King of Ithaca (38 page)

He pulled the tunic over his head and felt it settle against his skin. Already he could hear the noise of the banquet on the ground floor of the palace and began mentally preparing himself for the questions that Agamemnon would push at him. The council of war had been a disastrous failure, as Odysseus had expected. Some openly accused Agamemnon of wanting to weaken their strength at home, thus making them vulnerable to Mycenaean armies. Beset by such paranoia, it had not taken long for the council of war to slip into chaotic farce, with its members shouting at each other or walking out. Now the Mycenaean king was desperately trying to restore the situation. Impressed by Odysseus’s suggestion of the oath, he had asked him to come up with a similarly shrewd idea for unifying the Greeks against Troy.

Despite the honour, Odysseus’s heart was not in it. Much though he admired Agamemnon’s character and shared his aspirations, his thoughts were focused on returning to his homeland and saving his people from Eupeithes’s reign. He missed the sight of the sea every morning, the smell of the salt water in the air and the cry of the gulls on the wind. He longed to see his father and mother and their faithful servants again. More than anything, he wanted to leave this world of political intrigue and power games and go back to the simple life he had always known.

Had he dared to, he could have returned months ago and used the clay owl Athena had given him. Breaking the tablet would have summoned the goddess, and with her beside him few could have withstood his vengeful fury. But his doubts had prevented him. What if he had broken the clay tablet and Athena had not come? What if it was just another trick of the gods? His lack of faith made him seek out more certain methods of recovering his father’s kingdom, and as a consequence he now faced the dilemma of choosing between Helen and Penelope. Between home and love. But whatever force he came away with from Sparta, be it the might of Tyndareus’s army or the reluctant loan of Icarius’s personal guard, and whatever strategy he devised for retaking Ithaca, in his heart he wondered whether he could achieve anything without the help of his patron goddess.

‘My lord?’ Damastor said, standing by the door. ‘Shall we go? The men have already descended to the feast.’

Odysseus tied the straps of his sandals and followed Damastor out into the empty corridor. There was a curious new sensation in his flesh as he anticipated the night’s banquet, lifting his spirits and sending his mind racing towards Penelope. He pictured her tall, slim body in his mind’s eye and could hardly believe the feelings of physical desire that were coursing through him. His imagination was filled with her, recalling every detail of her physique from her long feet and shapely legs to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her brown shoulders. Would she be there tonight? He hoped so. Though he still feared her rejection, which would compel him to accept Tyndareus’s offer of Helen, he drew renewed courage from the thought of being in her presence. Boldness won battles, not timidity, and tonight he knew he had to approach her or lay all hope of her aside. Just the thought of her made his skin tingle with anticipation, and suddenly he was grateful for the new tunic Damastor had given him.

‘Perhaps Penelope will be there,’ Damastor said, as if reading Odysseus’s mind. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, my lord, you seem to have an eye for her.’

Odysseus nodded. ‘She’s a real beauty, Damastor, and she’s got a quick mind, too. I intend to make her mine.’

Damastor smiled with secret satisfaction, hardly noticing the young slave girl who passed them by on the steps. Odysseus, however, stared after her with a grin on his face.

‘Or any girl, for that matter.’

Damastor put a hand on the prince’s shoulder and led him quickly away from alternative temptations, down into the maelstrom of the great hall. Almost at once, through the crowds of warriors and attendant slaves, he saw Neaera. Her eyes met his with helpless pleading.

Only then did he notice Little Ajax conversing with Penelope, and to his dismay he saw that the princess’s attitude was not one of coldness. Suddenly he saw his plans slipping out of his grasp in the most unexpected of manners.

‘My lord,’ he said, grabbing Odysseus’s elbow and pointing urgently at the group. ‘If you want to speak to Penelope, you’ve got to do something quickly. That Locrian troublemaker is talking to her.’

Odysseus looked over at the woman he loved. For many evenings he had watched her at the nightly feasts, a distant figure who had dismissed him contemptuously from her company, which was in contrast freely given to others. But never had she looked as alluring as she did tonight. The tail in her hair had gone and the long, dark strands were tied up in a loose coil above her head, baring her exquisite ears and neck to the hungry eyes of the men around her. It set Odysseus’s flesh alight to look at her, creating a vacuum that only his other senses could fill: the sound of her voice; the smell of her clean, feminine aroma; the feel of her smooth skin; the often imagined taste of her lips. The pricking in his flesh that had been stirring in him ever since he left his quarters became a frenzy of desire, aggravated further by Little Ajax’s interfering presence. Instinctively he clutched at his belt, where his sword would normally hang. Recalling its absence, he clenched his massive fists and walked towards the Locrian.

Little Ajax seemed to sense his approach and turned. The flatterer’s smile fell from his tight lips to be quickly replaced by the usual sneer of hatred, rucking up the side of his face as he stared at Odysseus.

‘What do
you
want? Can’t you see we’re talking?’

Odysseus smiled coldly. ‘So can everyone else. Penelope’s a valuable prize, and some people here have an interest in who talks with her.’

The princess looked at him. Her usual hostility was strangely absent, making the desire in his flesh burn more fiercely.

‘Go tell them to find another woman,’ Little Ajax responded. His pet snake hissed, flicking its tongue menacingly at the intruder. ‘There are plenty of slaves about, so stop wasting my time.’

‘Icarius doesn’t concern himself with slaves, but he
does
want to know what your interest in his daughter is. He sent me to tell you as much. If you’re wise you’ll go to him now, or it’s my guess you’ll be observing Penelope from the other side of the palace walls.’

The Locrian swore and spat onto the stone flags. Even he could not refuse the summons of a king or delay the matter for longer than Icarius’s patience would last. Reluctantly he turned to go, nodding tersely to Penelope and promising to return as soon as he could. He shot Odysseus a suspicious glance and shouldered past him into the crowd.

Odysseus seized Penelope’s arm and pushed her ahead of him to a corner of the great hall, out of the sight of Neaera, Damastor and the lustful eyes of the men who glanced at the princess.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘Am I forbidden to speak with noble-born men? And besides, my father wouldn’t care
who
showed an interest in me.’

She shook his hand loose but her feeble anger could not disguise the deeper, more compelling feeling beneath. It showed in her dilated pupils and the colour in her cheeks. Her breathing became slightly heavier through her nostrils, so that she had to slightly open her mouth to steady its rhythm. Her nipples stood up beneath the woven material of her dress.

‘Why do you avoid me?’ he asked her, urgently.

‘I don’t know what you mean. You don’t have exclusive access to my company, Odysseus of Ithaca. And what does it matter whether I talk to you or not?’

Odysseus looked at her and knew that, for all his wit and guile, he could not lie to her – and would never want to.

‘Because I love you.’

Penelope looked at him with wide eyes, shocked by his admission. She continued to look at him, and as if for the first time took in the details of his face, his hair, his awkward, muscular body. The crazed tensions that had been crawling through her flesh since dressing became more fluid, running throughout her body with a wild abandon that loosened every nerve and made her horribly, frighteningly weak before him. The noises of the room were stilled by his heavy breathing, the light of the many torches dimmed by his green eyes as they searched into hers. She had wanted him before, but now it was as if she no longer had control of her truest desires. Her emotions had taken command of her body, foremost amongst them the dominant, all-consuming compulsion to be with him and to give to him everything that had been her own for so long.

‘Isn’t that why you’ve rejected me?’ Odysseus persisted.

He placed his hands on her sides, a presumption that she did not resist. The palm and fingers of his right hand parted the split in her dress and shaped themselves to the curve between her hip bone and lower ribs. His touch made her almost frenzied with the need of him.

‘Because you’re afraid of your own love for me, aren’t you? Tell me, Penelope. Say it.’

‘I don’t know. Yes. Yes, I want you.’

As the words forced themselves free from her lips she heard a voice calling her name. It was harsh and driven with anger; Little Ajax had discovered Odysseus’s trick and was forcing his way back across the great hall at that very moment. His shouts urged her to desperation.

‘I must go. Come to my room tonight – soon! There’s an olive tree opposite my window where you can enter without being seen by the guards. I’ll be waiting for you.’

Suddenly Damastor found them.

‘Little Ajax knows he’s been fooled, my lord. The runt is looking for a fight.’

‘I haven’t got time to give him that satisfaction tonight,’ Odysseus answered as he watched Penelope disappear into the throng. ‘
She
wants me. Quickly, Damastor, do you know an olive tree opposite the women’s quarters?’

A hazy sliver of moon slumbered beneath a thin veil of cloud, its half-lidded eye illuminating each swirl and eddy of the dark vapours as they were fanned across the night sky. By its dim light Odysseus picked his way up the twisted bole of the old tree, slipping dangerously in his haste to be with the woman he loved. His mind whirled with the excitement of knowing she returned his love and would very soon be his. Helen, the beacon that had drawn him to Sparta and the prize that would give him back his homeland, was forgotten.

He crawled out to the end of a long branch that pointed with forlorn rigidity towards a window in the palace wall. Leaning across, he seized the lip of the window and hauled himself over the ledge to land in a heap on the bedroom floor. He lay on his back and looked up at the plain but spacious room. Its high ceiling loomed above him, whilst by his head was the foot of a large bed. As he looked, Penelope’s face appeared over the edge and peered down at him.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I think so. Isn’t there an easier way to reach you?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she answered, watching him rise to his feet and stand before her. She sat up and the split in her dress fell open over her thigh. ‘Unless you want to fight your way through the guards.’

‘You’d be worth it.’

She tossed her head back and untied her hair so that it streamed down across her back. Taking a deep breath, she leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling again the desire for Odysseus that had gripped her in the great hall. A spasm of sheer lust ran from her groin up into her breasts and down again to her stomach, flowing out into the very tips of her toes and fingers. Nervously, her hand wandered to the cord about her waist, fumbled with the knot and released it. The clinging dress drifted free of her arched back and buttocks, letting in the cool air of the moonlit room to play freely over her flesh.

She sensed the man watching her every move and, enjoying his attention, lifted her hand to the brooch at her shoulder. Her eyes remained closed as she undid the two pins, allowing the dress to slip down over her smooth skin to reveal her nakedness. For the first time in her life she had exposed her natural state to a man, and yet nerves and inexperience could not subdue the lust within her. Opening her eyes, she lay back on the bed and held out a hand to him.

‘Come here, Odysseus.’

In the corridors below them Damastor approached an officer of the guard, who barred his way with a spear.

‘No men beyond this point. Women only.’

‘But there’s an intruder in the women’s quarters. One of the slave women has just told me.’

The soldier looked at him puzzled. ‘That’s impossible, or I’d have seen him myself.’

‘Well, he’s up there. In Penelope’s room. Do you want to risk the wrath of her father?’

The guard did not seem frightened by the threat, but knew the duties laid upon him. ‘All right then, we’ll have a look. And you’d better return to the feast.’

Damastor headed back to the great hall, smiling to himself. The moment he realized Odysseus was intending to climb up to Penelope’s room, he had remembered that the punishment for entering the women’s quarters was death and seized his opportunity. At last, it seemed, the gods were on his side.

Behind him, the guard officer turned and called back along the corridor. Two men emerged with spears in their hands and came running towards him. One of them was directed to fetch King Icarius, whilst the other accompanied the officer up the steps that led to the next floor. They rushed along the torch-lit corridor that linked the many rooms of the women’s quarters, shouting the princess’s name as they ran. Turning a corner they were suddenly at the door to her room, where they paused momentarily to listen for any suspicious sound beyond the thick wood. Then they heard voices, hushed and urgent. The door burst open with one kick and they ran into the darkened room.