mend your ways."

"How is that any different from-"

"Be more careful. That's all I ask. Take better care of your followers." Odysseus crossed the room to stand before her. "That is how you will mend your ways."

"My lord...some day, your scheming ways will be your destruction." Penelope closed her eyes. She sighed, bone weary though it was still morning. "Or perhaps your schemes shall be the destruction of my mind!"

"No, my lovely witch." He drew her to her feet, holding her close. Penelope welcomed his warmth. "You are stronger than anyone can guess. You will stand when all others fail."

She passed on the warning through Eurykleia. They held fewer ceremonies in the cave the rest of the winter. Penelope thought the Goddess understood. She was glad to spend more nights warm in bed, more often than not clasped in Odysseus' arms.

Spring came too soon, with the people watching for her to swell with child. Penelope tried to ignore the pointed looks, the conversations that broke off when she passed by. She buried herself in the spring work; directing planting, buying new breeding sheep for her flocks, purchasing geese. She had had her own geese in Alybas, pets that produced sweet eggs and soft feathers for cushions. As a spring festival gift, Odysseus ordered a pen built for geese and gave her a few precious scraps of gold to buy them. Penelope looked forward to watching the eggs hatch-though she knew some would ask why she didn't hatch a child of her own.

With the softer weather came a softening of the seas. The ships put out on the waves again. Odysseus began to make short, overnight trips to Kephallenia or other islands allied with Ithaka. She didn't like those absences.

Penelope sat in her garden with Antikleia, discussing which plants to cultivate, the day the first ship arrived from far ports. She found it easier to work with her mother-in-law now. They didn't speak much, but she found the woman pleasant company. Especially when she sought advice.

Odysseus came to the garden to find her. He waited, listening, saying nothing, until his mother had gone home.

"Penelope, Agamemnon has sent for me. I must go to Mycenae," he said, leading her to a bench near the opening in the wall.

"Mycenae? Agamemnon wants something badly, to send for you so early in the year." She repressed a shiver of apprehension as she sat.

"Troy took nearly a fourth of the cargo in tribute from the first three ships through the Dardanelles. All Mycenaean traders. Agamemnon's man says he expects trouble this year, worse than the last five combined."

"And he wants your advice." The only alternative, she knew, was a call for Odysseus to prepare for war.

"He claims I must help him, now that we are kinsmen." He held her hand, toying with her fingers as he spoke and didn't meet her eyes.

"Something more bothers you. After being landbound all winter, you should leap at the chance to travel." She caught at his hands to still them.

"Sometimes, sweet witch, I wish you weren't so perceptive." Odysseus smiled and reached up to stroke her cheek. "I find myself most reluctant to leave you alone for as long as the journey and the council will take."

"I could go with you. Klytemnestra is not my favorite cousin, but I would like to see her daughters."

"Agamemnon already invited you, nearly made his request a demand." He shook his head; a short, sharp motion. "I won't chance taking you to Mycenae."

"I'm not with child. What risk can there be?"

"I know Agamemnon. I can believe he would kill a man to get a woman he wanted. Any woman. We are allies, but I don't trust him where women are concerned. I won't ruin the accords of the Achaians by tempting him with you."

"Odysseus!" She stared at him, painfully caught between tears and laughing outright. Penelope decided laughter was the better course. "Agamemnon may care overmuch for his bed pleasures, but he's no fool. He wouldn't be king of Mycenae, or High King, if he were. He wouldn't risk the accords just to tumble me into his bed."

"I can believe he would kill me to have you."

"He needs you. Your advice and your loyalty as kinsman are more important to him. As it is..." She fought the breathless sensation tightening her body and struggled for words. "Has Helen been invited with Menelaos? There, you see?" she said, when he nodded reluctantly. "With Helen there, he wouldn't even see me. Do you think he would risk hurting his own brother, to take Helen?"

"No." Some of his tension faded. He smiled and embraced her. "Penelope, you are a hard woman to argue with. But do two things to please me, will you?"

"One is to agree to stay home in Ithaka?"

"And the other is, after I have sailed, look deeply and carefully into your mirror."

"Odysseus-"

"No more of this." He stood, holding her hand to pull her to her feet. "We have many arrangements to make before I sail with the dawn."

Laertes journeyed with his son, so Odysseus left Mentor in charge of both households. Penelope didn't mind. She respected the man and he was pleasant company. Mentor answered her questions in full detail and told her anything she wanted about news from the rest of the world. He didn't talk down to her like to a child, as many elders were prone to do. Penelope had the maids set up a pleasant room for the man to stay in, so he wouldn't have to journey too often between his own estate and Odysseus' home.

The day Odysseus sailed, Penelope stood on the beach with Mentor and Antikleia, watching the ship until it had vanished into the morning haze. Then she walked up to the house in silence and went directly to her chamber. She stood long in front of her mirror, as Odysseus had told her.

The polished sheet of bronze had been a wedding gift from Laertes, lighter in color than anything she had ever seen. Penelope knew it reflected her with more flattery than she liked. Even taking into account the golden tones it gave her skin, the softening of lines, she admitted she was rather fair to look on. More rounded in the hip, fuller in the breast, softer in her face. More pleasant than she had dared to hope even two years ago.

"But still no risk to your life or a temptation to Agamemnon," she whispered to her absent husband.

Penelope laughed, covered the mirror with its cloth, and went downstairs. There was sheering to oversee and seeds to buy from the merchants. Too much to do to busy herself with worry and vanities.

Then another thought caught her, halfway down the staircase. Agamemnon had likely killed to have Klytemnestra. Few doubted it. And yet only a few years after marrying her, rumors said Agamemnon took other women to his bed. Not always when his wife was unavailable. Some rumors said Klytemnestra tried to kill one or more of the women.

Penelope shivered, wondering if Odysseus had been more right to be cautious than either of them had known.

Odysseus returned to Ithaka in less than a month, quietly fuming about the wasted time. When Agamemnon sent for him for advice, he had also sent envoys to King Priam of Ilion to complain. Odysseus had barely been at Mycenae two days when the envoys returned, with presents for Agamemnon and a thinly worded apology.

"Gossip was the only profit any of us had in the trip," he told Penelope as they walked up the path to their home.

She had been walking the beach with Mentor while the older man taught her about tides and the best places for building docks in the lesser bay. Penelope recognized Odysseus' ship before the sail began to lower and ran into the water up to her knees to meet it. She didn't care that people had laughed and others had cheered. Odysseus leaped from the ship before it docked and caught her up in his arms. His first kisses made her dizzy, like strong wine. They had laughed together, walking from the beach, until she asked how the council had proceeded and what had happened.

"I wasn't aware men indulged in gossip. Certainly not the kings of the Achaians," she teased. Something had gone cold in her at the quiet anger she sensed in him and she longed to bring his laughing, teasing mood back.

"Continue like this and I will not tell you about your cousins," he said, arching an eyebrow at her. When she pouted, he squeezed her closer to his side. "Klytemnestra is with child. Agamemnon claims all the oracles and priests say this child will be a boy."

"His reputation is in sore danger if they don't have a son this time."

"Indeed. More important, Helen is also expecting. She didn't come to Mycenae. Menelaos confided she is so sick she screams at him if he holds her hand." Odysseus chuckled. "The poor man is distraught over her, but he doesn't have the words to tell her how worried he is."

"Did you give him the words?" Penelope marveled at the image of Helen sick and disagreeable. Her cousin had always enjoyed the best health.

"Wife, you have grown impudent in my absence." He frowned down at her. When she only laughed, he relented, gathering her close to him with a groan. "I missed you to the point of pain," Odysseus whispered in her ear.

"I have not missed the knots in my hair every morning," she retorted.

"Witch, what should I do with you?" he growled, nearly squeezing the breath from her. She reveled in the strength of his arms around her, even as she knew-as her dreams had told her- Agamemnon would call him away again.

Their happiness in his homecoming didn't last long. The next morning, Odysseus went down to the bay to see to some repairs on his ship. When he returned a few hours later, Penelope heard his voice crack through the hall, giving orders to the servants, ordering his fawning hunting dogs away. She stiffened, nearly dropping the tunic she had started to make for Laertes.

Though she waited, Odysseus didn't come near her workroom. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or worried when he left the house a short time later. The tension left with him but her worry only grew. Her own words grew sharp with her women, though she tried to control herself better.

As the afternoon wore on and still Odysseus had not come back, she retreated to her private garden. Sometimes the high walls made her feel a prisoner. Now, their thick solidity made her feel safe, able to hide. Odysseus found her there, her fingers muddy from tending a young olive tree with roots coming up from the soil.

"Someone would think you were hiding from me," he said as he came in.

"Do I have reason?" Penelope tried to take comfort from the smile he gave her. Then she saw the stiffness in his mouth, the forced brightness in his eyes. "Are more men complaining that I lead their daughter astray?"

"Have you had dreams that tell you this?" His smile faded. He came to her side and squatted next to her.

"Then I am the cause of your new anger."

"No, you could never make me angry." He took her hand, absently brushing the drying mud from her fingers. "Though there are some who would blame you for Ithaka's problems."

"Something happened at the harbor this morning. I guessed it had to do with me, when you didn't come near me all day." She smiled at him, feeling her lips tremble a little. Penelope wished he would take her into his arms and kiss her worries away.

"Too wise, my witch," he whispered. Odysseus shook his head. "The fishing is not good this spring, the rains are as bad as the year before. The planting is difficult and the early crops have not begun to sprout yet. All the same as the year before. Only this year, they blame it on us."

"No, they blame it on their prince's bride." She squeezed his hand and managed a brighter smile. Penelope found it a strange relief to have that accusation out in the open at last.

"They blame it on us. Several 'friends' offered to make sacrifices to strengthen my manhood. Others say I should take you to Aphrodite's temple to have your womb opened."

"Why don't they blame Aphrodite, instead?" She would have laughed, but there were still sparks of suppressed anger in his eyes.

"Now you understand."

"Odysseus-"

"I beat the man who said I should give you to another husband and take a new bride."

"My childlessness is none of your fault. I am simply not ready yet to conceive," she added, her voice trembling a bit. Penelope wished she had told him about Eurynome's potion. He might have handled the accusations more easily. Now, she knew it was the wrong time.

"Sweet Penelope." His smile gentled. "You are my delight-and not just in my bed," he added with a chuckle. "I would sooner sink Ithaka in the sea than give you away."

She flung her arms around him and made her kisses passionate and sweet. That night, lying in his arms, she resolved to stop taking the potion.

The second call from Agamemnon came early in the summer. Again, Odysseus and his father both went, leaving Mentor in charge. No word came for two weeks. Penelope sent the servants to the harbor every time a merchant ship arrived, to hear the latest rumors.

Her temper began to crumble. She was not pregnant. She wished Odysseus had taken her with him to Mycenae, to consult with Klytemnestra. After all, her cousin had three children and a fourth coming. Penelope overheard talk blaming the bad year on her. She missed Odysseus and at the same time grew angry with him. She hated the island when he wasn't there.

One morning more than three weeks after Odysseus had left, she heard his name spoken from the other side of the wall in her private garden. Penelope habitually went there to think about him and wonder how the council concerning Ilion progressed. She heard his name spoken by a servant girl and was torn out of her longing thoughts.

"He kissed her ten times between the threshold and the harbor," the girl continued, her voice heavy with sighs. "I counted every one." A high-pitched giggle followed her words, helping Penelope identify the speaker as Autonoe, a girl bought that spring to help in the weaving.

"There's no good in counting kisses until you are the one receiving them," Nerilia retorted, her scratchy, deep voice unmistakable. A few other girls chimed in, agreeing.

"My father says only blessings can fall on a land where the ruler and his wife adore each other," Melantho put in. "Men have asked for me, but they never looked at me like our master looks at her."

"He won't look at her like that for long." The speaker's voice held a sleek satisfaction that made Penelope writhe. What did the girl know?

A few girls asked what the speaker meant. She laughed, making them beg a few more times.

"When she's fat with his child, his gaze will wander," she explained. "It's the way of men. Then he'll start visiting your beds again."

"Again?" Laline snorted. She was a plump, golden girl, with a merry laugh and nimble hands for the weaving. As far as Penelope knew, she had no lack of sweethearts visiting her quarters at night. "Our master has not even looked at us since he brought the mistress home. If his gaze hasn't wandered in nearly a year, what makes you think the rest of him will?"

"I wouldn't mind if Lord Odysseus visited me," Melantho admitted. "He must be deft-my lady always smiles after she shares his bed."

Penelope felt her face begin to warm. An ache of purely physical longing for Odysseus grew deep inside.

"What hope do I have?" the maid continued, discontent coloring her voice. "He'll take no other women because he loves her."

"Men love with their bodies, not their hearts. When she's too fat to be held and her temper cracks, he'll come looking for entertainment with the rest of you. And hopefully other island girls," the nameless speaker purred.

"Thoosa, you never had a chance before, and now you're-" Autonoe began, to be cut off by a cackling laugh.

"You're jealous because he won't look at the servant girls in his own house. What Lord Odysseus does on the rest of Ithaka, his wife can't control."

"You make him sound as if he fears her, not that he loves her," Nerilia accused.

"I've heard my mother and grandmother talking. They say the lady leads in midnight rites. Does she think she rules Ithaka and her husband only serves her, like in the old days?" Thoosa snorted, like a bull. "She has no power. Does she think she's a goddess because she's cousin to Helen?" She laughed and other girls joined her.

"She'll have no sway over him if she doesn't give him a child soon," another girl pointed out. "No matter what she does, she will lose him."

Penelope looked at her nails and wished she had not kept them trimmed to make weaving easier. She had seen two village girls scratching each other's faces in a fight once. She thought she could manage a creditable attack before anyone knew she was there.

Then she caught herself, physically and mentally. Reacting would only please Thoosa and give credence to her words. She dug her nails into the ground and whispered a prayer to Athena for strength to endure. The laughter died down, and Penelope strained her ears to catch every word, no matter how it hurt. Knowledge was her only defense.

"It would be nice for him to favor us," another girl said, her voice soft. Penelope could imagine the girl blushing, she sounded so timid. "I wouldn't feel so guilty when he came to me, if she was pregnant."

Other voices broke in, a babble of agreement and contradiction. Penelope knew she should not feel hurt that Odysseus had slept with the girl slaves in his parents' household. She knew jealousy was foolish-and she had promised herself not to give her heart. She told herself to concentrate on what she had heard; Odysseus had not touched another woman since bringing her back as his bride. There was reason for pride in that.

Penelope decided to tell Eurynome not to allow Thoosa into the household any longer. The girl was hired daily to help with weaving, carding, whatever kitchen work needed doing. A little extra work for the household girls would give them less time to gossip.

"I wish she was pregnant right now," one girl said, laughing. "By the time he returns, she'd be huge and hating his touch."

"Lord Odysseus would not have left with such bad grace if she was," Thoosa said, returning to her smug, oily tones.

"He wouldn't worry that another man would steal her. Who would want a woman retching in his ship the whole trip from Ithaka?" another put in, laughing.

"My lady would not leave," Autonoe insisted.

"She can't leave, even if she wanted to," Thoosa said. "Why do you think Lord Mentor watches the household?"

"To help her. To lead in defense if pirates raid us," another girl said. Penelope recognized the voice-Hypodamia, Autonoe's shadow. She felt some sympathy for the girl, stolen from home, as tiny, dark and easily overlooked as Penelope had been as a child.

"He fears another man would woo her. Simply being the cousin of Helen, many would want her. Even if she was as ugly as Cerberus," Thoosa added with a nasty chuckle. "Odysseus trusts Mentor because he fears him. My father says the two argued years ago and Odysseus let the boar through his defense to attack Mentor. And then he made sure the wounded leg heal crooked. Mentor lives in terror Odysseus will do far worse to him-so he is completely trustworthy. Likely the only man on Ithaka Odysseus trusts."

"Lord Mentor watches my lady to protect her," Autonoe insisted.

"He watches her because Odysseus distrusts her. He is always watching," Anglia said, her voice dropping. "Why should he trust her just because she shares his bed? He wouldn't trust any of us, would he? We're his property to sell or to kill as he pleases. We have more reason to be faithful. If she displeases him, he cannot punish her. Helen would bring Agamemnon and Menelaos against Ithaka. All Lord Odysseus could do is send her home to Sparta."

"He plays a game with her heart," Nerilia said, her voice mimicking Thoosa's for satisfaction. "While she is besotted with him, she will do nothing against him."

Penelope covered her ears with her fists, to block out the new, heated argument. Part of her screamed to cast dignity to the winds and rush out to scold the girls. Part of her shrank from doing anything except blocking her ears and trying to forget what she had heard.

Yet there was another part of her that struggled to keep silent as the tears gathered in her eyes. The part of her that had doubted and wondered about the small things her husband did. The tricks, the tiny lies and stories to get others to follow him. There was truth in the gossip.

Odysseus had told her Mentor protected her and the household. There were different kinds of protection, she knew. Sometimes protection imprisoned.

She had wondered before if Odysseus manipulated her emotions, her thoughts, for the sake of peace in their household and bed. She wondered now if he had merely resorted to sweet words and caresses instead of dominating her to get his way. An adoring, happy wife was certainly easier to live with than one who walked sullen and resentful or even cowered in fear.

"He works to please me," she whispered, her voice muted by the girls' voices on the other side of the wall. "He is either enchanted by me or plays a part to rule me with deception." The tears dried from her eyes. Penelope scrubbed her face with her sleeve and leaned against the olive tree.

She closed her eyes and began to examine her life with Odysseus. She had to evaluate, to understand, to see clearly. The doubts hurt like knives in her chest. She wanted them to be cleared and dealt with honestly-even if it meant seeing her husband as an empty charade.

Odysseus appeared devoted to her, as she was to him. What if that were all the truth of their marriage-appearances? She tried to conduct herself with honesty toward him always. Yet if Odysseus trusted no one, how could he be sure she acted in all honesty?

If a man trusted no one, could he be trusted? Did Odysseus speak truth to her, did his whispered words in the night mean anything? Or did he only speak and act to bring the desired reaction from her?

The shady, peaceful sanctuary of her garden became a prison. Was Mentor a jailor instead of a friend? She had thought the man's hesitancy was shyness. She had thought they were becoming friends. Did he relax in her presence because he knew his duty was easy and Odysseus would not grow angry with him?

Penelope thought until her head ached as badly as her heart, but came to no conclusion. Through the thudding in her ears, she heard the servant girls move on to another task elsewhere. She didn't move for a long time after that, and then only to the garden pool to wash her face. It would be a long time before she dared show her face in the house without someone remarking on her appearance.

Penelope smiled with trembling lips, remembering how Eurynome had lectured her on guarding her expressions, never revealing her heart. Now she would use that training.

Mentor came to her that evening and said he would go to his own estates for a day or two, for family business. Penelope let him go, wishing him well. The man didn't even glance twice at her and she congratulated herself on how well she carried her part. Eurynome remarked on her thin appetite that day, but Penelope passed the problem off on a headache. Which was the truth.

From that day, she didn't look toward the harbor every time she passed the gates of the courtyard. Her heart did not lift every time she saw an approaching sail. Penelope went to bed early that night and wondered how many days she would have to perfect her role before Odysseus returned. A man who played many roles, who wore deception like a garment would be adept at seeing through any mask. Until she decided what she believed, she had to pretend nothing had happened.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A soft summer rain sprinkled Ithaka the day Odysseus returned. Penelope heard the clamor as the news echoed through the house. She set her jaw and continued weaving. Her hands trembled a little as she changed the color of thread. She didn't call for her servants to return when they found excuses to leave the chamber and hurry down the stairs to hear news from returning sailors. Penelope made herself finish three hand spans down the pattern before she would ask. It was the most intricate part of the weaving, the most changes of colors, and she knew it could take her hours. Discipline and practice came to her aid, letting her lose all sense of time and the outside world while she worked.

"Penelope?" Odysseus' voice, quiet as it was, startled her. She swallowed a cry of shock but dropped the knife she had picked up to cut the deep purple thread. He hurried into the room to pick it up for her. Longing filled her when his hand brushed against hers.

"You startled me," she said, nodding her thanks without meeting his eyes.

"I didn't mean to. Your work has all your attention." He brushed a few loose strands of hair away from the side of her face and leaned forward to kiss her. It took a massive effort of will not to flinch from the soft scratching of his beard, the warmth of his breath against her cheek. The next moment, it was all she could do not to fling her arms around him, burst out crying and spill the painful thoughts filling her heart and mind.

"It is an intricate portion." She congratulated herself on the steadiness of her voice.

"You were wise not to come meet me." He stepped back and sat on the bench against the wall. She knew he could see her face clearly from where he sat. She only cared that he no longer touched her. "The rain comes down harder with every moment that passes."

"It is good you are home, then. The seas would be rough." She forced herself to meet his eyes and smile as she spoke; it was the normal, expected thing for her to do. The way his face changed from a weary mask to brightness tore at her. How much was truth, how much show for her benefit?

"Was there trouble while I was gone?"

"Mentor hasn't spoken with you yet?" She was surprised by his question and ashamed at the picture in her mind, the two men in close conference the moment Odysseus landed.

"I sent him gathering the elders to meet. My reasons for staying so long in Mycenae-" He broke off as running footsteps came up the stairs. Nisos, a thin, dark-haired boy scurried through the door. He stopped short, his wet feet catching on the smooth wooden floor.

"My lord, the elders gather," he blurted.

"Thank you." Odysseus dismissed him with a nod and waited until he was gone before turning back to Penelope. "I had hoped we could talk, but later?"

"As you wish." Penelope managed a gentle smile for him. She wondered if it would grow easier to dissemble as time went on. Was this the secret of the roles he played? Long practice? She held still, refusing to relax her vigilance until Odysseus kissed her and left, his footsteps fading.

The rain brought cool to the air, breaking the heavy summer heat and dryness. Penelope welcomed it, using the chill as an excuse to keep the doors in her chambers closed. She heard nothing of the meeting Odysseus held with the elders beyond a muted rumble of male voices, but threw all her concentration into her weaving. When Melantho brought supper to her, she was startled to realize the late hour.

"I'm not hungry. Thank you," she added quickly, smiling the same soft, all-encompassing smile she gave Odysseus.

Her maid frowned as she took the tray away. Penelope knew Melantho would conference with her friends soon. Would they guess trouble lay between the master and mistress?

She worked hard on her weaving, relieved to find her hands stayed steady. Penelope made herself go slowly to avoid bungling. Her maids whispered among themselves, the sound mingling with the patter of rain against the shutters. Penelope ignored them, throwing herself into her work so she thought of nothing else.

Downstairs, the scraping of benches against the stone paving, the sound of sandal-shod feet and the rising rumble of voices warned her the meeting had finished. By the ache in her back and arms and her empty stomach, she knew it was far into the evening. The lamp next to her had begun guttering, low on oil. Penelope looked around the weaving room. Only Autonoe and Melantho remained.

"It is late," Penelope said, standing. She nearly smiled at the startled looks the two gave her. "I have been a cruel mistress today, ignoring you for the sake of my design. Go to bed now and if you sleep late in the morning, do not worry."

It took her a few moments to assure them she needed nothing but water to wash before bed. She told them not to send Eurynome to her. To be alone was a relief. Penelope caught bits of words and voices. Odysseus and his father talked alone in the hall below. They likely waited for her to hurry down the stairs to join them and ask for the news.

"Like a silly girl waiting to catch all the gossip," she whispered. Did they humor her? Did they enjoy sharing a man's world with her? Penelope shook her head and closed the door of her bedroom, working hard not to let it bang against the frame. Her fingers trembled against the latch. She still did not know what to think.

Was her husband honest with her? Did he play a game? Was she wrong to doubt him? Was she a fool for wanting to believe every sweet word and look and gesture?

"I wish I didn't care," she whispered to the quiet. "I have a fine home, everything I need. My husband does not mock the old ways. He needs me. He treats me kindly and listens to my questions and ideas. I find much pleasure in his touch and his bed. I have more than many women could ever hope for. I should be satisfied." Penelope strode to the shuttered windows, stopping herself before she flung them open, to shout her question into the storm. "Goddess," she whispered, "why am I not satisfied?"

Penelope welcomed the shock of the chill water on her face as she washed. She nearly let her dress lay where it fell when she slipped it off. Old habit made her pick it up and hang it on a hook in the wall. Shivering, she snuffed the lamps and hurried to her bed to slip under the blankets.

Sleep had nearly caught her when she heard footsteps at her door. Penelope forced herself to lie still and relaxed, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, as she had done when a child and Eurynome threatened to spank her if she didn't go to sleep. The door creaked open. Torchlight flickered across her closed eyelids.

"Penelope?" Odysseus whispered. He waited. The rain hissed, falling harder against the roof. The torch crackled in his hand. Then the door closed again. Penelope swallowed hard against the tears that threatened.

Antikleia came to see Penelope the next morning, wrinkled with worry beyond the usual. Penelope knew no matter how distracted, her mother-in-law cared. She wanted to turn to her for advice but how could she say she doubted everything Antikleia's treasured son said or did?

"It's early to be visiting, Mother," Penelope said, fetching a cushioned chair. "The pattern goes well, does it not?" She gestured at her weaving. Penelope found comfort in the deep absorption the intricate pattern demanded. Yet she worried at how quickly it progressed. Soon, she would have to find something equally difficult to absorb her.

"Are you well, Penelope?" Antikleia's soft voice held more whimper than usual. She reached out a faintly trembling hand and rested it on the younger woman's arm.

"As well as can be expected. The rain brought respite from the heat." She tried to laugh, surprised at how genuine it sounded. "Why?"

"You don't eat regularly. The servants say you are too quiet, that you retire to your bed sooner."

"Ah, is that what they say about me?" Penelope smiled, feeling some measure of humor. When Antikleia referred to 'the servants,' she meant Eurykleia and Eurynome. Her mother-in-law rarely made conversation with any others. The two nurses could do no wrong, spoke nothing but truth in Antikleia's sight. "Did they give a reason?" "Worrying for my son, we thought. Yet he is home now and you ate nothing last night and went to bed before my son finished speaking with the elders. If something worries you, please let me help. You are my dear daughter, after all." Antikleia's eyes shone with hope.

Penelope thought she understood what was in the woman's thoughts. What had always been in her thoughts.

"Mother, thank you for your concern." She leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "It's just weariness. With the sudden rains, I likely caught a chill." Penelope sighed when the hopeful light grew stronger in the woman's eyes. "I am not with child. Perhaps that is part of it. Indeed, I think a belly full of child would be-" She bit her tongue against saying 'a comfort,' and searched for a better word. "A child would be a welcome distraction. I wouldn't mind, even if I was as sick as my cousin is reputed to be." It struck her as bitterly humorous that now, of all times, the idea of being pregnant appealed to her. Penelope knew if she told Odysseus he would have found it humorous.

"Then it is merely a passing discomfort?" Antikleia's voice returned to a whimper. Shadows fluttered through her eyes and her shoulders slumped.

Penelope cringed at a wave of guilt. Of the family, she knew only Antikleia always showed her true feelings and concerns. The woman lived in a world bound by her worries and dreams of ill omen, but she didn't dissemble.

Odysseus and his father had likely discussed her, then Laertes told his wife to talk with her. Penelope wondered what report she would make. She hoped it confused them.

When Antikleia left, Penelope sat before her loom, unseeing. Her hands moved of themselves, aching with sitting idle. She nearly put white thread in where she needed black, before she noticed.

"Now is not the time to wander," she muttered, glad for the covering chatter of her maids on the other side of the room. Penelope wondered what they would say of her actions. Already she was weary with the role she played, and the day had barely begun.

That night, Odysseus returned sooner than she expected. He had gone to Raven's Crag, at the tip of the island to inspect some new swine and the young man recently installed to care for the animals. Penelope had hoped he might stay the night. She was going to her room after overseeing the drying of herbs for medicine. She heard his footsteps in the main hall and turned. Her heart leaped at the sight of his bright, smiling face, his hair shining from damp in the torchlight, arms wide open to embrace her. Hunger for his touch overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arms around him when he gathered her close and returned his kisses.

"That is the greeting I missed," he murmured, pressing more kisses against her mouth, then traveling down her neck. Penelope shivered, feeling a throb of desire. He laughed and swept her up in his arms so he held her on his lap when he sat down. "Penelope, you are a torment to me."

"Torment?" She laughed at his words, torn between longing for the former times and fear this was just another trick. A role he assumed without thinking.

"I cannot hear your voice without wanting to see your face. When I see you, I need to touch you. When I touch you, I must hold you." He caressed her, a gentle touch that created shivers. "When I hold you-" He stopped, his mouth dropping open when she gently slid free of his arms.

"Tonight-I am not well. My moon flow is early." Penelope turned so he wouldn't see her face. She couldn't be sure of the expression she wore.

"I worried when you slept so early last night and stayed in your rooms today."

"It will pass." She congratulated herself on keeping her voice even and steady.

"Were you ill while I was gone?"

"It was too hot." She turned back to face him and sat in the chair next to his. "I fear there is still much I must become accustomed to, living here."

"Sometimes I forget you have not been here with me always," Odysseus returned, smiling. He held out his hand and she gave hers to him, knowing he would wonder if she refused. "Penelope? What truly bothers you?"

"Why would anything bother me?" She silently cursed when her voice trembled.

"My words brought hurt to your face. Some still call you a foreigner?"

"Yes." She felt her face warm, glad for the excuse he offered. "Eurykleia and I went to the Goddess, to pray for rain. One of the women-I can't remember her name-said I would never be queen of Ithaka because I wasn't born here. Eurykleia said not to listen, that her daughter had hoped to be your bride...but it didn't help."

"If Eurykleia says so, then that is the reason." He stood and pulled her to her feet. "You should rest if you aren't well." He looked around the hall, still deserted. "You were going to bed?"

Penelope nodded, unwilling to speak and betray her twisting emotions. She returned his kiss, relieved when he let her go up the stairs alone. She listened as he closed the stairway door behind her and heard his footsteps as he went to his own room. Odysseus had once told her he put his bedroom next to the stairs so he could defend her. He called her his treasure-did he truly fear someone would steal her? Or was he a jailer?

When she reached her bedroom, Eurynome was hanging up a dress. It was newly-made, washed that morning and left out to dry. The nurse looked long at Penelope in silence when she entered the room.

"He's hurt you, hasn't he?"

"My husband has done nothing." Penelope tugged on the clips made of shells that held her hair back from her face. Her fingers trembled, remembering the day Odysseus fashioned them for her. They had walked along the beach only a few days after they arrived in Ithaka. She had been delighted to find the shells, glossy white and pink with frilled edges. Odysseus made them into clips to help them remember the beauty of the day.

"Nothing more than his usual actions," Eurynome corrected. "You slept separate last night, and will tonight. That's not your usual habit-and he newly returned. Only he is close enough to your heart to hurt you."

"You are still against my marriage," she shot back, nearly yanking the last clip from her hair. She tossed the clips onto the table holding her cosmetics and jewelry instead of throwing them at her nurse as she wanted.

"You would be happier if you were like other wives, resigned to serving your husband, only finding happiness in your duties and position." She startled Penelope, coming up behind her and resting both hands on her shoulders. "My child, why do you give him your heart? It is work to keep your husband loyal. Every night you sleep alone, he can take another woman to his bed-and then you will hurt more."

"He has had no other woman since we married!"

"When he goes to Mycenae? Can you watch him there?"

"Eurynome, why do you say such things?" Penelope hated the hot feel of tears waiting to burst from her eyes. She preferred anger over crying.

"To protect you. Now, barely a year married, he treasures you, he will do anything to make you happy. But you must face the truth and turn from the illusion you live before his heart and body wander from you. It will not hurt so much then." Eurynome wrapped her arms around Penelope, gently swaying, rocking her like a child again.

"There is no need to protect me," she said, her voice cracking. "The illusion is gone. Let me find what happiness I can." Penelope pushed herself free of her nurse's arms. She couldn't be strong inside her childhood sanctuary. "Eurynome, I need to be alone."

Somehow, it was a comfort to see the beginning of tears in her nurse's eyes.

To her mixed consternation and relief, Penelope's moon flow started that night. She blamed the rainy weather for her pain and wondered if the Goddess helped and punished her. For the next two days, she could barely sit at her loom and work for the pains in her belly and back. Penelope had long hours of quiet to think; her maids left her alone when she wouldn't tolerate their company and Odysseus went to settle a dispute at the northern tip of the island.

She could not go on this way, she decided the third afternoon, alone in her bedroom. She had been alone too much with her thoughts and found she didn't like the company. She would act as if Odysseus' actions were truth, and pray that if it were all an illusion, it would never shatter.

Penelope went down the stairs to find Dolios and see if he knew when Odysseus would return. She paused with her hand on the door latch, hearing voices in the main hall. She had to think and reorient with the rhythm of the household.

The sacrifices to prepare for harvest approached. Penelope pressed the latch and stepped out into the hall, looking around with care to see how the work progressed.

Thoosa sat in a corner with Melantho, separating bundles of rushes to spread over the floor. Penelope felt heat spread across her face at first sight of the sharp-tongued girl. The two could have been sisters, both softly rounded, curly golden hair, sparkling blue eyes and ripe red lips. Penelope watched them laugh and lean close to whisper to each other. Thoosa wanted Odysseus in her bed. Penelope speculated on the chance the girl had spoken those words in the garden knowing she would hear.

"Ridiculous," Penelope spat and strode across the hall. Neither girl looked up until she stood before them. Melantho blushed and looked away, giving Penelope an idea of their gossip. "Thoosa, you were told you were not welcome here."

"You need workers," she responded, staying seated.

"Who requested you come? What authority?" Penelope glanced at Melantho as she spoke, daring her slave to claim authority she didn't possess. She turned back to Thoosa and met her eyes, drawing on her training in Sparta.

Thoosa looked away first. She dumped the last rushes from her lap and stood, edging away as she did so. Her face went pink, then red, but Penelope doubted the girl blushed for shame. She stayed silent, keeping Melantho still with her presence until Thoosa reached the door. Penelope left the hall for the storerooms to look for Eurynome. She glanced back in time to see Thoosa and Melantho exchange glances. Both looked toward the doors of Odysseus' room.

Penelope knew what they thought, what Thoosa hoped, and a new fury and resolve grew in her. When she found Eurynome, she gave instructions to drive Thoosa away next time she appeared, and to keep Melantho within the walls for the next month. Her nurse said nothing, but Penelope thought she saw satisfaction in the woman's eyes. She wondered what other mischief her maid was finding.

When Odysseus returned the next evening, Penelope was ready to follow her plan. She felt well and whole and clean again, and had spent the last half of the afternoon bathing, perfuming and ornamenting herself. When she heard his voice in the hall, greeting the slaves preparing the house for the night, she hurried down the steps to meet him. He laughed and hugged her, holding her up so her feet dangled. She tried to be natural as she laughed and returned his kisses. Odysseus didn't pause, so she knew she had succeeded.

They ate together, alone in the echoing hall. She was grateful he did all the talking, telling her about the people he had visited the last three days, the problems discussed. The wife of one prominent man had sent a present for Penelope. From the way Odysseus rolled his eyes and refused to go into details, she guessed it was another fertility charm. She was glad he took it as a joke.

It was almost a relief when, after they finished eating, he stood and held out his arms for her. Penelope welcomed the soft pulse of desire that began when he caressed her. He led her up the stairs to her room, latching every door after they had passed through. She helped him remove her clothes, returning his caresses with all the skill he had taught her.

Desire didn't grow. She pressed herself tight against him, willing the passion to begin. The pulse remained but didn't change, neither stronger nor weaker.

"Penelope, what is it?" Odysseus shifted to his side, holding her close. His pulse still raced under her hands. "Am I too eager? Are you ill?"

"I am not ill." She hated the way her voice wobbled.

"Then what's wrong? You don't eat, you sleep too much, you give orders as if you don't care how this household is run. You move like a woman caught in a sorrowful dream."

"Did Mentor tell you this?" she snapped before she knew the words were on her tongue.

"What of Mentor? Why should he have to tell me what I can see with my own eyes?" He sat up and reached for the lamp left burning on the table by the bed. In the changed light, his face was creased with worry and frustrated passion. "Penelope, did something happen between you and Mentor while I was gone?"

"Nothing happened. He is a decent, gentle man who deserves far better than to be set as watchdog over any woman, no matter who her husband is." Penelope twisted out of his grasp and sat against the head of the bed. He stared, eyes wide and bright with confusion.

"He was glad to be of help. You enjoy his company and guidance. What has changed?"

"You set him as spy over me."

"Why should I make him spy-"

"Is it true you let the boar wound him? Is it true you could have killed the boar, but you let it past because you two argued?"

"Who told you that?" Odysseus sat very still, his face a stiff mask. Only his eyes showed anger, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Who tried to poison you against me?"

"I overheard some girls talking while they worked."

"Thoosa, Deiros' daughter." A disgusted sigh escaped him. "He would poison the whole island against me if he could."

"Does he have reason?"

"He thinks he does."

"Likely one of your schemes. Deiros was the victim and he didn't take well to it." She nearly laughed in triumph at the stricken look that dimmed his eyes. She had made a hit before his stern control took over. "I remember good King Nestor, when you told him of the suitors' oaths. He warned your scheming ways would be your bane someday."

"Penelope, what is this madness?"

"Your scheme failed you, cunning Odysseus," she continued, ignoring his words. Penelope felt her breath shorten, her heart thunder in her ears. His voice was too quiet, frightening her, but she had to continue. "All your pride in seeing what others couldn't see-it was a joke on you this time. Joined to a wife too thin and small. The beauty you predicted hasn't come. Nor ever will. And barren into the bargain. A blessing, for how could you be sure my children are yours?"

"Barren?" His face twisted, as if he would laugh if not for the pain that burned his eyes, turning his mouth into a crooked, bitter smile. "In only a year, you think you're barren?"

"And I shall stay that way. Barren and ugly and thin as a stick. A very good bargain you made." Her throat hurt, her voice a hot rasp.

Penelope bit back a shriek as Odysseus snatched her out of the bed by her shoulders. He dragged her across the room to the bronze mirror. He held her tight, her back to him, his arm around her waist while he tore the cloth off the mirror.

"Ugly? Thin?" He caught her at her elbows and shook her. "See the woman I fought for." His voice cracked. "Penelope, I swear to you, I will find the man who poisoned you against me."

"If any man did," she retorted, refusing to struggle against the painful grip on her arms, "you did."

He straightened, shock widening his eyes. Odysseus released her but she didn't try to move. She faced his expression in the mirror.

"You're like a bard, taking on a multitude of faces and voices to tell your tale, to get the desired reaction from your audience. You played me like a harp and you played me well. But the music fades." She closed her eyes against the burning of new tears.

Silence. She felt his breath in her hair, the warmth of his body close behind her. Penelope wondered she didn't shiver in the chill of the room. She opened her eyes, caught by the sight of her naked body in the mirror. The light of the lamp cast shadows that accented every curve, making her hips wider, her breasts more full, darkening hair and eyes to midnight black. She was beautiful, even in her own eyes. She nearly laughed at the painful timing of that vision.

"Is that how you see me?" Odysseus whispered. His voice jerked her eyes up to face him in the mirror. Did the glimmer in the mirror come from his tears or her own?

"I no longer know what I see." She shivered, more tired than cold. The fury that had burned in her faded, leaving ice in her chest. "Cunning Odysseus," she whispered, letting the tears come now and not caring that he saw. "Admired by even your enemies. Tell me the truth, if only once. If you trust no one, who can trust you?"

"Is that what you think? That I trust no one?" He lifted his hand, as if to rest on her shoulder.

Penelope longed for his touch and dreaded it. She knew the feel of his hand on her skin would send fire sweeping through her body and what dregs of her control remained would crumble.

"I don't know what I think, what I feel. I want to believe you, in all things, yet how can I be sure you are honest with me if you are honest with no one else?"

"A dilemma." He nodded, his voice a whisper. "Your question is wise-and painful. I wish I had an answer we both could believe." Odysseus looked away and when he turned back she saw his eyes traveling over her shape in the mirror. She saw no desire in his eyes, only a new depth of sadness. "I think you wish to be alone." He left.

Penelope concentrated on her reflection in the mirror to try to push the memory of her burning words from her mind. A sob worked its way up her throat. She turned from the mirror and hurried back to her bed. She curled up under the blankets and listened to the slowing thunder of her heart.

"I hurt him," she whispered. "My words came too quickly. He had no time to prepare, to play a role. It was no game. And if I hurt him..." She closed her eyes, digging the heels of her hands into them to fight the tears. "If he deceived me, he would not have been hurt."

That night, her dreams were filled with visions of Odysseus lying torn and bloody before her. A knife covered in blood lay in her open hands.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Penelope lived by rote most of the next morning. She came downstairs to inspect the spices and oil bought from the merchants the day before and stayed to give orders for baking and preparing ointment against winter sores. Not until noon had passed did she realize Odysseus was gone from the house. She reasoned he was at the harbor, seeing to his ship or off to Raven's Crag to inspect the pigs and decide which ones to kill for winter eating, when the first frost came. When she thought of him, what she said the night before, she felt only relief that he was nowhere to be seen. There was only echoing numbness inside, where before she drowned in fury and sorrow. A welcome change.

When evening came, a servant from Laertes' house brought a message that Odysseus had gone to the island of Kephallenia to see about a shipment of bronze tools and weapons gone astray. Penelope took the news with more empty relief. She forced herself to eat, to assuage the worry of anyone who might be watching and tried to stay up later than she had recently. Her eyes burned from straining at her loom and her back ached, but she couldn't sleep. She lay awake, staring at the black ceiling, listening for the sound of a particular tread and voice and knowing he would not return so late at night.

When she did sleep, she dreamed again of Odysseus, dead and bloody, and the knife that killed him in her hands.

In the morning, the quiet that filled her began spreading through the house. Penelope remembered the words of the servant girls and wondered which ones rejoiced at the split between Odysseus and her. She knew it couldn't remain hidden for long. For all she knew, more than one set of ears had overheard the argument in her room. She struggled not to examine each servant's face as she passed them during the morning, looking for signs of anticipation or satisfaction.

When she could take it no longer, Penelope retreated to her private garden. She hadn't visited it since the day she heard Thoosa speak her poison. Penelope didn't care if the place brought back memories, it was quiet and private. She slipped between the crackling bushes guarding the entrance, checked to be sure she was alone and settled at the base of the olive tree. It was pure, cool relief to sit still with her eyes closed and hear nothing but the sighing of the breeze in the branches and the faint cackling of her geese in the outer courtyard.

"You have hurt him deeply, Ikarios' daughter," a smooth, deep, feminine voice said.

Penelope opened her eyes, swallowing down a gasp of shock. She had heard no one pass through the bushes. A rebuke hovered on her lips but she kept them pressed tightly together and her tongue silent.

A tall woman stood before her, gray-eyed, with long, thick hair blacker than night, simply braided and hanging past her waist. Her dress was of simple lines, dazzling white, girdled with a belt of precious stones and silver. Silver and precious stones decorated her sandals. She leaned on a staff with silver on the tip. An owl perched on her shoulder. Penelope stared at the owl.

"He treasures you as few men can cherish their wives, though there is truly much that is childish in him," the woman continued. "Your accusations were just, but such words should never have come from your lips. Tell me truly, has he ever given you cause to doubt him?"

"I don't know!" Penelope blurted. "If I was sure, it would not hurt so greatly."

"Then believe him and no other." The woman smiled, but with a bitterness that made Penelope feel she had been sorely rebuked. "Go to your husband. Plunge a knife into his heart and finish the killing of your words. Or, heal the wounds you made. Do not leave any job half finished, Ikarios' daughter. It is not worthy of you."

"You don't need to tell me that," she mumbled, wishing she could tear her gaze from the woman's face, the blazing of her gray eyes.

"Your words had truth in them, I admit. Odysseus must endure great trials yet before he is worthy of all entrusted to him. He trusts few, constantly guarding against traitors and thieves. Those few he trusts have the power to destroy him, far stronger than his most bitter enemies."

The sibilant of her last word stretched out, merging with the rasping hoot of the owl. It lifted from the woman's shoulder and flew over the wall. Penelope couldn't help but watch its flight. When she turned back, the woman was gone.

Terror made her tremble. She managed to scramble to her feet. Tottering legs took her to the kitchens. Mercifully, no one was there. Penelope snatched up a honey cake, still hot enough from the oven to burn her hand. She tucked it into her wide cloth belt, then went into the storage room for the sacks of grain. Penelope took a handful of the sweetest wheat and put it into the belt as well. The fine silver guest goblets sat on the table, freshly washed and polished. She snatched up the largest and filled it with wine from the skin Eurynome saved for the most honored guests. Penelope nearly spilled the whole before she returned to the garden.

She found the spot where the woman had stood. There were footprints in that one spot in the dust and nowhere else. She imagined the indentations were warm with unnatural heat. Penelope put the cake in the footprints, then the grain over it. She poured the wine out over the pile in a careful, trickling stream.

"Athena, you have scolded me as I deserve. Now, I pray you, give me the words and the wisdom I need. My anger and sorrow have taken my wits from me. He is my husband, my beloved, but I fear I have lost him. Help me." Tears slipped from her eyes as she closed them. Penelope waited, wishing for a sign, the brushing of owl wings against her hair. Only silence reigned in the garden.

That evening, when she heard Odysseus' voice in the hall below her chambers, Penelope dropped her thread. She stared at it, unsure what to do. She felt Melantho's eyes on her and refused to give her maid any triumph. Penelope bent and retrieved the thread but didn't continue weaving.

"We have done enough for the day," she said, without turning to look at her maids. "I have pushed all of you too much. Enjoy yourselves this night." Penelope sat still, studying the thread in her hands until all her women had gone. From the corner of her eye, she saw Melantho pause in the door to watch her, then shrug and follow the others.

Penelope waited, listening for the voices coming up the stairs, through the open doors. Odysseus stayed in the hall, talking. She caught the rumble of Dolios' voice, likely reporting on the fall plowing and other work done during Odysseus' absence. A fond, trembling smile touched her lips, grateful for the faithful man. Dolios was sometimes as oblivious as a wall, but his feelings were clear and true.

"Enough cowardice," she whispered to the still room. Penelope made her way to the stairs. She listened for the first sign of Odysseus leaving the hall, but his voice stayed steady. She wished she could catch the words, the tone of his voice, the inflections he used, to gauge his mood.

He sat at the hearth, examining a spear shaft with one of the hunters when Penelope reached the door at the bottom of the stairs. She stayed a moment in the doorway, watching him. Her husband smiled, then chuckled at some remark the slave made. Then he glanced up and met her eyes. His smile didn't leave his face, but faded from his eyes. With a jerk of his head, he bade the man leave.

"The journey went well?" she asked, voice trembling. Penelope forced her legs to take her across the hall to him. She was aware of the servants lingering, finishing various tasks for the day. She hated them. If she was going to confess, it had to be soon-but not with an audience.

"More than well." He stood and came to meet her. His hands on her shoulders, the kiss brushed across her forehead, were mere perfunctory gestures. Penelope swallowed hard against the sob that choked her. "I brought something for you." He dug into the pouch hanging from his belt and brought out a thin chain of polished bronze links. "Menthes, chief of the bronze workers of Kephallenia, sent this for you. He overflowed with apologies that he had not sent a marriage gift to us earlier."

"What did he gift you with?" she asked, letting him slip the chain around her neck. It hung light and delicate on her shoulders and down over her breasts. Penelope studied it to avoid his neutral, nearly empty gaze.

"A knife, some new heads for my arrows...and advice on how to treat a new wife." He paused. "He has three."

"Was his advice helpful?"

"Touching the woman concerned, no. Menthes likes to struggle with a new wife, usually obtained unwillingly, and prove he is the master of his household."

"I came to you willingly," she said, lowering her voice so a man standing two paces away couldn't hear.

"Is that why you played Dyvis and tried to run away?" he whispered. When she looked up, he smiled sadly at her.

"Odysseus-"

"I laughed at Menthes," he said, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. "He said a new wife should be beaten regularly, whether she deserves it or not." He forced a crooked smile onto his lips. "I have messages I promised to take to my father tonight." He gave her a nodding bow and left.

Penelope waited, fingering her new necklace, gaze fastened on the floor until the sound of his footsteps faded. She went back to her room, controlling her steps and her face so no one would guess the storm inside her.

Penelope waited in her bed, two lamps lit, the door standing ajar. She heard Odysseus come back to the house, listened as Eurynome met him at the door.

Odysseus never came up the stairs, though she listened for the sound of his feet until the night rang with the pounding of her pulse in her ears. Penelope waited, counting the footsteps of the slaves as they closed up the house for the night. She heard the night insects singing without pause. Tears touched her eyes as she gave up and lay down.

The hoot of an owl outside her window brought her sitting upright. Heart pounding, Penelope waited for Athena to rebuke her.

Nothing. The owl didn't cry again.

Legs trembling, she got out of bed and reached for her dress. Penelope wiped the tears away with her sleeve, then pulled the garment over her head. She fussed with perfume and brushing her hair and debated whether to wear jewelry. Likely Odysseus already slept, but she had to go to him.

She carried one small lamp with her, going in her bare feet down the stairs. They felt cold in the damp of the night, smooth from constant sweeping. Every time she thought she heard a sound, Penelope paused and listened. She wanted no witnesses. Her heart had calmed to normal by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs and slipped through the open doorway.

A new fear touched her. What if Odysseus locked the door of his room?

Penelope shook her head at this foolishness. There was no reason for Odysseus to worry in his own home. A moment later, her hand on the latch, she remembered her dreams and Athena's words about plunging a knife into her husband's heart. Penelope swallowed a sob and pushed the door open.

By the dim light of the lamp, she saw him lying on his side, the sheet pushed down to his waist, eyes closed, head pillowed on one bent arm. She waited, but he didn't stir. She had an idea. Instead of speaking and waking Odysseus, she would slip into bed next to him and wait until he woke on his own.

She put the lamp down on the table and turned her back on the bed as she slipped out of her dress. The room felt cold and Penelope wrapped her arms around herself as she turned. She stopped short, breathless.

Odysseus lay as she had first seen him, his eyes open, face unreadable in the shadows. For a long moment, they regarded each other in silence. Then, he lifted the sheet aside. Penelope slipped in next to him before she lost what little courage remained.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered, her voice cracking with tears as he put his arms around her and drew her close.

"I wasn't asleep." He caught her tears on his fingertips and after a moment wiped them in her hair. "Penelope, I have wronged you. I could see the sorrow in your eyes, knew you wanted to speak with me, and I left. I wanted to hurt you."

"As I hurt you."

"But you didn't mean to."

"We have wronged each other," she whispered. Penelope smiled through the tears burning her eyes. "Words wouldn't hurt so much, I think, if we did not love."

"Yes, you are my beloved." His voice rasped. "I swear on the scar the boar gave me, I have always and will always speak the truth to you here, in our bed."

"Please, tell me you forgive me for doubting you?"

"I would forgive you a thousand times over. What you did, coming through that door..." A ragged laugh escaped him. He pushed himself up on one elbow, so he leaned over her. "Penelope, to have you near me now, after such a long wait-it is an agony not to touch you."

"A moment," she whispered against his lips when he leaned down to kiss her. She smiled through more tears as he moved away, wearing a puzzled frown. "You are greatly favored by Athena, my dear husband."

"So it is said. I have dreams sometimes, but-" He shook his head. "What other thoughts have filled your head since we argued?"

"Athena...scolded me, for how I had treated you. She told me to either kill you or heal the damage I had done, but not to leave you wounded. She said we few whom you trust have power to do more damage than your worst enemy."

"She said..." Odysseus stared, forehead wrinkling as he visibly struggled to understand.

"She appeared to me in my garden and scolded me, told me how much I had hurt you and then vanished. I would rather die than hurt you."

"And yet?" he prompted, voice softening, when she hesitated.

"It was your hurt that cut through my doubts. That was the proof that you had been truthful and trusting with me, despite what I heard, what I had seen and knew about you." Penelope reached up, slipping her arms around him. "Tell me again you forgive me?"

"Again, I forgive you a thousand times." His eyes were still wide and dazed. "Athena intervened...for us...for our happiness."

"We must offer her a rich sacrifice in the morning," she whispered.

"In the morning." Odysseus' smile widened and he pushed aside the sheet to caress her. "Penelope, it has been agony without you..."

Later, with her head resting on his shoulder, Penelope whispered, "And what did happen in Mycenae?"

Odysseus laughed. A ragged, tired sound, it grew in strength. He tightened his arms around her, then rolled her onto her back. He held himself up on his elbows on either side of her shoulders and looked down on her.

"Sweet, sweet Penelope. That is what I waited to hear when I returned home. When you didn't come running, asking that question, that was the sure sign something was amiss." He kissed her long and lingering, bringing desire humming through her belly again. She laughed against his lips.

"Did good come of it?" she asked, when they had both caught their breaths again. "You were gone a long time."

"Too long," he agreed with a soft grunt. "The only good is that we will be prepared when the land of Troy, Ilion in particular, finally works mischief against us."

"They won't cease troubling the merchants?"

"Only the merchants who can afford to hire ships to escort them, bristling with spears and bows, through the Dardanelles."

"Will there be fighting, then?"

"Agamemnon might enjoy that, and likely some other chieftains and princes. As for me-and Menelaos-there are better things to occupy my time." He chuckled, a loud rumble in her ear. "Priam claims he is willing to talk peace with the Achaians. I don't trust him."

"There is a price for his peace?" Penelope waited. Odysseus held so still, she knew her guess had been painfully correct. "Is there danger in telling me what the Trojans wanted?"

"Not danger." He sighed. His embrace threatened her breath. "Priam wants brides for some of his many sons. Four very specific brides, reputed to be the most beautiful maidens of the Achaians. With them as a visible reminder of the alliance, he would agree to a peace treaty with us."

"And who are these girls, to be sacrificed for the greater good?" A cold thread began to work through her chest, wrapping around her lungs. Penelope tried to make her voice light, her words mere humor, but she failed.

"Cousins. Two daughters of Tyndareos. Two daughters of Ikarios. Helen, Klytemnestra, Iphthine and Penelope."

"What did Agamemnon say?"

"He laughed." Odysseus turned on his side. His hand began to slowly move up her side, hip to shoulder and back. She had seen him stroke his bow that way, when deep in thought. His touch brought no rising desire but a feeling of mixed comfort and worry. She knew he was open with her and needed to touch her for his own comfort. "Agamemnon was quick to point out to the envoy," he continued after a moment, "none of the four were maidens and three had either born children or carried children now." He frowned. In the lamplight, his eyes vanished into dark shadows. "The response was that all the children were girls. With proper husbands, the women would all have sons. And she who had no children yet would quicken the first time she lay with her new husband."

"I'm not tired of my first husband yet," she snapped, trying to make him laugh. Odysseus appeared not to even hear. "What did Klytemnestra say to this? Did Agamemnon let her know what was said?"

"Klytemnestra heard. She insisted on listening to everything, to safeguard her son's future. Agamemnon worships her-and she drives a nail-studded chariot over him whenever she can. She was flattered at the offer. Helen thought it was a joke."

"Helen? I thought she was deathly ill."

"She is, but she insists on being with her sister, for her help and advice." He shook his head, another heavy sigh showing what he thought of that. "Menelaos is even more her servant than Agamemnon is Klytemnestra's. At least Helen is kind to him. No one thought to ask Iphthine what she thinks of the offer. What do you say?"

"I think it is dangerous and foolish. Even if they persuaded you to send me away, I wouldn't leave you."

"And I could not be persuaded. Penelope, you are my treasure, more precious than my own life. I swear that to you." He kissed her again, reverence in his touch.

"What would you do if Agamemnon tried to take me from you?" Penelope reveled in the warmth of his body, the soft echo of his pulse just under the skin, vibrating against her slowly caressing fingers.

"He wouldn't be foolish enough to reveal his intentions. I would be dead, outnumbered or betrayed before anyone realized he knew you existed. What would you do if he killed me to have you?" he returned.

"Raise your sons to honor-"

"Sons?" Odysseus laughed. "Now you give me sons. How things change when a goddess speaks."

"I dreamed that I gave you two sons. I would raise your sons to honor you."

"Agamemnon would kill them, to prevent their vengeance." His tone was light, but there was pain and a choking sense of reality in his words.

"Then when he came to force me into his bed, I would kill him, and with justice in my hands, come to join you."

"I swear, Athena persuaded Aphrodite to cast magic on you, to make you love me. My sweet, beautiful Penelope," he whispered, beginning to kiss her again.

"Did she ever speak to you, like she did to me?"

"Once," he admitted, pausing, his face hidden in the curve of her neck, voice muffled by her hair. "On my way home after I met Iphitos, with the bow...she came to me in a waking dream and told me to treasure that bow, never let it leave my possession. It would give me vengeance someday. Protection against those who would kill me and steal what was most precious to me." He pulled away so he looked down on her and cupped her face with his hand. "Should I kill every man who smiles at you, Penelope? Is that the only way I can protect you?"

"I cannot be stolen from you," she whispered.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Fall came in gentle and mild after the hot, dry summer. The harvests were better than expected and some made so bold as to ask Penelope when her child was due. Their questions didn't hurt. She wanted a child now for love, not duty.

Odysseus drove hard bargains with the merchants who came to Ithaka, leading the way for his people. They were well prepared when winter storms lashed the coast and cut them off from the other islands and the mainland.

The last ship before winter brought gifts and messages from Menelaos and Helen. They had a daughter, whom they named Hermione. Penelope grew quiet when she heard-she had dreamed months ago Helen held a tiny girl-baby, with wisps of hair as golden as her mother's. She hardly reacted when she heard of Agamemnon's long-awaited son, Orestes.

When the talk turned to Ilion, she slipped from the hall and hurried to the shrine to Athena Odysseus had built in the garden. Penelope knelt before the altar, listening to the whispering moan of the wind, ignoring the chill of the damp air that congealed on her arms.

"Wise Athena, Goddess," she whispered, lifting her eyes to the owl carving on the roof beam. Dolios had made it as a gift for the dedication. "Help me understand. I have dreams that speak the truth and others that are only the fruit of my wishes. Show me which come through the gate of ivory, and which through the gate of horn. I fear for my beloved. I dream of darkness surrounding him, keeping him from me."

She stayed kneeling until the darkness closed in and Odysseus came looking for her. When she told him about the dream of Hermione, he was silent a long while. He gazed at the owl as well, eyes narrowed and dark with trouble.

"We cannot know the future. It is enough that Athena guides me. She speaks for me, I hope, before the gods I offend. I am sometimes not tactful or popular, my love."

"You are the epitome of tact," Penelope retorted, slipping her arms around him. "The trouble comes when you depart and people learn the truth in what you told them."

"Witch!" Mischief sparkled in his eyes. "Do you see this in your dreams, as well?"

"I need no dreams to tell me about my husband. My heart tells me." She lifted herself on her toes to kiss him. A soft sigh escaped her when he held her close, lifting her so her feet dangled. "This gift of dreaming frightens me."

"I can see."

"Not the dreams themselves, but that I cannot tell which are true and which false-until after the dream has come true. Helen warned me to tell no one, that it would cause trouble from the priests. That they would tear me from my home and force me to serve the temples. I thought she teased, but Helen sometimes speaks like an oracle herself."

"If Agamemnon can't take you from me, no priest will, either. I swear it." He forced a smile. "Do you have dreams of us growing old together?"

"Many."

"Then your gift gives us hope." Odysseus glanced at the sky as a stronger breeze reached them past the walls of the shrine. "Come inside. Another storm is coming. We must have a feast tonight, to honor Orestes and Hermione."

"I would rather the feast was for our own child," she said without thinking.

"There is time, Penelope." He held her hand as they walked through the courtyard.

She mumbled agreement, but a shiver took her that had nothing to do with the cool breeze. She had dreamed of them growing old and gray and stooped together. She had dreamed of sons, laughing together as they walked the hills of Ithaka. She had dreamed of long years without him, a single son growing up without a father, watching the harbor in vain for a familiar sail to return. Which of her dreams were true, and which mere shadows of fears and hopes?

Winter passed as gently as the fall had come upon them and the seas were open for sailing sooner that spring. An invitation came from Sparta. Helen longed to see her cousin, to show off her daughter, and Menelaos wanted to consult with Odysseus about the trouble in Ilion without Agamemnon leading the discussion. Nothing was said about the argument with Tyndareos and Penelope took that as a good sign. Even better, plentiful rains had come at the proper time that spring. She no longer earned dark looks when she left the house. Women returned to the worship of the Goddess and smiled at her. She carried no child yet, but she hoped.

Once the spring planting ended and the household settled into its routine, they set sail for Pylos and Sparta. Penelope didn't enjoy this voyage like the one that brought her to Ithaka. Odysseus was distracted, working the rudder against the high seas. Eurynome was ill, so Melantho went as her attendant and the girl was sullen. Penelope blamed her low spirits on Melantho and her dreams.

She dreamed of dark clouds over Sparta, children crying unattended and betrayal filling hearts. When they reached Sparta she was relieved, yet curiously disappointed, to see the people happy and busy, the crops thick and green, the herds and flocks heavy with new calves and lambs.

Alkippe stood with Lystia and Menelaos to greet them when they reached the palace. Tyndareos had retired to a small holding in the hills, making Menelaos king in his place. And, Alkippe explained as she led Penelope and Melantho to Helen's rooms, the new mother was captive to her daughter's every whim.

"What she means," Helen said, as Penelope entered the women's chamber, "is that the whole palace dances attendance on the child. Especially her father."

She smiled, as golden and lovely as ever, but didn't leave her seat by the cradle. It sat next to the window seat Helen preferred, hung with curtains against the sunlight. Penelope went to her, leaving Melantho to greet her friends.

"We have a new goddess in this house, then?" Penelope murmured, taking the bench next to her cousin. Laughing, they embraced, then her attention went to the cradle.

Hermione was her mother in miniature. The child slept, but Penelope knew her eyes would be the same changeable blue. Golden curls like clouds graced the tiny head. Her skin was gold and ivory and roses. One tiny hand peeked from under the blanket, all delicate perfection.

"What do you think?" Helen said, when her cousin had gazed long enough.

"Again, I envy you. Helen, I think I will always envy you." She laughed, remembering to keep the sound soft.

"You have time for children. Or does Odysseus complain that you have none yet?"

"He laughs and says we have plenty of time. Yet my dreams contradict words-so what should I believe?"

"Dreams?" Helen's smile faded. She looked away, out the window. "Yes, I have dreams as well." She shook herself slightly. "He's a good husband to you, isn't he?"

"He is my beloved, and I am his." Penelope shrugged, unable to find any other words to explain.

"Then what is to worry about?"

"Every time I hear the men speak of Ilion, the troubles with the Dardanelles and the merchants and the tribute they exact...I shudder."

"As do I." Helen twisted her face into a mask of disgust, then a moment later laughed. "Leave such considerations to the men-that is their realm. Ours is to manage our households, be beautiful for our husbands and raise our children to be strong and happy and wise. And to give our men the sons they crave," Helen added, her smile fading, her voice softening. Penelope thought she detected a slight crack in her voice, like a threatened sob.

"Is that what Menelaos says?"

"Perhaps. I know our home is brighter when he doesn't tell me what the men discuss and I don't ask."

Penelope refrained from responding. She was glad Odysseus had placed the stairway to her rooms off the feasting hall. If she left her doors open, she could hear everything. He usually asked her what she thought of what she heard. She couldn't imagine what it would be like, not sharing their thoughts and day's work with each other.

"Is this your work?" she asked, going to the nearest loom. Helen's face brightened. With a glance for her sleeping daughter, she got up and followed her cousin.

"I've caught your trick, turning dreams into weaving." Her face took an expression that struck Penelope as strange. Part longing, part dreaming happiness, part despair.

The picture on the loom was one third completed. It showed high walls, a city fortress and a flat, grassy plain leading to the sea beyond. A man stood in the foreground, finished from the waist up. He wore armor, dressed for battle, one hand holding a raised sword, the other grasping a spear. He wore no helmet and his head tilted back, mouth open in a battle shout. Golden brown threads made his sculptured face. Yellow curls descended from a noble brow.

"He is beautiful," Penelope murmured. The man wasn't Menelaos. This felt somehow...dangerous.

"A hero from my dreams." Helen stroked the cloth with her fingertips, her eyes bright.

"Perhaps the son you will have someday?"

"Oh, he is too beautiful to be Menelaos' son," she said with an odd, uncomfortable laugh. "No, this is a dream from Aphrodite. The feelings in it are not fitting for a mother toward her son." She blushed, looking directly at her cousin again. "Tell me honestly, Penelope. Do you have such dreams, even lying in your husband's arms?"

"No." A shiver passed over her. "My dreams warn me such joy cannot last. I heed the warnings and make sure not a day is wasted. I long to give Odysseus a son, but I will not let my desires poison the joy we have."

"Keep your dreams hidden." Helen gripped Penelope's shoulder. Her voice lowered, tight and intense. "Cousin, dreams are as often traps of the gods as warnings. Speak your dreams and you could lose all that is precious to you." With a clearly guilty glance toward the man on the loom, Helen returned to the window seat and the cradle.

"I think Menelaos torments her for not giving him a son," Penelope whispered in the quiet of the night. She welcomed the warmth of Odysseus' arms around her, driving away unwelcome thoughts she had gathered during the day.

"Without knowing what he does," he said. "We spoke after the war chiefs left. He fears for Helen's life if she ever quickens again. She was ill while she carried Hermione and her labor nearly killed her. Menelaos thinks to take a slave girl to give him a son, to spare Helen."

"He won't spare Helen by doing that. What love she does have for him will turn to hate."

"I think Menelaos fears Helen, a little."

"He would be wiser to fear losing her loyalty. It would do them good to share their lives with each other. Helen has her servants and daughter, her weaving and the household. Menelaos has the city to rule and the troubles with Ilion to worry him. They share nothing except their bed." She shivered as she sat up. "My love, all this frightens me. I see how happy we are. I remember the gods are jealous and don't leave well enough alone. My life was often affected by what happened to Helen, and now she grows discontent."

"I will speak to Menelaos, one new husband to another," Odysseus said, reaching up for her. She let him draw her down next to him. "I know that look, that tone, Penelope. You worry because we have no children, don't you?"

"A little. I would welcome being as ill as Helen was, I think." She wondered if she should confess her newest fear, that the potion had made her unable to bear children.

"I would not," he snapped. A chuckle followed. "I would rather have you than twenty sons."

"Less work to keep me fed and clothed."

"Woman, your tongue is too sharp." Swiftly, he rolled her onto her back and tickled her, smothering her laughter with kisses, holding her still under him so she couldn't escape. Penelope welcomed the laughter and teasing. It was warm and alive, driving away her fears.

By the time they left Sparta to return home, Penelope had lost her worries. She had seen Menelaos with his wife and daughter. Despite the man's stumbling tongue, he adored his family and Helen knew it.

Odysseus told her how the councils concerning Ilion progressed. Many merchants found it more profitable to go overland around Troy. Despite the expense, they were likely to have more merchandise risking bands of thieves than to go through the Dardanelles and lose their profit to tribute. Ilion learned its lesson slowly. Its own merchants and wares were shunned or even evicted from some ports. Not all the kings and chieftains of the Achaians followed the accords set down by Agamemnon, but the pressure did work. Those merchants who risked passing by Ilion did not lose as much as the year before and the losses slowly dropped.

King Nestor shared the same news when they stopped overnight in Pylos. Penelope marveled that the man was still so healthy and strong, with all his years behind him. Polykaster, her friend from the previous trip had married and was hugely pregnant. Penelope would have been depressed, but Polykaster told her of a powdered root she had taken to make her fertile. She gave generously to Penelope.

They reached Ithaka in mid-summer. Work waited for them, taking up their daytime hours. Spring storms had ravaged the coastline and fishermen had been lost. The plentiful spring rains had vanished with summer and now the fields were dry and cracking.

Penelope went twice as often with Eurykleia and the other faithful women to make offerings to the Goddess. Underneath the chanting and the sweet oil burned to bring help to their island, she sensed the unrest and worry, tasted and smelled the fear in the air. She heard the whispers. More than once, she turned to catch a woman gesturing at her flat belly, a look of frustration on the other's face. Penelope knew more people blamed the bad summer on her. If the queen wasn't fruitful, the land would be barren as well. She took Polykaster's powder and went every morning to Athena's shrine, pleading for help.

Eurynome watched her carefully, at Penelope's request. Antikleia and Eurykleia were included in the secret of Polykaster's gift. The four women spent hours together at a time discussing Penelope's health, the slightest change she felt in her body. When her moon flow came after returning from Sparta, Penelope cried. She knew her concern showed clearly because Odysseus often told her, for no reason at all, they had plenty of time for children. She loved him more for that-and loved Laertes that he never spoke of his longing for a grandson.

Fall approached, with signs that it would be a rough, stormy winter. Odysseus sometimes took trips to the other islands, braving the seas in a smaller ship. Reports came of raiders scouring the coastlines and smaller islands, and he went to help the people prepare their defenses. He always set a specific limit for how long he would be gone and made sure Penelope knew the route he and his men planned to take. It was common sense in such bad seas that searchers knew where to look for delayed voyagers. And, Odysseus told her when he was in a teasing mood, she was prone to jealousy. If she knew where he was, she would not suspect him of climbing into other beds. Penelope laughed every time he said it, comforted by his teasing.

Fall came in with rain that made the late crops flourish-and made the seas treacherous. Penelope barely heard when her husband and his father worried and complained about the dangers. She concentrated on the green fields, food for the winter, and the changes in her body.

Odysseus took a trip to Kephallenia, promising to be home in four days. Penelope waited until the ship was gone from the harbor, then sent Eurynome for Eurykleia and Antikleia. The four women talked and compared, and agreed. Her child would be born with the return of spring.

Penelope spent the next four days in euphoria, planning and waiting, walking her rooms, trying not to give the rest of the household an inkling of what she knew. She had not thought of Antikleia being a weak link in the secret until Laertes came to visit her one dismal, blowy afternoon. The man came up to the door of her weaving room, refusing to let the maids announce him. Penelope worked several more passes of thread before she realized he was there. When she looked up at him, startled, Laertes laughed.

"Forgive me. I needed to really look at you." He stepped into the room. "Could we speak alone for a moment?" he asked, looking at Melantho and Autonoe, the only servants there at the moment. She nodded and the maids left. Laertes waited until they were gone, then brought a small ivory box from under his cloak. "Are you truly well, Penelope?"

"Very well, Father." She wondered at the brightness in his eyes. She knew how the cold and wet made his knees and elbows and fingers ache, yet he seemed unaffected today.

"Good, that is very good." He handed her the box. "A gift, given in joy, to my son's most precious wife."

"How did you find out?" she said, holding the box on her lap. Penelope smiled, despite her disappointment. Laertes looked joyously ready to burst and twenty years younger. "Mother said she wouldn't tell anyone."

"She didn't. I read it in her face. She smiles continually. Her eyes shine. And she and Eurykleia were reminiscing about Odysseus as a baby, when they thought I couldn't hear." Laertes bent and kissed her forehead, his gesture like a blessing. "I will tell no one. Oh, but to be here and see my son's face when you tell him!"

Penelope decided she wasn't upset that he had guessed. She knew he could have made her miserable the last two years, pressing for a grandchild, making her feel inadequate as a wife. She loved the man as if he were her true father. When she opened the box, the sight of the jewelry inside took the breath from her.

Sapphires and emeralds, mounted on thin silver wires formed a necklet, thicker than her thumb, with a cunning latch to hold it closed. Thin bracelets of silver clashed and chimed, and at the bottom of the pile lay several rings, set with tiny chips of sapphires and emeralds. Penelope looked up from the sea-colored hoard at Laertes.

"I'm afraid of disappointing you," she whispered. "Father, such beauty-"

"Hush." He gently pressed a finger against her lips. "I bought these to give you at the winter festival. Now simply seemed a more appropriate time. They are for my son's wife, not the mother of his child. There is a vast difference."

Penelope nodded that she understood and kissed him in thanks. Only when Laertes had gone did the tears come.

The fourth day, Penelope prepared herself for Odysseus' return. She chose a new dress, in celebration; white, embroidered with blue and green threads to match the jewelry Laertes had given her. She gave instructions for a special meal, to be started when Odysseus came through the door. Her thoughts wouldn't stay on anything but the news she had to give him. Penelope knew she would be useless to the rest of the household, so she settled herself in her weaving room to plan designs for blankets and clothes for the child.

Morning passed with no word of sails in the harbor. Noon came and she ate out of habit, not hunger. The afternoon dragged. Storm clouds gathered, slowly leaching gold from the light. She thought she measured every second with her heartbeats. When dusk fell, Penelope went to her room and had Eurynome bathe and perfume her. She put on the new jewelry, then removed it again. The thin chiming of the bracelets was over-loud in the waiting silence and she wanted to hear every footstep that approached the house.

Evening came. She ate only because Eurynome ordered. Penelope stayed in her room, sitting in the window over the garden. She concentrated on the coming child, trying to recall every dream to decipher what the child would look like. She was determined her firstborn would be a son. Though a daughter would be a gift from the Goddess, someone to carry on her mother's duties, Odysseus and Ithaka needed a son. Their world was a warrior's world and a man had to lead the defense of Ithaka.

At the back of her mind, she knew it was foolish to dwell on such things. She had little control over the issue of her womb. Penelope preferred a vain exercise to the alternative. Despite her concentration, visions of Odysseus' ship wrecked on the rocks or beset by raiders plagued her. When sleep finally caught her, she welcomed it.

Penelope sat sleeping in the window, her head tilted back against the thick frame so she faced into the room instead of out to the garden. Moonlight cast stark shadows across her garden, elongated streaks of black against the white that made it a place out of delirium dreams. Odysseus found her there. She didn't wake until he slipped his arms around her and carried her four steps away from the window.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured, his voice touched with laughter. "You're only having a dream."

"Good dream," she mumbled thickly. Her eyes flickered open. She managed to slide her arm around his neck.

Her mind and body stayed half awake while he carried her to her bed. Penelope found her senses strangely acute in this state. Every shadow and beam of moonlight stood out in stark relief. She thought she could feel every individual hair on Odysseus' neck under her arm. He smelled of the salt damp of the sea and of his ship-tar and wet wood, sweat and damp rope and fresh air.

Penelope buried her face in his shoulder and inhaled deeply of his scent. A ripple of desire went through her body, quelled by her weariness but waking her. She kissed his neck and managed to lift her head enough to find his mouth as Odysseus set her down. Her arm wouldn't tighten enough to keep her hold on him when he stepped back.

"You need your sleep," he said, smiling, his face a mask in the shadows.

"I waited for you."

"So I see." His smile went crooked and he shrugged as he sat on the edge of the bed. "The tides and winds were against us all the way."

"But you did come back in four days, as you promised," she interposed. For the first time, Penelope didn't want another tiny lesson on the vagaries of sailing. Her hand strayed over her belly and now she didn't frown and silently scold herself for her unconscious reaction. "It hurts to see you go, but I know you always come back. You always keep your word."

"Penelope?" He frowned and gently cupped her cheek with his hand. "Beloved, why is it so important that we speak now, and not in the morning? Eurynome was adamant that I come up to you. Finding you in the window like I did, I was glad I listened to her."

"We wanted you to know before anyone else guessed." Penelope sat up, shifting to her knees and reached out for him. Odysseus frowned, his curiosity changing to worry and he drew her onto his lap. "The Goddess has heard my prayers. Athena has heard your prayers and spoken with the other goddesses." She laughed when his frown turned into a comical mask of dawning comprehension. "I carry your son," she whispered, the words trembling on her lips.

Penelope had thought long and hard the last four days on how she would tell him. The four words she chose satisfied her, speaking all her dreams and hopes.

Odysseus' arms tightened around her. He gasped her name, then hid his face in her hair. His body shook, finally resolved as soft laughter escaped him.

"Oh, my sweet Penelope." He leaned back and stroked the hair away from her face. His touch was gentle, slightly trembling. "The relief on your face. Were you that worried about having children?"

"We have been married more than two years." She let him lay her back down in the bed. This time, Odysseus stretched out next to her, keeping her close in his arms.

"There is time, more than enough time."

"No. This year was hard, and more of our people blame me. I blame myself."

"There's no need."

"Yes, there is." She nearly told him of the potion, but Odysseus kissed her, many soft kisses to cover her face. She laughed weakly when he kissed the tip of her nose.

"My love, the lean times were here before you arrived. A bad year does not make you a bad queen. Or a barren one, as you have proven." He tucked her head under his chin. "There is more than enough time-though I would not send this child back to the Goddess."

"No, neither would I. Yet still, we have so little time." Penelope tried not to let the slight chill wash over her again, as it had done every time she thought of her dream. "Helen agrees with me. Many of my dreams hold the truth. My dreams tell me I shall give you a son. Dreams tell me our days of happiness together are limited. I see you sailing distant seas, walking distant shores. I see myself waiting, my hair gray with the frost of years."

"The gods shall send me on many journeys, then. But I will always come back to you. Here and now, I promise you that. I swear on my life and my love for you." Odysseus pushed himself up on one arm and gently laid his hand flat on her belly. "I swear on our child, I will always come back to you and not even death shall stop me."

She nodded, refusing to let the tears touch her eyes again. Penelope pressed herself close against him and said, "Tell me about your journey."

"I would rather talk about the child."

"There is more than enough time for that." A tiny laugh escaped her at the irony of her words. "Tell me about Kephallenia and what you brought back, and we shall decide what to set aside for him when he is grown."

"You are so sure you carry a son?" His voice had a sleepy rumble as he stretched out next to her.

"I am sure. Now, tell me." She lay on her side, pressed against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

Odysseus drifted off to sleep before he finished his tale. Penelope lay awake in his arms only a few breaths before she too fell asleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"I think you've frightened them all away," Penelope said, voice low, as she looked up from her stitching.

On the floor at her feet, Odysseus fit a brace for the new loom. He frowned and scanned the weaving room. They were alone, no company but the muffled hiss of the coals in the brazier and the howl of the winter storm beating the walls.

"Why would they be frightened of me? Am I an unkind master? Do I beat the men and rape the women?" He tried for an aggrieved tone but failed, breaking out in chuckles.

"You did shout at Nerilia when she slipped and fell against me."

"The girl is dead from the knees down and blind into the bargain," he retorted, returning to his work. "Any fool could see the paving tile was crooked and slick with ice."

"No damage was done and she was frightened enough before you shouted." Penelope leaned down, wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed his ear. "I should be flattered you're so careful of me."

"Yes, you should be." Odysseus caught at her hand when she released him and pressed a kiss against her palm. "Even if I were hard-hearted, I would still be careful of you. Eurynome is a harpy, watching and scolding and swooping down on the least offender. The woman frightens me."

"Poor Eurynome," she sighed and resumed her stitching.

"Poor Eurynome?" He turned, getting to his knees. "My love, she could frighten Ilion into peace with the Achaians. I thank Athena every day she finally approves of me."

"She was old to be a nurse when I was born. Now, she has to worry about our son. Anticipation makes her nervous. When the boy is born, then she will calm."

"She worries about her ability?" Odysseus got up onto the bench next to her.

"Possibly."

"Then let Melantho be nurse. The girl is steady enough, strong enough."

"She is, but Eurynome doesn't trust her." Penelope paused and considered for a moment. "I would rather Eurykleia be nurse to our son, if Eurynome cannot. Let Melantho be head housekeeper instead."

"Eurykleia would be pleased," he said slowly. "And that would take away half my mother's fears."

"She's found something new to worry her?" Penelope put down her sewing, to give all her attention to the problem.

"Your decision not to find a wet nurse."

"What could be better for a baby than his own mother's milk? I'm strong and healthy, and all the winter ills will be past by the time he's born."

"To please her, could you have a woman waiting, in case you aren't able to nurse?"

"And to please you, I wouldn't doubt." She laughed and reached for his hand. "You put the blame on your mother, but I can see you worry for me just as much."

"As nervous as a boy on his first voyage, trusted with the rudder. And no instructions," Odysseus added, letting a grin brighten his face. "I agree it's better if you nurse our child, though not fashionable for royal ladies. Yet for the sake of caution-"

"I already spoke to Eurynome and she's watching for a likely new mother," Penelope said, pressing two fingers against his lips to silence him. She laughed, then squealed, jerking her hand away when he bit at her fingers.

"If this is any indication of your temper until the baby is born..." He shook his head, eyes sparkling with laughter.

A whimper broke the quiet between them. A brown hound pup sat in the open doorway, head cocked to one side, watching them. Odysseus stood and the pup lay down, head on its forelegs and whimpered again.

"This is the best of the litter," he said, bending down to scoop up the handful of damp fur.

The pup wiggled in his hands. His grin turned mischievous. Penelope barely had time to move her sewing before Odysseus dumped the pup into her lap.

"I admit being able to climb all those stairs so young is a sign of strength." Her moment of indignation melted when the pup looked at her with pleading eyes and whimpered again. "What is so special about this one?"

"Every time I pass, he follows me. He tracked me all the way up here, didn't he?"

"You'd train him now to be a hunter?" She stroked the pup's fuzzy head. It closed its eyes and settled down, tongue hanging out, the image of contentment.

"Why not?" Odysseus sat at her feet again, his head resting against her knee. He reached for the brace and went back to work. "There's precious little else to do, when the storms keep us locked indoors and the bard can't sing for sneezing. A hunting dog would make a good guard."

"Ah, now I understand." Penelope continued stroking the pup, feeling the thumping of its tiny heart. "I can see this one fully grown, sleeping under our son's cradle."

"One more guard I trust, to watch over both of you when Agamemnon calls me away. The peace with Ilion can't last."

"I know." Penelope shivered, glad he couldn't see her. She had dreamed of Helen's tapestry, where the man came to life, snatched up Helen and carried her away. "Have you thought of a name for him?"

"The pup?" Odysseus looked at her, leaning back so he saw her upside down. "Perhaps Argus? A name from legend, for a dog that will perform legendary feats."

"You expect much from such a tiny one," she said, stroking the sleeping pup. "He wore himself out just climbing the stairs."

"He'll be stronger for it."

On fair days, Odysseus took the pup out with the grown hunting dogs, to exercise them and begin Argus' lessons. He trained the young dog so whenever they came in, Argus went directly to Penelope. When Odysseus built the cradle, he trained Argus to sleep under it. Penelope wondered what her husband feared, to take such precautions.

Penelope woke with a shriek choking her. She clutched at the blankets wrapped around her, trying to tear them away. They felt like hot hands tangled around her legs, catching at the skirts of her dress. The room echoed with her scream, increasing her fear. The feel and sound of the place was not her own room.

Cold wet touched her hand, accompanied by a whine. She snatched her hand away, blinking in the darkness, and swallowed another shriek when something leaped up onto the bed next to her. Cold touched her arm, with a snuffling sound and a whimper.

"Argus?" she whispered. A thumping tail on the bed frame reassured her. Penelope choked and wrapped her arms around the dog, hiding her face in his short, scratchy fur.

The door slammed open, accompanied by torchlight. Odysseus hurried into the room, accompanied by his father and Mentor. Odysseus jammed his torch into a wall bracket and gathered her into his arms.

"What is it?" His voice came out ragged, choking. His face was a pale mask in the shadows. She had never seen him afraid until that moment.

She stared at him, confused. Then reality slid into place. She was in Odysseus' room. He had been out with Mentor and his father inspecting a dock damaged in the last storm. Penelope had settled in his room to wait for him before the evening meal and had fallen asleep.

"I had an evil dream," she admitted, feeling foolish.

Laertes snorted, a sound of mixed relief and amusement. Penelope hid her face in Odysseus' shoulder, glad he held her closer and pressed a kiss against her cheek.

"My lady, perhaps no one warned you," Mentor said, his voice gentle with humor. "Women with children in their bellies often have dreams of ill omen. It's best to ignore them. Queen Hecuba has learned that, to her joy and sorrow."

"Hecuba?" Penelope knew Mentor spoke to distract her and she was grateful. Yet mention of the people of Ilion irritated her, too. "What has Priam's queen to do with me? All her children are grown."

"When her second son, Paris was about to be born, she dreamed he would bring destruction to Ilion. The boy was exposed on a mountain three days after she birthed him."

"I had no such dream," she blurted.

"No one said you did," Odysseus assured her. He put her down on the blankets, keeping one arm around her. His free hand rested on her swollen belly.

"Even if I did have such a dream, I wouldn't speak it. To kill an innocent child..." She snorted, despite the weak terror that fluttered through her. "What were you saying about Queen Hecuba and Paris?"

"Priam and his queen discovered the dream was nothing more than that. They obeyed it, of course, but the boy was found and rescued, raised in anonymity and only this last fall restored to his family. Paris is strong and handsome and his return has brought prosperity to Ilion, some say." Mentor shrugged. "Time will tell, will it not?"

"What of your dream, Penelope?" Laertes asked, his voice soft in contrast to the hearty comfort Odysseus and Mentor both put into their voices.

"No images remain," she admitted. "I only feel terror. Danger and threats." She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat. "Odysseus, be careful. Nothing remains of my dream but a sense of a strong will, seeking vengeance against you. Someone strong, whom you have offended will refuse to rest until you have paid."

"If everyone I offended made such a vow, many men would be dead now of exhaustion." Odysseus kept his tone light, a smile on his face. The expression almost touched his eyes. "Come, it is late and you went without supper to wait for me. Perhaps mere hunger gave you such a vision."

Penelope nodded and let him help her to her feet. Despite his words, she saw by his eyes he believed her dream. Penelope wished Mentor was right.

Winter held them close that year, strong winds blowing in from the sea every night, coating surfaces with ice, battering anything not fastened down or sturdily made. Penelope found she welcomed the constant moaning sound. Rough winds meant protective isolation. Messages and rumors of evil couldn't come to their island to trouble them. She lived an illusion that no land existed beyond Ithaka.

Odysseus only left the house for emergencies. His care for her sometimes grew heavy. She only had to remind him and he would laugh, apologize with a kiss, and let her have her way. And a short time later, treat her as a fragile flower again. Some nights when she was too tired to walk, she let him carry her up and down the stairs. He joined her in her bed and held her close every night, holding her up when the stirring of the baby wouldn't let her sleep flat. In the mornings when she woke before him, she found Odysseus' hand resting protectively on the curve of her belly.

"It's true," she often told him and Eurynome, making husband and nurse laugh. "No matter how we began, my husband loves me now merely for the child I give him. I'm too fat for pleasure or to satisfy his eyes."

Penelope was delighted at the changes the baby brought to her body. She put on more flesh, smoothing over places she had thought would always be bony. She didn't mind the awkwardness of her body, when before she had been lithe and quick and could stay up late and rise early. She endured cheerfully the aches in her back and legs. She wished winter wouldn't end, sometimes. There was a peace and security in their isolation she didn't want to lose.

"Penelope, I need your wisdom." Odysseus stood in the door of her weaving room, smiling in apology for startling her. He did that often lately, breaking her from daydreams. He wore his cloak and high boots from walking outside and she saw bits of sleet melting in his hair.

"What could be so serious?" She stood, bracing against the side of the loom for her balance. Before she quite reached her feet he was there, one hand under her elbow, an arm around her waist. She