4. Odette

4

Odette

A thrum of expectation hummed through my bones at the declaration. A beat of silence so long it engulfed everything that followed. I wasn’t sure what I expected, exactly, but it wasn’t what happened. Was I waiting for Odysseus to deny it, so I had just cause to claw out his eyeballs with my fingernails? For the two oafs charading as civilised men to condescendingly explain the art of war to me, as if I did not know?

No, it was worse than that.

They simply looked at one another and kept on eating. The roaring silence in my head turned into a buzzing. Eventually I could see their mouths moving again, but I could not hear the words. Would not hear them. I had just admitted that my life had been ruined over the man who now claimed me as his property and they had … ignored it. I grimaced as the smacks of saliva and chewing beside me broke through the hum in my head.

Alcander had been right – they were savages.

Diomedes, of course, was exactly that. Alcander had told me of the famous heroes known for their legendary prowess and bravery, but I saw none of this in Diomedes. Here in the tent his words, even in another language, felt delivered by a dull hammer. Subtlety was not this Greek hero’s strong suit, further emphasised by the sheer size of him. He could likely snap me in half like a twig and my organs would just bleed out onto the ground.

For some reason, the thought didn’t arouse anything but mild curiosity in me now.

Odysseus, on the other hand … His eyes sent a shudder through my body whenever they landed on me.

After the disaster that had been my wanderings last night, I had convinced myself that perfect compliance in Odysseus’ presence would fix the tension he aimed at me like a barbed arrow. I’m not sure why I cared, beyond not wanting to be given to another man like the one who had cornered me last night. Yet, for reasons even I could not comprehend, I had just blurted out something sure to relace the strain between us. And if anything, he seemed less irked now than earlier in the evening. It had to be a trap of some kind.

I believed my dead husband’s words that the Greeks tended to employ cunning and deceptive tactics, and that I should expect ambushes and feigned retreats from them. I felt like I was in the middle of one such ambush. Like they were trying to be normal to lull me into a false sense of security.

I still couldn’t understand why he’d asked for my name before Diomedes arrived. If it mattered to him, he might have assumed I was from an important family, but then surely he would have reacted differently when I accused him of killing my husband. It was hard to believe he simply wanted to call me something other than ‘spear-wife’. After all, he’d made it clear last night that to him, I was nothing more than property.

After I had sniped that the name ‘spear-wife’ did not suit me, I’d felt a thrill tremble up from my stomach and into my chest at the sound of his laugh. The shame of that burned more than the acid in my throat afterwards.

If I was a good wife to Alcander, a good woman, I would be repulsed by everything about Odysseus. But, repulsion seems difficult to dredge up on command. Instead, it feels as though I am falling backwards into an endless vat of molasses, unable to stop the process. Vulnerable to the all-encompassing darkness, so cloying I’m choking on it; the charade of strong men pretending to be civilised.

Perhaps that was just the stench of Diomedes’ belch.

“Well,” he said, as he washed down his last mouthful with the last drop of wine, “that was delicious. I thank you for the food and your company.” Diomedes nodded at me, the charming suave of earlier gone, before he rose. Odysseus followed suit, as did I, to avoid being the only one sitting.

“I will see you on the battlefield tomorrow, my friend.” Odysseus clasped forearms with Diomedes and then the latter left with a dramatic flourish of the tent flap.

I went to clear the table, to busy myself, when Odysseus turned his attention back to me, his eyes narrowing. “Stop.”

His look was as sharp as his tone, each word carefully aimed.

“You say I killed your husband?” he began, his eyes not leaving mine.

I could feel my spine getting straighter as he approached. In defiance or fear, I couldn’t truly say.

“Do you take me for a fool, woman?” He strode forward, smoothly and deliberately, the embodiment of controlled strength, closing the gap between us until my back hit the centre pole of the tent, the coarse wood grating against the thin fabric of my chiton and shawl, his palm flat against the wood above my head.

“I do not.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

Odysseus tsked. “You disobey me, you attempt to humiliate me in front of a fellow king, and now you lie to me.”

I grimaced and went to rebut, but he was already shaking his head, shushing me.

“Let’s indulge this little fantasy of yours, shall we? You accuse me of the highest grievance, yet I can’t help but notice your … fascination with Diomedes. You showed far too much interest in him tonight.”

Odysseus leaned in, so close our foreheads were almost touching, as his voice lowered to a menacing whisper. “Is it guilt, I wonder? Perhaps he reminds you of your dead husband? Or is it something more … strategic?”

I glowered at that, even though he was right about the latter.

“Was it to curry favour with Diomedes by painting me as a villain you can no longer stand to be around? Did you think you could loosen his tongue but not mine? Is that it? Are you seeking a new master?”

I didn’t answer, my eyes furiously darting between his, trying to understand his meaning. Why didn’t he believe he had killed my husband? Was he really that arrogant? That obtuse?

He straightened, his expression becoming one of contemptuous amusement. “Did you think I wouldn’t see through your little charade?”

When I didn’t answer, he continued, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re too calm, woman. Too calm for a widow whose husband was just murdered.”

Ironically, it was Alcander’s smile that formed in my mind’s eye at that moment. That little lopsided grin he would give me when he knew I was angry and about to retaliate. I could almost hear him in my head telling me to calm down, that I didn’t have to right all the world’s wrongs immediately.

“Perhaps I have accepted my fate,” I replied evenly, even as my heart pounded against my chest.

Odysseus scoffed, leaning in closer, his breath hot against my cheek. I tried to move away, to give myself room to breathe, to think , when he grabbed me roughly by the arms. His expression hardened, and the room seemed to grow colder as he delivered his next words with a venomous calm. “If I find you trying to get so much as a word out of the other men and generals in this camp, I will feel no compunction at whoring you out to the highest bidder and telling them to gag and blindfold you as they take you. Do you understand me?”

My back stiffened. To be given to someone else … I would not have a chance to realise my vow, to hold this man accountable for his crimes. I clenched my fists in a desperate attempt to maintain my composure. The muscles in my jaw protested as I kept clenching every fibre of my being, willing myself not to lash out, though my fingers itched to retaliate.

Eventually, I could hold my tongue no longer. “I want nothing from Diomedes,” I spat, my voice trembling as I fought to keep my rage suppressed. “I want nothing to do with any of you.”

He regarded me for a moment before dismissing my words as worthless. “Continue being dishonest and manipulative and I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you.”

Good . Maybe I could poke one of them out .

His hold on my arms tightened. “You will be obedient, Odette,” he warned. “Or there will be consequences.”

And then it bubbled out of me, a laugh I could not stop, as if it were a fountain sprung to life out of devastation. The sound was hollow and bitter to my ears as it echoed in the tight space between us.

“I have been nothing but obedient!” I bit back. “To you today, to my husband before, and to my father before him. And where has it gotten me? Here. You don’t get to lecture me on obedience and consequences. Men like you know nothing of either.”

His gaze bore into mine, assessing, calculating. But I refused to cower under his scrutiny.

“You do not want to believe me? Fine.” I continued, defiance fueling my words. “But there is nothing you can say and nothing you can do to hurt me further. Do you not see? It has all been taken from me. So, go ahead. Believe me. Or do not. Punish me if you must. I. Do. Not. Care.”

On the final word, I wrenched myself free from his grasp. He stood there still assessing me, but he didn’t make a move to grab me again, or to shake a confession out of me I would not give. Maybe something I’d said had finally convinced him to believe me. I knew I should not have made such an angry outburst – it was not what Trojan women did – but I had never been good at keeping my opinions to myself, even at the best of times.

We regarded each other, predator and prey. When it became evident that this was as close to a truce as we would come, I turned my back on him, retreating to the pathetic sanctuary of my pallet bed. I did not undress. I simply lifted one of the thin, worn blankets, its threadbare fabric offering little protection against the chill that seeped in from the night, tucked it around my body as if it were a cocoon, and crossed my arms, scowling at the edge of the tent that was inches from my nose.

I heard him potter around the tent for a little, gathering the plates when that should have been my job. I wondered why he would do such a thing, but before I could look, he had put out the oil lamp.

And in the dark, I waited for the nightmares to take me.

When morning came, he was already gone.

My sleep had been fitful at best, Hypnos and Morpheus dragging me down into the depths of my own personal hell, Alcander and Lykas’ faces almost close enough to touch, only to disappear into a cold wisp when I reached out. Realising I was in the depths of a nightmare, I would try to drag myself to consciousness. Then my mind would remind me of what awaited me when I woke: a boar of a man who threatened me because he was threatened by me, and would undoubtedly find a way to make that my fault, then either sell me off or beat me. So the nightmares called me back – an insanity I would rather swim in forever than wake.

But Eos refused to be denied. Her saffron robes and rosy complexion painted the light against the tent canvas and then over my eyelids, forcing them to flutter open, despite my resistance.

Once I’d roused, it took all of a moment to realise the space surrounding me was vacant. As if Odysseus’ presence was larger than his physical form, the space felt like a ghost of itself without him in it. With a heavy sigh, I pushed myself upright, the blankets tangled around me. There was the worn, threadbare one closest to my skin, cocooned around my shoulders as I’d twisted and turned. But another had fallen to my waist as I’d sat up, pooling on my lap, the weight of it surprising me. I stared at the burnt-red blanket in confusion. There was only one explanation as to how it had got there, and the thought made me shudder.

To have the boar that close, while I had been asleep and vulnerable; that I hadn’t awoken when he had been mere centimetres from me … No, I did not want to think about that.

My attention fell upon his armour sitting against the leather chest that held all manner of spoils he had already collected from the war. It was scuffed and stained with Trojan blood. Beside it, a bowl of paste sat on the chest, a clear indication of his expectation that I would polish the armor while he was away, just as any dutiful spear-wife would.

You will be obedient, Odette .

Rising, I walked over to the silent reminder of the duties expected of me. I sniffed the mixture and almost gagged at the pungent fumes of vinegar and lead that assaulted my nose. I’d be smelling that for days now. I regarded the dull metal of the armour. My hand itched to pick up the cloth beside it and get to work, the compulsion coming from something long-drilled into me.

What was the point in being shackled by the demands and roles men sought to impose on me now?

That feeling settled over my skin again, the one I’d felt as I knelt in the dirt staring into Alcander’s eyes as the light was beaten out of them. No external force could harm me; nothing could penetrate me. That sensation had faltered over the past two days with all that had happened, but in my current solitude, it returned. So, with silent resolve, I slipped from the tent.

My footsteps carried through the camp, on and on and on. Empty tents as far as I could see flapped gently in the morning breeze, while flies buzzed around the morning crusts of stale bread and rinds of fatty meats haphazardly eaten and discarded on plates and cups left scattered around. The grime and filth, the relentless sand, and the lingering stench of the men, even in their absence, left me desperate to find a place to bathe. If only I could escape this labyrinth of a camp.

I stepped carefully around a precariously balanced pile of dishes, wondering when they would finally be cleaned. Just then, a woman emerged from the nearest tent and started to tidy up. She looked older than her years, her green chiton highlighting the rosiness of her plump cheeks and her oiled black hair pulled back into a sleek bun. It wasn’t until I noticed the faint, knowing glimmer in her eyes and a small, enigmatic smile that I realised she was watching me.

“Ah, k?ρη? 1 . New here, are we?”

“Yes,” I replied, stepping forward with my chin raised in defiant indignation. That tone, the way she spoke, as if I were a child to be taught the ways of the war classroom.

“What’s your name?”

“Οdette.”

The woman nodded. “Pretty name for a duckling like you, with a swan neck like that. Come, I will show you around.”

The woman, whose name I learned was Τ?ιλορ?α? 2 , showed me where slopping buckets of water were gathered, near the tents closest to the ocean. There, the fires were perpetually tended, and the water was boiled and then cooled. We then walked along the sandy banks toward the western forest, where the waters thinned and the reeds grew denser. Here, Τ?ιλορ?α explained, the women spun the finest threads. If I encountered anything beyond my skill to mend, I was to seek their help. I pondered what thread could repair a cracked heart and a broken mind, but I did not say such a thing.

Instead, we continued on and Τ?ιλορ?α introduced me to those who skinned the best rabbits. That was who to get your rabbit from if you wanted to cook a private meal for your soldier, Τ?ιλορ?α told me with a wink. Then she took me back the way we had come, to the best tents for morning fruits and cheeses, closer to Agamemnon’s quarters. Finally, she led me to the central storage for the finest wine in the camp. As we came full circle, I noticed even at this early hour, women were already on their knees in the dias, breastplates between their thighs as they polished the plates and armour.

Τ?ιλορ?α cocked her head, watching me. “Would you like to go and grab yours and join the circle?”

“No.” I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

Τ?ιλορ?α laughed. “Yes, the smell does take some getting used to.”

I didn’t correct her. I was too busy watching the women smiling and laughing with each other. They seemed to genuinely be enjoying themselves. The bustle of their industry had me bristling. How could they do this day in and day out?

“What did you used to do?” Τ?ιλορ?α probed. “Odette?”

“Huh?”

“Before you were here in the camp, what did you spend your days doing?”

As if it hadn’t been just a few days ago that I’d been in my wheat fields. “My husband and I are … were … wheat farmers.”

“Ah – you’ll be able to help with the grain. Excellent. We don’t have many of those girls about. I’m assuming the other girls that came with you are probably good with grain too, yes?”

I nodded, too stunned to speak. This woman simply seemed pleased I’d appeared to help, with little to no concern for how I’d gotten here.

“Your soldier – he keep you up at night?”

The words registered, but it felt as if they were being said through a tunnel far, far away. I had no idea how much time had passed between Τ?ιλορ?α saying them and them reaching my ears, but, eventually, I shook my head.

“Then you’re one of the lucky ones.”

Those words registered.

The scowl on my face was immediate and had Τ?ιλορ?α smiling. She patted me on the arm. “I know it’s hard. You’ll learn to make the best of it. That is the only way.”

“Excuse me.” I gave her a curt nod and went to turn away.

“Wait. Don’t leave without some of the extras we collected today.” Τ?ιλορ?α gestured to the bucket of water, the fish, the cured meats, fig leaves, and cheeses.

“Oh, I thought those were all for you.”

Τ?ιλορ?α laughed. “Diomedes can eat, but he can’t eat this much.”

My jaw dropped open. Τ?ιλορ?α was Diomedes’ servant.

Before I could ask her any questions, she’d begun piling the goods into my arms despite my protests. I could barely see over the stack once she’d finished and pushed me in the direction of Ithaca’s camp. By the time I’d returned to Odysseus’ tent, to my tent, I felt as if I had done a full day’s work. The fact that I’d been pulled into the current of the day, unable to swim against it, irked me even more. To finally come back to that armour, sitting there, still waiting for me, making a mockery of what my life had become …

Dumping the goods on the nearest makeshift surface, practically falling to my knees as I did so, I half stumbled, half crawled to the pallet bed. The ragged blanket I scrambled to pull over my head scratched at my skin, just another reminder of the harsh reality of my existence.

Odysseus returned hours later, the stench of death clinging to him. It saturated the air so thoroughly that I felt as if I could scarcely breathe. I actively held my breath, hoping the smell would dissipate while I waited. In the silence, beyond the blood thrumming in my ears, I heard his footsteps stop. I imagined him observing the untouched armour.

Let him think of that what he would.

I heard him sigh in a manner that sounded like resignation, and then retreat. I hugged the blanket closer to myself, quietly smug in the solace of my small victory.

The next morning he was sitting on the end of his higher pallet bed, watching me as I turned to survey the tent. We regarded one another, his stare growing darker the longer he watched me. The silence stretched on until, just when I thought he wasn’t going to speak, Odysseus cleared his throat. “Penelope used to rise with the sun.”

I gave him a questioning look. After our confrontation the night before last, surely he did not expect me to be compliant and willing?

“Our marriage bed was my gift to her,” he continued. “I carved it myself. One of the legs is a living olive tree. If it’s still there. It used to irritate the shit out of me that she’d rise with Athena’s birds, that she didn’t want to laze in its magnificence like I wanted her to. She’d always laugh and say it was my fault she slept so soundly. That she lounged around in it before the night swept through while I went to bed with the dawn. Then she’d press a drink into my hand, kiss me sweetly, and head about her day.”

I cocked my head as his black eyes continued to drill into me.

“You are more like me. You wake up and drag the turmoil with you. I can see the remnants of your nightmares burning in your eyes. You are as drunk on death as I am. It’s like looking in a mirror.”

I flinched. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I find myself missing the sweet world I once knew. I miss my wife.”

With that, he stood, already in his armour for the day, and left the tent.

If his intention had been to make me feel guilty for neglecting the duties expected of me, his blow landed. I stared at the goods Τ?ιλορ?α had given me yesterday and wondered if I should get up, unpack and put away the goods that Odysseus hadn’t.

He had dealt with the fish, no doubt salting it. There would be a bucket of brine somewhere the fish was immersed in. The meat would need to be cured too, and the cheeses stored in a amphorae? 3 . The list of all the things I would have to do today grew in my mind, just as it had when I had been in that modest marriage bed Alcander’s parents had gifted us. Long before the sun had risen, before Lykas would wake up crying for his breakfast and my husband still snoring gently beside me. They had never needed to worry that things were done, and they never would again.

Legs heavy, I slid back down under my blankets and rested my head on the pillow.

Back to the madness.

1 ? Meaning girl, maiden, lassie, maid, etc.

2 ? Pronounced Tay-lor-ee-a.

3 ? Ceramic jar.