THE DREAMER'S LOOM Read online

  "Aunt...I want to be a priestess, not marry a warrior prince. I want to stay virgin and serve the Goddess."

  "What nonsense is this?" She laughed, but Penelope didn't think her 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. That does not mean, however, that we must accept the world as men shape it. There is still much that women can and must do. We are the bearers of hope, of life. Do not deny the power residing in your body and soul. You were born for a reason, as every woman is born for a reason."

  She reached out to touch the girl's cheek and they sat in silence as the gloom turned into the pearly, soft light before true dawn. Penelope heard an owl hoot, several soft, soothing notes in a row. She dared to hope the Goddess added her song of comfort to Bachan's words.

  Still, it was hard.

  Why had she hesitated? If she had dared to act, to snatch up food, her spear and sling, to cut her hair and slip away into the darkness, she could be halfway to the shore by now. Penelope cursed herself for a coward and vowed yet again she would take all the power she could catch in her two small hands. She would control her life, however much she could keep safe from her uncle, from her guards, from the nameless, faceless prince who would drag her into his bed.

  If only she could be heartless and self-centered like Melantho, and enjoy life without fearing the punishments the Goddess exacted on those who lived for evil.

  * * * *

  When she went to wake her grandfather with a cup of warmed, spiced wine to start the day, Penelope found him dead with a soft smile on his face. She comforted herself with the knowledge that he had spent his dotage happy, training his grandson. Dymis had been proud that she would go to Sparta to serve the king. Perhaps that was why he smiled when he crossed the dark river to the shadowlands.

  Penelope had little enough to smile about in the days that followed.

  Kratos and Anthinos hurried the household through the funeral rites. Penelope wanted to stay several days, to properly mourn Dymis. She wanted to sit in silence with his body at least until afternoon, to speak to his departing spirit and be sure he knew his family loved him. Fury made her belly burn, when the two Spartans took over and she was shoved to the side, forced to sit idle and watch her grandfather's funeral rites assembled with unseemly haste.

  Kratos used Tyndareos' gold to hire mourners, who created an outcry that likely frightened away Dymis' spirit before his family could make their farewells. He paid for a lavish feast, which neither Bachan nor Penelope cared to taste. He bought expensive oils and spices to throw on the funeral pyre, and an elaborate weaving for Dymis' funeral shroud. The pyre was lit that evening, almost before the old man was decently cold.

  Penelope reminded herself that Dymis had wanted her to return to Sparta. His pride in her, his joy, was the only thing that kept her from lifting the gaudily painted urn containing her grandfather's ashes and heaving it across the room. That, and the smirk of triumph on Melantho's lush lips. Penelope contained her anger because she knew it would please her slave to know she was unhappy. Melantho was the sort who enjoyed making others suffer when she had been frustrated or punished. Penelope refused to be like her.

  So, to please her grandfather and to take away Melantho's bitter triumph, Penelope composed her face and kept her voice calm and pretended she didn't feel the heart-rending despair and anger that consumed her whenever she thought of Sparta.

  That did not mean, however, that she would stay or she would meekly accept her fate.

  When the small company walked through the gates of the decrepit household the next morning, Penelope didn't look back. Her aunt had told her not to. She comforted herself with the knowledge that Bachan didn't have Dymis to worry about any longer, and she would indeed be taken care of by the villagers of Alybas. There were still some who worshipped the Goddess. Her aunt would be well.

  "Goddess, show me the way," Penelope whispered, as the village vanished behind the last shallow hill. She turned her face to the horizon and the distant sea, and walked forward into her future.

  * * * *

  As the black-keeled merchant ship rounded the last outcropping of rock, the wind caught at the veil covering Penelope's waist-length dark hair and tugged more strands free of her braids. She stood up from her place in the prow, which let her feel as if she guided the ship. The wind yanked harder at her veil, tugging it free of the pins holding it fast to her 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 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. 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.

  Even if she could not control her future, she would let nothing destroy her enjoyment of the present moment.

  Penelope turned in her narrow perch and leaned her back against the rail. She twisted a strand of wind-loosened 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.

  Penelope shook her head, vowing once again not to think about the people and duties awaiting her in the palace of Sparta. She leaned over the opposite railing and strained her eyes against the glare of light on the splashing waves. She wanted to see Pylos before the sailors did.

  King Nestor had been kind to her five years before when she passed through his city. He had given her honey cakes and her ivory lap loom 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 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. He had laughed and vowed he would stand witness at her wedding feast to a great king.

  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 still ached in longing for Alybas.

  A shout rose from the merchant controlling the rudder at the ship's stern. Two near-naked sailors climbed the mast to lower 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 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 this merchant had explained the advantages of a reed sail, then went 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 oars and the sail, and a hundred other details.

  Penelope 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 follow her first plan, disguise herself as a boy and run away. Had she learned enough from the merchant and the sailors to earn a living on board a ship? That might be a pleasant life. But the sailors spent their days wearing little more than a loincloth, and how long could she pass as a boy without taking off her tunic like the others?
Her body had blossomed enough to betray her, but not enough to make her desirable.

  If her father were still alive, would he have let her stay in Alybas? Penelope barely remembered Ikarios. People said Ithios, her brother, resembled him only in his 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 a year ago when he thought he might be dying, and told her it would bring blessings and safety. She hoped the old man had not been raving. She needed blessings in her new life.

  "Penelope." Eurynome stood below her perch. "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 all alone.

  "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 smiled. 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 sons helped the merchant's men unload the ship, as the price of their passage. Kratos and Anthinos would leave the ship as soon as it touched the shore, to look for their escort. Penelope didn't like either of her uncle's trusted servants. After the unseemly haste of her grandfather's funeral, they wouldn't answer her questions and spent most of their time by themselves, as if they were too important to speak with sailors, slaves, or princess.

  Penelope sat on the narrow bench built against the wall of the hold and watched her servants work. It was a matter of moments to gather up the rugs, the baskets of fruit, the skin of wine, the bread and other food. She watched Melantho, envying her full curves and golden hair that glowed even when sunlight didn't touch it. She had full, red lips the village boys in Alybas had pronounced sweeter than 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 Melantho had ever envied her. She knew the older girl resented returning to Sparta. Several village men had offered for her when they heard Penelope returned to Sparta. Dolios had refused, saying their duty demanded they all go.

  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 than at that moment, when she would go inland again.

  Time to return from her dreams and wishes to reality.

  Once on the docks, Penelope saw the three long, cushioned carts waiting for her company, and the soldiers Kratos and Anthinos had gone to seek. She schooled her face into calm, though longing to laugh aloud. Melantho smothered a giggle behind her hand. King Tyndareos had sent a company of ten lightly armed, aging men who had seen far better days.

  Their leader, a graying, stout man saluted Kratos, then bowed to Penelope. 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. Searching her basket, she discovered her doll was missing.

  Penelope had always been sure to put the little doll carved from olive wood back into the basket. Perhaps it was silly to be so concerned about a toy. After all, a girl of fifteen was ready to marry, with no need or time for toys. But 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. She needed it, if only to hold in the dark watches of the night and dream.

  She heard a snicker, and barely stopped herself from turning to look. Penelope recognized the sound of Melantho enjoying the fruits of another nasty trick. She schooled her face into calm and unclenched her hands, refusing to give her nasty slave any satisfaction.

  Her doll wasn't missing, she knew now. How often had Melantho mocked her in whispers for playing with dolls when she was nearly on the threshold of her bridal chamber? The older girl had done it to punish Penelope. Hadn't she played similar nasty tricks in the past, in retribution for every imagined slight and injustice? Melantho had stolen the doll.

  Where would her disgruntled slave put it? Penelope turned and looked directly at the merchant's ship. It would set sail once the new cargo had been loaded. If it left before she got someone to search the ship, she would never see her doll again.

  Penelope considered accusing Melantho in front of witnesses. That would use up precious time. Eurynome or Dolios would insist Melantho go back to the ship to retrieve the doll. The girl would flirt with a sailor or two and deliberately waste time until she didn't have a chance to get on board. The ship would depart with the doll still hidden inside it.

  Far easier, Penelope knew, to retrieve the doll herself. Melantho would be disappointed if she got no reaction to her nasty trick. What use was revenge if the victim showed no pain and acted as if she didn't care?

  Yes, far easier to retrieve the doll herself and frustrate Melantho with her silence.

  Penelope wished yet again that Dolios had left his daughter behind in Alybas. Life would be far sweeter and more peaceful without Melantho.

  She went quietly back to the ship, slipping between the guards and the sailors and merchants busily moving between ships and docks. She ran up the plank to the ship, imagining she once more felt the motion of the sea. She would miss the ship. The dark-eyed vessel 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. She had loved the journey, walking the bobbing deck, feeling the sea breezes tugging at her hai
r.

  "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, 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 would do well to give up her dreams and prepare for whatever the Fates decreed. Penelope was dependent on her uncle's favor and would do as Tyndareos decreed. She owed service to Tyndareos and to Sparta. 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. She would walk with Helen and hope some powerful, influential prince would see her and want her.

  Want her more than he wanted Helen? Penelope knew that was impossible.

  "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.

  What did she have to attract a man's interest and hunger? Small breasts waiting to fill out, and the slim hips and height of a child. 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 place before Eurynome realized she had vanished. Her nurse would scold her like a child half her age. She watched her feet, to avoid tripping as she hurried.

  A shadow crossed her path, a 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, 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 and stopped to check her stubbed toe when she heard voices, two men talking.