King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Odysseus looked at the princess and felt again the attraction that had struck him the night before. He had regretted his reaction several times since then, and though he still smarted from her insult he was nevertheless pleased to find her alone in the quiet gardens.

‘I’ve come to escape the clamour of the great hall,’ he explained. ‘It’s not what I’m used to. But I’ll be happy to return and leave you to your thoughts, if you wish.’

‘Do as you please, my lord. With feasts every night and guests everywhere it’s been difficult to find time to oneself, but if you insist on staying . . .’

‘Well, if you insist on asking,’ he said, sitting down beside her and looking up at the cloud-filled sky. Penelope moved to the far edge of the bench. ‘Are the feasts always this grand?’

‘Grand? Well, I suppose they look that way to simple folk. They get much bigger when there’s something to celebrate. If you’re invited to Helen’s marriage banquet, you’ll see what I mean.’

Odysseus knew exactly what she meant, but took no offence. Her sharp wit and intelligence were appealing, even when directed at him, and he knew it must be difficult for the young woman when her cousin was the centre of attention all the time.

‘Talking of Helen,’ he said, looking about himself once more. ‘I notice she isn’t at the feast tonight. Do you know where she might be?’

‘No. She only comes to a few, and then not for long. I would imagine she finds all that attention nauseating. Most evenings she remains in her quarters with her slave girls, or with her mother.’

‘And what do you do?’

‘Me?’ Penelope replied, surprised that he should ask. ‘Sometimes I sew. Sometimes I visit Helen’s tutors – she has the finest in the Peloponnese, though she hardly appreciates them. Other times I just sit here and enjoy the quiet.’

‘And the feasts?’

‘Not if I can avoid them,’ she admitted with a reluctant laugh. ‘But I’ll come if new guests have arrived. You princes and kings are always well met, but your men are given nothing more than a cup of wine and a place to sit. That’s why I make it my job to welcome them. It may have been my curse to be born a woman, but where men fail to show true hospitality our sex must do what honour requires. I can say with pride that no man shall leave Sparta feeling they didn’t receive the right words of welcome.’

‘It’s good to honour the traditions of xenia,’ Odysseus agreed. ‘The gods demand it of us. My men . . .’ He paused, wondering whether to make the admission.

‘Yes?’

‘My men have spoken highly of you today.’

They looked away from each other, Penelope smiling with pleasure while Odysseus frowned with embarrassment. He turned back a moment later, but could think of nothing to say. In the face of Penelope’s prickly attitude he wanted to offset his compliment with a barbed comment or, at worst, a thinly disguised insult, but the words would not come. Instead he found himself looking at the back of her head, its long brown hair tied up in a tail on top. The skin of her neck and arms was unfashionably tanned and he could see the fine hairs bleached a light colour by the sun. Her clothes were plain, as was her face, though in a pleasant, faultless and undemanding way. No, the insult that excused his earlier praise of the woman would not come.

‘So you won’t join the feast tonight?’

‘No.’ She turned back to him and, pulling a disapproving face, shook her head so that the tail of hair frisked about behind her.

‘Afraid of the attentions of all those men?’

‘Pah! They’re not here to see me. It’s Helen or nobody for them.’

Odysseus wondered at the stupidity of men. While Penelope might not possess the untouchable beauty of her cousin, she was warm where Helen was aloof, quick and clever where Helen was selfish and irritable; it was like comparing the glacial beauty of winter with the freshness of an autumn day.

‘Are you disappointed?’ he asked with curiosity.

A large spot of rain slapped onto the stretch of stone bench that separated them, causing them both to look up at the swollen sky above.

‘Of course not,’ she said, defensively. ‘I don’t rue her the attentions of that pack of oafs.’

‘Oafs?’ Odysseus scoffed. He put a large hand down onto the bench, narrowing the distance she had put between them. More spots fell onto the flagstones at their feet, whilst others bounced off the leaves in the shrubs and bushes of the garden. ‘Surely a princess like you must see good qualities in some of them. And there’ll be a whole host of disappointed princes when Helen is married.’

Penelope conceded him a nod. ‘Maybe I was a bit harsh. Menelaus is kind-hearted, but . . . But not for me.’

‘Idomeneus is wealthy,’ Odysseus suggested.

‘And what would I want with wealth? No, if I had to choose, I think I would like Diomedes.’

Odysseus removed his hand with a frown. ‘Diomedes, eh? Yes, a good choice. He’s a fine man. Just as Helen is a fine-looking woman. Of all the women I’ve seen in Sparta, I would choose her every time.’

Now it was Penelope’s turn to withdraw. Her cheeks flushed red.