He laughed, jostling both of them gently. “I know you do.”
“Speak of your plan, you fool. So I can fix it for you.”
“Come,” he pulled her back to their bed, back to the one place had always found sanctuary, found each other.
They settled against the trunk of the tree, blankets draped over their laps. Odysseus tucked his wife under his arm, holding her close against his side. “We’ve angered Zeus,” he started, his wife huffing under his touch.
“And Hades,” she finished for him. “Maybe we could see if Poseidon is busy.”
“Not funny, wife.” He turned her chin to face him. “You know well and truly that we’ve already dealt with Poseidon’s wrath. His anger kept me from you.”
“Hush, husband,” she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his bedraggled beard. “Tell me your plans, please. My breath is bated.”
“I was able to convince Hades for more time, time to be with you, time to set my son and my kingdom up to prosper.” Odysseus found that shame was licking at his throat. His eyes left hers. “I needed time with you. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye again.”
“Oh my heart,” Penelope guided his gaze back to hers. “There is no disgrace in wanting to be with those you love. You will find no judgment here.”
He couldn’t speak, not yet. Odysseus knew what he was about to say, knew that she would fight it. She had always fought for him.
“I think…” he said eventually, drawing in a shaky breath. “I wonder if I told Hades I was ready now… if he would extend his protections to you, of Telemachus. Perhaps if Persephone could be convinced to protect you both from Zeus’ wrath.” He exhaled, just as uneven as before. “Or if she could convince him.”
“Odysseus,” he didn’t have to look at her to hear the tears she was fighting. “You can’t. I’m not ready.”
“But if it’s what keeps you safe?” He was pleading with her to understand. “Everything I have done, Penelope, was to keep you safe. To keep Telemachus safe. Alive. In Ithaca.”
When their eyes next met, there was a gentle sadness to hers, accompanied by a watery smile. “Odysseus,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand.
“Do you think you would have fallen in love with me if I had just been a sailor accompanying a different king to Sparta all those years ago?”
“I would have fallen in love with you had you been a beggar. A fisherman. A soldier, or a prince.” He brushed a tear from her cheek, Penelope leaned into his hand. “Had Laertes shown up to promise you to Helen, I would have followed you to Ithaca like a lost sheep. My heart has always sung only for you, my king.”
“You can’t-”
“I can. From the minute I laid eyes on you, Odysseus. It was you.”
“Penelope,” was all he could say through the tightness in his throat. He swallowed, thick with grief. “Please, don’t fight me on this, wife.”
She closed her eyes, taking in her own trembling breath. Her hands crept up into his hair, and she shook her head. “On one condition.” Her hands shook against the skin of his scalp. “You meet Hades by my side this time.”
“Queen,”
“Please, let me have this. Let me stand by your side.”
He wanted to fight her, wanted to convince her to stay tucked away somewhere safe in their palace. But arguing with the Queen of Ithaca was as fruitful as arguing with the winds.
They both took whichever path that they wanted, and a storm was never far behind.
60
HE TRIED FOR THE REST OF THE DAY to convince her to stay away from the gods. The following day as well. But his wife was as hardheaded as they had come.
It took a little bit of finessing to find a way to summon the lord of the underworld, but Odysseus had nothing but time on his hands.
By the evening of the second day, he had acquired some soil from the underworld, and had carved time out for him and his wife to meet Hades.
It was Penelope’s idea to offer the sacrifice in their cove, the first place that the underworld gods had appeared to them. He prayed that between the connection they held to that place and the offering, it would be enough to rouse their attention.
They stood there in the moonlight, hands clutched together as they watched the waves lap at the shoreline. They had constructed a crude altar from driftwood and stones, placing the vase of soil in the middle.
