3. Οdysseus

3

Οdysseus

S he reminded me a little of my Penelope, with that proud, strong nose and those sharp eyes that said she was noting everything, just waiting for a chance to use that information to her advantage. Just like Penelope. But, her lips were bigger – both plumper and wider on her face. My wife had more of an oval-shaped face, compared to the sweetheart shape of the slave’s in front of me. She didn’t have hair as dark as Penelope’s, nor skin as white and creamy. A splattering of freckles across her cheekbones made it clear the men in her life had put her to work in the fields. Her arms were slim but muscular and tanned. From what I saw when she lifted her chiton, her calves were, too.

I appreciated a woman who could do hard labour. I thought it would make her more useful, but that wasn’t the only reason I chose her.

It was entirely possible that she was spying for the Trojans. Why else would she have been wearing buskins on her feet when we raided her village at the fourth hour before dawn? If it were to run, she would have done so. But, no – she’d been gathered with the rest of the wailing women. We hadn’t had to chase any of them down. Had she known we were coming? If so, how?

Then, there had been that neat trick of hers at the dais, calming all the women with that show of solidarity before they were picked off one by one. The fact that she, a farmer’s girl from the provinces, could speak Greek fluently enough to understand what was going on was suspicious in itself. Why did she need to know the language of scholars and great men? One thing I was certain of: she was no fool.

Hector could have trained her in the art of speech himself, for her to report back to him, and placed her in plain sight for us to capture and retain. Most of the men in the Grecian camp wouldn’t think a woman capable of it – spying – but I’d been married to clever Penelope long enough to know it could be true. It was a smart move, a clever move, one I would have considered myself.

When I returned to the tent earlier, I half expected to find her poking her nose into things, looking for plans or something to use as leverage. Instead, she’d been evenly breathing on the pallet, her back turned to me, sleeping. As I’d suggested she should. But then, she’d gone for that little walkabout in the camp.

It was a good thing I’d waited, followed, and watched as I found her with Thersites, truth be told. Anyone smarter and quicker would have already had her, unaware what a double-edged prize she might be. She would have been ruined; I’d have had to discard her, as keeping her would have raised questions.

Besides, Thersites, with all his moaning about the state of our leadership during the war, had become a bothersome talisman of the grumbling that stirred beneath the surfaces of the men. I’d already beaten him once with a gold staff for voicing his poisonous thoughts about the war and how we were handling it. It was a pleasure to taste his fear on my tongue again, while he shrunk into the shadows like the coward he was. Those who agreed to something and then claimed themselves the victims were the most repugnant in character.

With that, my thoughts turned back to this strange creature in front of me. She’d been watching me, a slight tilt to her head that reminded me of a feline. I could see her breathing return to normal, by the rise and fall of her slim chest. I had felt her heartbeat in her hand when she had taken mine earlier, the adrenaline flooding through her small frame. She’d stopped shaking now. I was impressed by her ability to control it so well.

Another cry pierced the air, and another round of jeers and laughter followed, like thunder chasing lightning. She didn’t flinch this time, but I saw the disgust slither behind her eyes as her gaze held mine. She was probably expecting the same treatment from me, judging me by my actions rather than my words, despite what I told her earlier this evening.

Like I said – clever.

But, my heart and whole being rested with a woman back on the isle of Ithaca. How I longed to be in those soft arms of Penelope’s and that softer bed, ruminating on the day, asking for her thoughts and opinions on how I led our people.

So, as pretty as my new spear-wife was, I had no desire to bed her. I wouldn’t be led by my cock.

There was nothing for it but to turn in and go to bed myself. If I left the tent again, who knew what she would do. Perhaps she would stay. By the look in her eyes, I suspected she worried that I’d come back with other men, or another woman, and trade her in. Although she couldn’t know that thanks to Agamemnon’s appetites, spear-wives and bed-slaves were becoming currency.

It was a foolish king who decided to play his war games in the camp we all called home.

The only way she would relax, and which would allow me to relax after this long, arduous day, was to sleep. Our Lady Dawn always had a way of making the terrors of the night seem less fearful come morning.

“You look like a Trojan piece of shit.”

Diomedes, a king in his own right, made the remark as he slapped me between the shoulders. I turned to survey him as we headed back to camp after another day of killing Trojans on the battlefield. What tedious drudgery.

My body ached from the constant movement; of finding steady footing on sand, soil and mud, stepping over bodies, twisting my torso to aim, lunge, thrust, and avoid blow after blow. My arms were heavy, even though my shield and spear were in the chariot being driven by one of my captains. I could have rode in it, but something about walking at a slower pace with the men back to camp seemed good for morale, and got my mind back into a calm place after being constantly on the lookout for the next threat, the next Trojan.

“If you weren’t just beside me killing those bastards, I would have thought your bed-slave had kept you up all night,” Diomedes boomed loud enough for all the men around us to hear. Several of our subordinate soldiers, those who hadn’t done anything to earn any war prizes of their own yet, sniggered.

I enjoyed fighting beside Diomedes on the field. His courage, strength, and skill had seen several Trojans sent down to the Underworld. We could have passed for brothers, I’d been told. But Diomedes’ dark curls were shorn close to his head, while mine kissed my nape. Where my beard dusted a shadow across my jawline every day, his only grew beneath his chin, as if his hair was strapped to him like the helmet he now held under his arm. We were of similar build, both broad-shouldered, but he was a few years younger than me – and it was at times like this, when he said something childish and vulgar to gain traction with the crowd around him, that I remembered it. On the battlefield, he was the perfect general. Off it – well, he was still a young king.

“Unlike you, my friend, I happen to let her sleep.”

“Sleep? A strange concept for a spear-wife, surely?” he jabbed again.

I knew what he was angling for. He wanted to meet her. He wanted to see why I had chosen her, when I had either refused slaves in past prize collections in favour of gold or precious goods or handed them off to one of my captains in thanks instead. It would be a dangerous play. I didn’t want to tell him what I suspected until I had confirmation, which meant he might let something slip in her presence in the meantime. Then again, it could be a good way to confirm my suspicions if anything did come of Diomedes’ yammering.

“Why don’t you come and meet her properly tonight? Dine with us in my tent.”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Diomedes slapped me on the back again as we finally arrived at camp. The twenty-minute walk always felt harder and longer on the way back. “I’ll be ’round within the hour, yes? Give me a chance to wash off this Trojan scum!”

Those were his parting words as he peeled off to the left, towards Argos’ camp territory. A bunch of soldiers following him laughed at his retort. I merely nodded in response.

I continued on with my own men who had survived the day, and in the few minutes it took to reach my quarters in the Ithaca encampment, each step got heavier than the last, as if my body knew how eagerly respite waited for me in the privacy of my own tent.

Except, of course, it wasn’t waiting for me. As I batted back the tent flap, there she was, lying on her pallet, staring up at the ceiling, making a fidgeting movement with her thumbs. It seemed she was either playing a game with herself, or reciting something to remember, to report back, using a physical mnemonic device of her own creation. My brain snapped back to full alert, and as if that were her siren call, she immediately stopped her hand movements and sat bolt upright, staring at me.

“We have company coming for dinner tonight. Make sure there is enough wine and food for three within the hour.” My voice was gruff, gruffer than I intended, but the frustration of needing to stay on guard in my own tent had me grinding my molars.

She nodded, scrambling to her feet and scurrying out of the tent – her chin pulled down, refusing to look at me – as she went to gather supplies. She hadn’t hesitated at my request, so she must have met one of the other spear-wives today who would tell her what to do.

With no other nervous, anxious energy buzzing around me, I could allow the weight of the day to collapse on me as my shoulders sagged with the relief that it was almost over.

I was relieved to see the jug by the tent entrance full of water. Stripping off quickly, I poured half of it over my naked frame in the small area of the tent where I’d dug a shallow trench for water to drain beneath the canvas. Nothing would have brought me more joy than submerging myself in the warm salty water of the ocean and washing off the blood and grime caked to my skin. But there would be no time for that, not today, with Diomedes on his way. Taking a handful of coarse sand from a small ceramic pot, I scrubbed at the blood and grime until every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire. A fire I doused with the remaining wash water before I slathered oil across my body.

When she returned, I was dressed in a short-sleeved white linen chiton layered with a dark blue-trimmed himation. Her arms were laden with goods that she settled on a spare crate before she got to work. First, she walked over to the chest by the foot of my bed pallet and pulled out a purple cloth that she then laid on the dining pallet, smoothing out the crinkles. Next came three wine goblets and a beautifully decorated jug depicting one of the many feasts of Dionysus that I had scored in a previous raid. Then she wiped three plates – also pulled from the crate – and placed them on the table.

A scowl settled on my face. Before I could comment that she’d clearly been snooping, she began to unpack the goods she’d brought back with her.

There were brine-cured olives and goat cheese in a wide, shallow ceramic dish, half a dozen slices of barley bread that still looked fresh, honey-glazed carrots and leeks, stuffed vine leaves, walnuts, and almonds. She left the tent again and returned with a leg of roasted lamb, its rich and smoky aroma suddenly making me salivate.

It was exactly what I would have expected of a housemaid. Though, the speed with which she’d picked it up had my suspicions roaring back to life even as my stomach growled. No new slave was this resourceful. These were larger quantities than the ration allowance.

“Is everything to your liking?” she asked, as she poured the wine, and then water, into the jug. I held up a hand to stop her when it was diluted the way I liked best.

Her voice was softer than last night, when she’d spoken to me with such an attitude. Perhaps the ordeal with Thersites had spooked her. But even softly spoken, her Greek pronunciation was clear, measured. As if she considered every word before she spoke it. There was a lilt in her accent that made it obvious she was from the Western provinces of Troy, but that simply added to the poetry of her voice, as if the words had rolled around on her tongue and come out smooth.

“This is good,” I replied slowly.

She quirked an eyebrow at me, a small smile on her face. There it was – the fire behind her eyes. The slightest flicker that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

“You’ve been here less than a day. You’ve done more than what’s expected of you.”

It wasn’t a compliment and she knew it by the warning tone, for her smile dropped at the same time her hands did.

“What’s your name?” I asked her.

She frowned ever so slightly. “What does it matter?”

I paused, considering my answer. “Because I do not wish to call you spear-wife. That is why it matters.”

“Odette,” she eventually acquiesced. “My name is Odette.”

“Odette,” I said, rolling her name across my tongue, getting used to the feel of it, before I nodded. “It suits you.”

“Better than spear-wife.”

A sharp bark of laughter burst from me. “That it does.”

She opened her mouth to respond and I instinctively leaned in, frustrated yet intrigued by her complexity, when Diomedes’ voice rang out as he entered the tent.

“Odysseus, my friend, how lovely of you to have me over for a meal! Pray, what are we giving the gods this night, and what are we saving for ourselves? And where is your spear-w?—”

“Odette,” I interrupted, before Diomedes had a chance to corner her and wrangle her for more information I wasn’t yet ready to give him. With that sly look on his face, I knew that’s exactly what he would do. My friend had always been a brash man, made for the war, and he’d always had a penchant for using women as little more than objects. I took a step forward to prevent him putting his hands on her. Should she slap him or show malice of any kind, it would be seen as weak of me if I let it go unpunished. I was still uncertain of her motivations; unsure how she would act. She was like a spooked horse: calm one minute, ready to bolt the next. Calm, yet feisty. Certainly skittish. She couldn’t be trusted, and I wondered if inviting Diomedes hadn’t been one of my more stupid ideas.

“My, my, he is protective over you already, isn’t he?” Diomedes sent a knowing smirk my way before he offered Odette a dazzling smile and reached out to bring her hand to his lips. “A pleasure,” he said, as he tilted and bowed his head.

She smiled at him – actually smiled. Chin lifted, she was looking him squarely in the eye.

“Odette, this is Diomedes. A fellow lord and general.” Once again, my tone was harsher than I’d intended. I coughed to pretend it was something other than my annoyance that she would smile at him but revolt at me.

“Welcome Lord Diomedes. Please, won’t you come and sit? We have fresh lamb with bread tonight, and plenty of wine, of course.”

Diomedes sat. I followed. Odette poured his wine first – as was custom – before she threw him another smile. She was charming him, I realised, and my blood heated in anger at the thought. Inviting Diomedes had definitely been one of my stupider ideas, and she was making the most of this opportunity.

“Well, wine is what we need, woman! This war against the Trojans is becoming more tedious with every passing day. We have your man here to thank, of course.” Diomedes gestured wildly with wine in hand, almost spilling it right across the table before throwing it down his throat.

Odette looked at me. I offered a grimace in return as she refilled Diomedes’ already empty goblet.

“And why is that, Lord Diomedes?”

“He hasn’t told you the story already?” Diomedes threw me a shocked look. “Why is it that you don’t brag about your most marvellous of ideas? Is it because, perhaps, you’re ashamed of them? Will you finally admit that you don’t always get it right?”

I chose to smile as I lifted my cup to my lips. “Not a chance, my friend.”

I glanced over at Odette, deliberately drawing out the moment as I sipped my wine. I wanted her to feel the weight of my regard, to understand that I was fully aware of her scheming, and that I would win whatever dangerous game she was trying to play with me.

“Well, Odette, let me tell you how this all came to pass, shall I? How we ended up on your shores.”

“Certainly, Lord Diomedes.”

There was no falter in her voice. Her shoulders didn’t tighten at the horrors she had been through since the war had touched her village. Her voice wasn’t tight with pain or guilt. She was either the perfect hostess, or the perfect liar.

Yet, Diomedes was so pleased with her, he poured her a wine before he patted the cushion beside him for her to sit on, and Odette complied.

“Our Odysseus was right there when the stunning Helen of Troy was to be married. Now, you know how men can be – fighting tooth and nail over a beautiful woman! Well, Odysseus, ever the strategist, hatched a brilliant plan. He proposed that Helen herself should decide. Can you imagine such a thing? Letting a woman choose her own husband! It was nothing short of genius. By letting Helen choose, he cleverly sidestepped the inevitable brawls and potential wars that would have erupted among the kings vying for her favour.”

He paused for effect, his focus lingering on Odette.

“Do you see? By making Helen’s choice the deciding factor, each king had to swear a blood oath to respect her decision and protect her from any man who might try to take her from her chosen husband. It was a fail-safe against any disputes. And who did Helen choose? Our very own Menelaus. So, when your bold young prince, Paris, came along and snatched her away, we were all bound by our oaths to uphold our word. Even Odysseus here was bound by that oath.”

Diomedes let out a belch before he foraged through the spread of food with his giant hands. Wine and exhaustion created a heady combo that would still not deny hunger. Despite the distraction, my gaze remained fixed on Odette as he ate.

Her eyes, hawklike in both manner and colour, flitted back and forth as if she were trying to piece something together. Eventually, she reached her conclusion.

“You let her choose?” Odette asked me.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And of course, you had already sneakily arranged to be married to her cousin before the rest of the men had even arrived, so what did you care?” Diomedes added between bites.

“I care very much about being away from my wife now,” I managed through gritted teeth.

I waited for Odette to ask about my wife, but instead she kept her attention on Diomedes. “Tell me, Lord Diomedes, how long will the Greek Army remain here?”

“Oh, a while yet, I should imagine.”

“So certain?”

She sounded shocked. Diomedes was still scarfing down food, too busy to reply, but Odette wouldn’t tear her eyes away from him. The knot in my chest grew larger until I felt myself wanting to growl.

“It was foreseen by the soothsayer Calchas before we arrived,” I butted in.

She glanced my way – a mere acknowledgement she’d heard me – before turning to him once again. “But haven’t you been on Trojan shores for seven years already?”

Diomedes grunted. “With little to show for it.”

She frowned, not fully understanding what was being said between the words.

I got up and collected the bowl of sand usually reserved for bathing scrub. I sprinkled some on my empty plate and sketched out clumsy pictures with my thick fingers. First, a prophet, using the symbol of Urania – the muse of astronomy, known for her fortune-telling – to show Odette that we’d had a seer guide us with Urania’s good graces.

I looked at Odette, who nodded that she understood, and continued.

I then drew the symbol for Hydra, a water snake, and nine wide vee’s above it – bird wings. I travelled my finger along the snake and up into the air, my finger ‘eating’ the nine birds one by one, before travelling back into the snake’s belly each time with a smudge of my finger.

“Do you see?” I asked her. “Nine years will pass before we will finally take Troy. There are two more years to go.”

“The war will be long,” she said.

“The war has been long,” Diomedes interjected.

Odette’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. It will be over soon, though?”

Diomedes and I shared a look.

“Two years on the battlefield feels like twenty. We have already lived a lifetime here,” I said quietly.

“Why not just leave if you are all so unhappy?”

“Because of your upstart of a prince, Paris. He broke the blood oath. We cannot break from this war until he pays for it,” I said.

To my surprise, Odette shook her head. “He is not my prince.”

Diomedes laughed boisterously, but I waited, watched, to hear what she had to say next. She was trying to get us on side for something, of that I was certain, and my friend was falling for it.

“She’s already one of us! Well done, Odysseus. You definitely chose well. And her Greek is really rather marvellous, isn’t it? Is that what you two have been doing all this time in the tent together, hmm?” Diomedes wiggled a sly look between us and smirked at the crude joke.

Odette’s shoulders hunched towards her ears, but then I watched her take a controlled breath and actively work to lower them. “You misunderstand, my Lord,” she eventually replied. "Paris is not my prince. I am not one of the citadel members. I am just, was just, a farmer’s wife. Kings, princes, oaths and wars … these are not my business.”

Odette threw me an inscrutable look, which irked me even more. Was she laying blame at my feet for dragging her into this? War would have come regardless. If anyone, Odette should lay the blame with Paris. And she should be grateful she ended up with me and not one of the more animalistic men.

“Quite right. You are much better suited here where you can help,” Diomedes quipped between bites.

“Perhaps that is enough talk of the war,” I suggested, not in the mood to tolerate more accusations and inscrutable looks. Reaching out, I ripped some bread and dipped it in oil before plunging my knife and cutting away a section of lamb.

Diomedes chuckled. “How can one forget the war, when you gut that lamb like you gut a man on the battlefield?” He turned to Odette once more. “I know you don’t belong on the battlefield my dear, but you should see how this one fights! He crouches down behind his shield, then once they throw their spear he lunges forward and spits them like a pig.” He mimicked the actions with his own knife.

Odette slowly finished chewing her mouthful, before she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her thumb. I fixated on the action, waiting for whatever words would come next. For her to reveal her hand. When it came, I realised just how dangerous a creature she was.

“I thought it looked more like gutting a fish, myself. But yes, I would say that is exactly how he killed my husband.”