Penelope
"Don't mind them," I say, putting down an axe as I escort Cleia into the kitchen.
"My word, those awful young men," she shudders.
"They're trying. The authorities can't do anything, and Telemachus is quite insistent he prove his manhood and drive them away himself. He misses his father so it's good for him to occupy his time," I say, locking the door and going to get tea things.
"What do they think they're doing?" she asks, horrified still.
"Having a sit in, till I agree to marry one of them."
"And what does Telemachus think he's doing about that?"
"Well, when shouting at them didn't work, he's resorted to attempting to annoy them into leaving. It's very effective in upsetting them, except last I overheard now they just want to kill him," I say, pouring us both tea.
"How did that boy think he was going to annoy them into leaving?"
"Mostly mournful piano music. But he's escalated. When he came home with a set of cymbals my father in law moved out to the hunting cabin, said to tell him when the coast is clear. It's a good activity for Telemachus and I'd sooner he be exercising his inbred desire to aggravate people who aren't as smart as him, here, at home, than off someplace else where I can't keep any eye on things," I say, pouring us tea.
"Where is Telemachus now?"
"He's staying with a friend, Nestor's youngest boy, Eche, they're the same age and good friends. I think they're sweet on each other honestly. I'm glad he's getting out of the house for a bit," I say. I sent word so that he'd be aware that now the suitors want to kill him. That's a problem, but not one we're not equipped to handle. I told him to go stay with his grandfather for the present. "But what brings you here?"
"I was sent for," she frowns.
"Not by me," I say, "Show me the paper."
"I've not brought itâ-I didn't thinkâ,"
"Never mind," I say, smiling a bit. Not the first bit of godly intervention this family has seen. "I'm glad you've come, especially if I'm right."
"You're too much like your husband," she sighs.
"Or he's too much like me," I say, smiling a little.
"Will you tell me what you mean?" she asks.
"In time, if I'm wrong then it means nothing and I'm glad to have an old friend here. If not, all will become apparent," I say, "And saying things out loud sometimes makes them not happen. Some wishes are too dear to put into words."
"And I thought that boy would never find a girl that could keep up with him," she sighs, shaking her head.
"Imagine how my family felt, I was always the quiet one," I say.
"I can't imagine you quiet, my lady."
"I didn't have someone to speak my mind to," I say.
"I can't imagine he's dead," she says, quietly, tears in her faded eyes. She was Eulises' nanny and Telemachus' a bit. Mostly because she doted on him as one of her own. She never had any children of her own and it was her chief job to mind Eulises as a boy. Now she lives on our estate of course, and I try not to trouble her in her old age for any real duties. When Telemachus was little and Eulises just gone though she came over quite often to help me mind him, even though I did have other servants. Both of them love her obviously and can generally behave more like polite human beings in her presence.
"I don't want to imagine it," I say.
"Scared me too many times that boy. Coming home from hunting that time, with his leg ripped open. Nothing ever stopped him," she sighs.
"No," I twist my fingers. I literally, cannot, think of him not coming home.
"I'm sorry, ladyâ,"
"No it's fine. I'm fine. It's been years he's âhe'd be the first one to tell me the odds of him returning now are slim," I say, "But he'd also be the first one to tell me the rules of probability don't apply to him."
"He would at that," she says, "Do you ever think of leaving here? If he didn't come back?"
"No, Ithaca is my home, this house, is my home," I say, flatly.
I still have that. He gave me that.
My family had the wedding of course. It was torture to wait. He wrote to me every single day. We only got the post once a week so I would get seven letters at once. Typically he did a few that were love letters alone, then the rest would be just endless cyphers and codes and riddles or accounts of his day and bits that amused him. I liked the puzzles best and would respond in kind with one my own. It was nearly as good as talking to him, the challenge of sitting there, working it out, suddenly not feeling so alone in my head.
I sewed my own wedding dress. My mother was against that. I said I didn't care and I wanted to. My father eventually willingly took my side because I forced him to. I embroidered an olive tree in the dress. Eulises was the only one who knew why, I think.
I want to say I remember every minute of my wedding day, but I don't. Eulises and I hadn't seen each other in months though of course we'd written the whole time. As soon as we were wed and the festivities began I just held his arm and felt too safe for my own liking.
"Do you think we can duck out soon?" he whispered into my ear.
"This is our wedding."
"Yes, I know, thank you, do you think we duck out soon?"
"No, I do not think that, I think this is one social function that we do have to see through to the end," I laughed.
"All right, just this one," he said, playing with a lock of my hair, strong arm around my shoulders.
It was late by the time the party was done. We collapsed in our chambers, exhausted and stupidly giddy. Still in my dress, he cradled my face and finally kissed me. He kissed me until we were both to tired to think.
He didn't make love to me until we were safe back home. I don't know why and I didn't need to. There was always a guarded part of him that I dared not question.
He took me home, to the estate in Ithaca. It should have felt strange going there knowing that was where I'd spend the rest of my life. It didn't. It felt right. Just perfectly right.
"See? I made the bed myself, built around this old tree," he talked on, explaining how he'd done it he was pleased with himself like he always was. His father had taught him wood work and he'd made our marriage bed himself, from only the finest oak, built around one tree as one of the struts of it. So it was our room, added on to the house. Touched by no one else, and to stand the ages. Just as he liked it. I liked it too. Something of my own, just like him.
And that was where I finally slept with him. On that bed, the one I still sleep in. I learned the ridges of every muscle in his back, every scar, I learned how strong his arms were yet how gentle when they held me. I'd make him tell me, tracing each scar, and he'd laugh and tell me how he got it. He memorized me too. But with a certain sanctity, his calloused fingers tracing every mole every freckle every line upon my skin softly, as though then he'd known he'd need to recall every inch of me for when we were apart.
When we were through I held him close to me, sweaty as he was, eyes dull with tiredness and something like peace. He lay there to sleep, head on my bare stomach, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He didn't move for blankets or a pillow just lying close to me not a hair's breath between us.
I learned he had nightmares. When he woke I'd stroke his hair and whisper to him, and like a child he'd curl closer to me and fall back to sleep.
But that first sweat soaked night of learning the other was the most profound. He'd always been gentle with me but after that there was a forbidden knowledge to his touch. In the day he'd put a hand on my back or arm, finger tracing a scar or birthmark that he knew to be there, a small smile on his face. Always reveling in what he knew that others didn't. Not that I was his property, no. I was this thing he got to have and I was endlessly remarkable to him. He wanted to talk to me at any hour of the day. And he was just as content telling me on and on of his latest weapon or scheme, as he was kissing me. In fact I would be the one to demand a kiss or to be held and he'd finally for a moment stop talking. And then he'd start again just to tell me how beautiful he saw me.
Eventually, he took me to meet the rest of his family. His mother liked me well enough, his father usually laughed at us, talking rapidly to the other like nobody else was at the table, when in fact everyone was there, but the two of us were in our own world.
The rest of his family proved interesting, as a trip to Mount Parnassus would. It was large dinner with all the cousins there. His father stayed, but his mother went with us as it was her family.
In my first eight minutes of being there, no less than six cousins came up to check on me to ask if 1) I was there under duress 2) if I was being financially compensated. Apparently money was riding on this. I laughed and said no.
"Come sit with us women," one of the female cousins took my arm, "You'll have a much better time dining with us than that lot."
"No, you'll not steal her away she's my only friend," Eulises laughed, capturing me in his arms, resting his head on my shoulder.
And that was just it. I was his best friend first, his wife second. An order I came to like. First and foremost I was his co-conspirator. Second of all I was his everything. He told me so often I learned to believe it. He trusted me with things he trusted no one else with: the truth.
One day he came back from riding, a cut on his arm where he'd been caught by an unfortunate branch.
"Come, I need to show you something," he brushed aside servants, taking my arm and leading me from the kitchens where I'd been supervising a holiday feast.
"What âlet me wrap that up," I sighed, knowing he had no real care for his own injuries.
"I will presently, there's something,â," he led me to our room, bolting the door.
"What is it?" at that point I really just assumed he'd killed someone.
He took his own blood on his fingers, then smeared it between his thumb and forefinger. He held out his bloody hand, "See?"
"What are youâ" then I did see it. The shining gold flecks. "Ichor."
He nodded. He'd long since confirmed that he had a godly ancestor. I knew the look of Ichor in blood from my older brother and sister. Our mother of course told them to take care lest anyone find out. Of course they had none of it.
"Only you will ever dress my wounds it's not--," he shrugged a little, awkward as always with speaking something fully true, "When I was a child my mother showed me, and ordered me to let no one but herself or my nurse bandage my injuries. She said that the outsideâthose who don't know. They fear what they do not understand. I bleed like any mortal and I have particular talents other than my intelligence which I like to think I'd have even if my ancestors were all mortal howeverâ,"
"No, no one should find out," I said, getting things to wrap it up.
"I wanted to tell you," he said.
"Of course, you should be careful, people already distrust you, I don't have to tell you what they say," I said, wrapping his arm. The treacherous tainted blood damp and slick on my hands.
"No, you do not, I'm well aware, they like to deride me till they need my cleverness," he said, dryly, "As it is, it's a dangerous secret. Not all are friendly with the gods."
"No, they are not," I said, tying the cloth off tightly, "You could have told me sooner. I know what they said."
He shrugged again.
"You don't have to worry about me you know," I said, kissing his cheek, "I'm yours. And I can withstand whatever you bring."
"I know you can," he smiled then. That smile that I never wanted to end.
"Seriously though? What am I going to have to do to prove to you that I can handle you?" I asked.
"Handle me then," he said, kissing my cheek then my mouth, very, very gently, like he always did.
"You're ridiculous," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck, "I'm right though. I know you, and I know when you're lying."
"Bet you're wrong. But if you're right you have to kiss me," he mumbled, already kissing me.
"Bet you forget you hurt yourself today the minute you want to hold me," I laughed, as he was already moving to pick me up and immediately winced due to his injured arm.
"You always win," he said, contenting to tug me down ontop of him on the bed.
"Yes, yes we do."