King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

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.’