The Weaver's Engagement
"The worst part of being plain," thought Penelope, "is the dullness of it all."
It was probably Penelope's large nose and freckled skin that made her invisible to most of Sparta. Of course, always standing next to Helen made her even more unseen. Penelope logically knew she should be grateful for the safety that comes with invisibility. Unlike her younger cousin who had already be stolen once and would be stolen two more times before her death, Penelope would never be taken, only trapped. Less than a hundred men would die for Penelope, which is nothing compared to the thousands who fell in Helen's name. Perhaps the best gift of plainness was that no one noticed Penelope becoming clever until it was too late. Truly, she should be grateful-and perhaps she was- but as Penelope's childhood drew to a close, she felt suffocated by the boringness of it all.
Of course, this all changed when the ships began arriving. When word spread that Helen was ripe for marriage, long skinny ships clogged the ocean in a race to propose. Suitors from every kingdom in Greece stepped onto the beach, filling the streets with their entourages.
Most of the foreigners, especially the Athenians, were shocked to see women walking down the roads, and were even more flabbergasted to see them in short tunics. Lord knows what would have happened if any of the visitors saw the women hunting or wrestling. Penelope was briefly (but highly) amused at the thought that these men, who were in every way un-shockable (these were men who drank without pause, who bled without flinching, who murdered without blinking), could be so taken aback by something so natural.
The King of Ithaca was one of the last to arrive. Penelope knew little about this suitor, only that his name was Odysseus. The sweet maids told Penelope that he was favored by Athena for his intelligence and guile. The wise maids told Penelope that he was a liar and a cheat. No matter, she thought little about him until the night Odysseus got drunk.
Odysseus was known to be a man who hated the sensation of intoxication- the King prided himself on his wits and he couldn't bear to be parted with them for a moment. Therefore, there is controversy over what happened that night. Some believe that the wine was stronger that night than others-but, then surely Odysseus would have noticed that and ceased drinking immediately. Others think that he lost a bet or a drinking game of some sort. Still others believe that Odysseus was pretending and using his drunkenness as an excuse to interact with people in an unseemly manner, but I digress.
What is known, is that after one of the many feasts thrown in honor of Helen, Odysseus stumbled through the palace corridors and saw Penelope weaving in candlelight. He began speaking to her, occasionally slurring his words.
At this point, it should be mentioned that Penelope was very beautiful when not placed next to Helen. Her nose seemed smaller, her freckles were lighter, and her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to disguise it, shone with intelligence.
Perhaps Odysseus had always noticed Penelope's loveliness-he had a strategic mind after all, and it is not inconceivable to believe that Odysseus had never intended to marry Helen at all, but only intended to advantage of the situation. With all the men in the world looking at the sun, Odysseus had his choice among the stars. Or, perhaps he was not as clever as we like to think that he is, and was simply, spontaneously overcome with the sight of Penelope quietly weaving. The choice is yours.
"Penelope!" He called, "I see that you too found the feast tedious."She said nothing.
"What are you weaving?" He asked, "Let me see-"She did not stop him as he entered the room.
"Ah-a tapestry of…." Here Odysseus paused-the threads were too dark and the candlelight did nothing to illuminate them. Silence stretched.
"Oedipus and the Sphinx." Penelope whispered. His eyes were fully on felt strange.
"Are you a fan of riddles as well? They told me you were clever." Odysseus smiled (they had told him no such thing). Like all good liars, he had a natural smile that put people at ease. Penelope would learn later that his real smile, when he wasn't playing a part, was a small, brief smirk- a mere twitch of the corner of his mouth. "Tell me, Penelope-have you heard this riddle? It is most challenging-"
And so began their first conversation. Odysseus gave her riddle after riddle, encouraging her with a trustworthy smile as she quietly, and quickly responded to each one. She slowly warmed up as he pried each answer out of her, and even laughed when his drunkenness became evident in his speech.
"Alright, alright-have you-stop laughing!-have you heard the riddle of the lying man?" Odysseus asked, grinning.
Penelope giggled, "Not yet."
The corner of Odysseus's mouth twitched, "It goes like this-a man stands in the middle of the town square, and declares that he is lying."
Penelope waited for him to continue, but he just looked at her, raising his eyebrows.
"And?" She prompted, leaning forward.
"So, is the man lying?" Odysseus asked, leaning back.
"Well, yes…but, no, because if he was lying, then he was telling the truth about lying, so it wouldn't be a lie. But then he would be lying about lying-this isn't a riddle, it's a paradox!" Penelope exclaimed.
"Paradoxes are riddles. They're just riddles without solutions." Odysseus said. Just then, a group of suitors passed bellowing profanities and clapping each other on the back. One vomited in the hallway and laughed. Penelope sighed. It wasn't an uncommon sight nowadays.
"Do you think that there is a solution to the problem at hand?" Penelope jerked her head towards the drunken men.
"Yes. We just don't know it yet." Odysseus said, any trace of drunkenness gone from his face, "There will be wars over your cousin if her engagement isn't handled correctly. There are already discussions of an alliance against whoever wins."
"Would they really go to war?" Penelope questioned, "For a girl?"
"They would go to war for honor," Odysseus sighed, "For fame, for glory, for pride."
"You sound as if you would not do the same." Penelope said.
"I find the idea of dying in battle for the chance to wed a fourteen year old girl distasteful," Odysseus replied, leaning in towards Penelope "I would rather quietly sit here with you, solving riddles."
Penelope stood up. "I should go, it is late-thank you for the riddles."
Odysseus nodded. Penelope began walking away, but paused.
"If these men are driven by honor, then find a way to make war dishonorable. An oath maybe," Penelope said, looking over her shoulder. Before Odysseus could say anything, she walked away, trying to imitate how Helen swung her hips. Odysseus decided to lose the competition then and there.
And so Odysseus proposed Penelope's solution to Tyandereus, Menelaus married Helen, and the crafty King returned to Ithaca (but not for long). When it was announced that there was to be a competition for Penelope's hand, Odysseus set sail once more. I will not divulge much about the nature of the competition nor shall I bore you with the many details of the engagement-only that Odysseus won and that the engagement was short. The rest is trivial.
"Are you ready?" Odysseus asked the morning of their (how wonderful are the words their, ours, and us) departure.
"Yes." Penelope said, dropping her veil over her head and sailed towards the unknown-but the unknown is exciting, even if just for a little bit.
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