Chapter One: Across the Sea
Ithaca, 1200 BC
The ship sailed towards our island, closing in like a dark stain on the blue of the sea. I narrowed my eyes and focused on the sail. Slowly the lion’s head emerged through the shimmering heat. I knew then that they were coming, coming for Odysseus and all the men of Ithaca.
For a moment I stood paralysed, staring at the proud symbol of King Menelaus of Sparta, until gulls screeched in alarm and I jumped from the ridge and scrambled through a clump of rushes. Lysander was the fastest runner in Ithaca; he’d be able to reach the palace in time to alert Odysseus. I plunged through the coarse grass and closed in on the circle of pine trees, urgently shouting his name.
I gasped for breath and then cursed myself. How could I forget? Lysander was with his father, moving their sheep to the other side of the island and wouldn’t be back before dusk. It seemed the gods had left me to warn my brother.
The cool air under the trees helped me think more clearly. I wasn’t as strong or as fast as the men, but I’d often beaten the boys in their games. The sheep track lay ahead of me, looping down to the road, taking its time like the ghosts of animals whose feet once etched its path. It was too slow that way. I veered off the track and ran to the more direct route along the spine of rocks.
At first I made good progress, but gathering speed, my foot slipped on the loose scree, sending stones skittering down the slope. They rattled and bounced over the side of the ravine, the clatter of their downward journey echoing around the rocks. My heart raced as I grabbed onto a boulder and pulled myself to it.
When I dared look round, a shape flickered at the corner of my eye, a shadow crept across the rock. An eagle hovered above me, its large wings covering the sun as it swept round in a circle and then drifted down to the lowlands. I took a deep breath. It might have been the great god Zeus in disguise, observing the lives of mortals as he soared above us, mocking our earth-bound legs. Selecting a more gradual descent along the outcrop, I laughed at myself. Zeus had better things to do than watch a fourteen year old girl from Ithaca.
At last I reached the road and stared into the distance, following its path as it left the rocky terrain. It cut through the grasslands and up the hill, pointing to the town’s hiding place as it nestled out of sight. Without thinking, I set off, keeping my pace steady like Odysseus had taught me. My sandals pounded the earth in a steady rhythm; my legs seemed to move on their own. I raced downhill for a long stretch, seeing no one except boys with goats and sheep, their pipe music drifting through the air like wisps of smoke.
Then climbing uphill, I ran past a scattering of wooden huts where animals and families lived together. A dog barked. Two young girls peered out from an open doorway. Old men stopped talking and stared. At the crest of the road, I found the town spread before me, a tapestry of grey, blue and reddish brown thread. There was a clutter of men and women, carts and animals, all on their way to the market. I chased after them, closing in at every stride. It felt easy at first, but just as I caught the nearest of the market-goers, my legs became as heavy as my brother’s sword. My lungs burnt like they were scorched by fire. There wasn’t time to slow down. I clenched my fists and passed two ox carts, then dodged round the weaver’s son leading his tired donkey with its heavy load. Closer to town, Lysander’s uncle carried a sack of wool on his shoulders, singing as he always did and calling out to me, as if it was an ordinary day.
More small huts sprang up on either side of the road. Dust stang my eyes but I ran on, the houses becoming a blur until I reached the outskirts of town. In front of the carpenters’ houses, a group of children squatted by the roadside, playing a game of stones. A dark haired boy looked up and left the others to run with me, his naked body glistening in the sunlight.
The boy’s company lightened my legs and we picked up speed, forcing ourselves on through the stench from the tanners’ workshops. He took the lead and raced along a row of mud brick houses. I snatched a breath. The skilled tradesmen lived in these bigger homes and it meant we were near the centre of town.
“The market, I can hear it,” the boy shouted.
There was only a low murmur of voices at first, but as I followed him down a dip in the road, it grew into a babble of noise: the sound of men and women, mules and donkeys, even pipes and the rattle of metal and wood, all competing for attention in the chaos of the market ahead. The boy ran along a curve in the road and then stopped, his way suddenly blocked by a thick wedge of people.
He turned to me. “What now?”
It looked as if half of Ithaca was crushed into the confined space of the courtyard, herded together like sheep in the pen of a careless shepherd.
“You go home, I can get to the palace from here,” I gasped. “But tell me your name.”
“Nessus, youngest son of Remus, the ship builder.” He gave a quick bow of his head and turned to jog back. After a few strides, he glanced over his shoulder. “Lady Neomene, one day I’ll be the fastest runner in Ithaca. I’ll race for you.”
I smiled and waved to him before forcing my way into the gaggle of chattering women and busy slaves.
Traders shouted as they boasted about the taste of their apples or the sharpness of their axeheads and ploughs. People jostled and laughed. I ignored them all and squeezed through a small gap in the crowd. Then finding a barrier of stalls ahead, I dipped under one and crawled to the other side. The fair-haired daughter of one of the palace officials stared down at me, open-mouthed.
“Neomene, Neomene, what are you doing? You haven’t got Lysander under there, have you? You know how furious your mother will be.” Finding I was alone, her face brightened. “Come and see the fine cloth from Pylos. They’ve some wonderful colours. You’ll love the red.”
“Not today, I must go home,” I cried, not looking back at her but diving into the sea of people and pushing through to the other side of the courtyard.
Once clear of the market, I paused for a moment and studied the steep incline to the palace. It wasn’t far now. I’d raced up the hill many times when I’d stayed in the town too long and feared my mother would discover me missing. I aimed for the potter’s hut half-way up the hill and counted each workshop and house as I ran.
The potter grinned when I touched the wheel. It was what all Ithacan children did when they needed good fortune; no doubt he’d done the same when he was a child. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and took another deep breath. The tops of Father’s trees beckoned me onwards, calling from the other side of the palace fence. I took off again, forcing my heavy legs to make one final effort. Skirting along the base of the wall, I ran to the wooden gateway where a stocky guard jumped to attention. I nodded my head and hurried along the path to the entrance.
“What is it, girl? Have the Spartans come?” It was Euryclea, my old nurse, sitting under the trees with my ten year old sister.
“Yes, the ship,” I gasped, running past.
Without waiting for Euryclea’s reaction, I raced up the steps and pushed through the heavy doors into the hall. My feet clattered on the stone stairs two at a time, my heart still pounding and my chest tight. At the top I saw my brother walking quickly towards me.
“Odysseus, it’s the ship! Menelaus is here.”
My brother put his finger to his lips and then caught my arm, helping me into Penelope’s private chamber.
“Quietly, no need to alarm everyone. Now, are you sure? Did you see the lion’s head?” He closed the door behind us and led me to a chair.
“Yes, yes, I waited until I saw it. Just as you said.”
I leant forward, hands on my knees, struggling for breath and willing my legs to stop shaking. Penelope moved nearby, settling her son in his crib and then placing her arm around me. I looked into her face and noticed a momentary glimmer of fear before she drew herself up and smiled.
“You must have run all the way. Odysseus, fetch your sister a drink. She needs water before we do anything else.”
Reassured by Penelope’s calm voice, I took the cup and listened to her instructions. “Use my wash bowl to freshen up. Then I’ll help you prepare for Menelaus.”
I gulped down the water and watched dark-haired Penelope extract two items from her clothes chest. She held a coarse woollen tunic against my brother, smiling as she did so.
“What do you think, husband?” she said.
Osysseus kissed her forehead. “Perfect, that’s perfect, exactly what I need.” He unclipped the gold brooch on his carefully woven tunic and Penelope helped him slip into the woollen one. He adjusted it on his shoulders and rotated his arms. His smile faded as he scratched his chest and then his back. “Are you sure it’s clean? It feels like the previous owner left a few friends behind.”
“It’s newly spun this season, though my young attendants enjoyed pulling it out of shape for you. Now stop scratching and you’ll get used to it,” Penelope laughed.
I washed quickly and smiled as my sister-in-law tied a leather strap around Odysseus’waist.
“This will keep it in place,” she said.
Odysseus scratched his neck. “In place? It hasn’t got a place. It’s like a meal sack.”
Penelope took a step back and inclined her head as she looked at him, her eyes shining. “Yes, I see what you mean. It doesn’t show off that broad chest of yours and it gives the impression of a paunch.” She patted Odysseus’ stomach. “Fortunately, your sister’s attire is much more refined.”
Penelope handed me one of her own robes and nodded at her dressing table. “Try the amber brooch. It will complement this yellow robe nicely.”
I touched the orange fire of the stone. Mother claimed amber was a guard against evil spirits and it looked so warm and alive, I almost believed it. I pulled off my tunic and Penelope wrapped the smooth cloth around me.
There were footsteps outside the door, but it was only Euryclea bustling in, out of breath and dragging my young sister with her.
My brother took Euryclea’s hand and pointed to his tunic. “Just look what my dear wife is making me wear. All I need now is a mule to yoke with an ox.”
Euryclea stared at him and frowned, her brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. She was a slave, Odysseus was her king, but she had once been his nurse and sometimes the authority of a nurse overrode the power of a king. “What are you thinking? This isn’t the time for one of your jokes. King Menelaus will be here at the harbour and you will have to go...”
Odysseus held up a hand. “No, no, I’m being serious. Menelaus must go from here believing I am mad; this tunic is part of the act.”
The old nurse glanced at Penelope and was only satisfied when she nodded her head. “It’s true, Euryclea. We want Menelaus to think Odysseus has lost his mind and cannot join the alliance against Troy. Menelaus of Sparta may do what his brother Agamemnon tells him to, but the women of Ithaca do not want their men to die because of King Agamemnon and his lust for Trojan gold and women.”
My brother smiled at his wife. “You and Neomene know the story, but if Menelaus wants to see me, I’ll be on the North Beach sowing salt. I’m sure you can look distraught enough.”
“And so can I,” Euryclea said, holding onto his arm and shaking it. “I’ve spent more than twenty five years caring for you and watching you grow from a baby to a boy and then to a prince and king. I will weep for you and show King Menelaus how I despair. See how unhappy I am to even think of such a thing.” She tugged at her greying hair. Real tears glistened in her eyes and then slid down her face.
My sister glanced at me from the other side of the room and I looked away quickly, biting my lip. Odysseus led Euryclea to the door. “I don’t want you upsetting yourself, so I’ve another important task for you. Mother is nervous and might give everything away. Find an excuse to stay with her and make sure she stays in her room.”
Nodding solemnly, Euryclea beckoned to my sister. “Come Ctimene, I need your help. We’ll find the latest oils and fragrances from the mainland and see which you and your mother prefer.”
Ctimene hesitated and then stood her ground, looking at Odysseus with sad eyes. I grimaced, knowing what was coming next. Keeping the sad eyes on Odysseus, she spoke in the irritating voice she reserved especially for him and Father.
“But I want to meet King Menelaus,” she whined, twisted her hair around her fingers. “I’ll walk down to the harbour with Neomene and the guards. I will tell him to go away and leave us alone.You know he’ll take more notice of me.”
Odysseus’ lips twitched but finally he managed a frown. “When you’re Neomene’s age, you will meet many princes and kings, but for now you must obey Euryclea and look after Mother. Go now. I order it.”
My sister sighed. Then she shot an angry look at me as Euryclea pulled her from the chamber.
Odysseus blew out his cheeks. “That’s Mother, Euryclea and Ctimene dealt with.” He watched Penelope pin the amber brooch onto my robe. “And you look the part, Neomene. I’d not realised you’d grown so tall.”
Penelope tied my hair in a braid with her quick, nimble fingers. “You’ve not been looking, my husband. See how pretty she is, all ready to greet the king of Sparta.” She smiled at me, filling me with confidence. “Don’t look so anxious now, you have nothing to fear from Menelaus. He will listen to what you have to say.”
Odysseus took my arm. “The guards at the gate know what’s expected and they’ll escort you down to the harbour. I’ll need time to prepare myself, so delay Menelaus as much as possible.” He lowered his voice as he opened the door. “And may the goddess Athena use her wisdom to guide you in the art of persuasion and deception.”