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The silence that engulfed the large room fell swiftly.
For some it was stifling and awkward and they itched for it to end. For others it was a reprieve, the speech preceding it having caused the greater amount of discomfort. For one person, it was the only possibility given the level of her incredulity and for the two kings present (and another princess hidden in the shadows), it was a common, familiar, and necessary state.
For all, it fell heavy and with seemingly none of them willing to be the first to break it, it lingered for a few tense moments longer before the King of Sparta’s voice at last rang out in his throne room.
“Allow me to ensure that I understand the whole of the situation before us, Odysseus of Ithaca. You have traveled to this kingdom seeking a wife. You have provided invaluable advice to its king and have thus earned his respect. His daughter, the woman whose hand hundreds of men have traveled from afar to fight for, pay large sums for, and have even shed blood for, has voiced her preference for you who have done none of these things… You have her affection. You have her father’s approval. You have ensured a safe escape from the rabid men outside. And yet you stand in these hallowed halls, before him with an army far mightier than yours, before the most beautiful woman in all the realms… You stand there as they offer to you what others have coveted so zealously and say… no?”
“That is correct, Your Majesty,” the young king answered jovially. The man standing next to him winced at his words, evidently not sharing in his sovereign’s unbothered attitude. Both men (and indeed everyone else present for this unexpected meeting) kept their eyes fixed on the Spartan king as he gazed down on them from his throne , each with varying levels of apprehension.
“You are a confounding man, Odysseus of Ithaca,” Tyndareus finally declared after a few moments of staring at them stoically, a small smile eventually forming at the corner of his mouth.
Though much of the tension that had afflicted most in the room eased almost immediately after the exchange, one of their number was evidently still discontent.
“I have been observing you, Ithacan King,” the beauty standing next to her father’s seat spoke, stepping forward slightly.
“You have spent much of your time here among my other suitors. Indeed, you have sparred with them and have taken part in a few of the competitions that had been arranged for my father and I to judge. You have even sought this audience with us, counseling us on how to ease the tensions that mount outside our halls while also ensuring the protection of the man selected to be my husband. Why would you behave thus if not with an aim to become that man yourself?”
“Indeed, you are correct, Princess Helen, in that I did come here as a hopeful suitor to a woman of Sparta, a designation you do not have sole claim to. My quarry, however, has proved elusive since my arrival and thus I have been obliged to spend my time with the other guests of this palace. Furthermore, if you have indeed been observing me, then you will no doubt know that I was beaten in the competitions you speak of by Menelaus, whose devotion to you outweighs any strength or skill I possess.”
The young princess fell silent, confusion still heavy upon her delicate features.
“You have won no competition nor offered any handsome gift,” Tyndareus observed. “Yet you have provided something far more valuable to me. This oath you propose is ingenious. But surely, a man of your cunning would never offer such assistance to a foreign king without the expectation something in return.”
“The people of Sparta are fortunate to have such a wise and discerning king to lead them. You are correct, Your Majesty, I do have a request to make of you.”
“Name it.”
“I have spied a tree in one of your gardens.”
“A tree?”
“An olive tree. You see, it reminds me of one that is of particular importance to me back home. I have been wishing for a chance to see it up close, but your guards have informed me that it is located in a private garden, one to which only the royal family is granted access. My request to you, Your Majesty, is to allow me an afternoon to enjoy the shade of its branches.”
Tyndareus just barely managed to keep his mouth from falling open at the seemingly random request, a feat a number of his court members and his daughter were evidently unable to do.
“Is it exhausting having a mind like yours?” he could not help pondering aloud.
“Not to me, Your Majesty, though I have been told it can be for others. Eurylochus here can attest to that,” the Ithacan king responded, smiling blithely as he slung an arm around the tired looking man ever at his side.
“Then I commend you, Eurylochus, for your fortitude and loyalty.”
After acknowledging the man’s deep bow of gratitude, Tyndareus once again turned his eye to the enigma that was this strange king from overseas.
He was boyishly handsome and conducted himself with a boldness that seemed to perpetually skirt the line of impertinence. His eyes ever had a playful glint in them, betraying an arrogance that perhaps should be unfounded given the relative insignificance of the kingdom he hailed from.
And yet, he also clearly possessed sharp instincts, an even sharper wit, and a wisdom that seemed far beyond his years. He was smaller in stature than most men and yet Tyndareus had no doubt that he could command a large group of them with ease. Despite the picture of youth and mischief this man presented, the elder king recognized that Odysseus was not one to be underestimated.
He would make a fine war general, the Spartan king thought to himself, before opening his mouth to answer the bizarre request.
“Your request is granted, my young friend,” he announced, earning himself an extremely satisfied grin. “I would ask you to explain yourself further, but I expect that your reasoning would simply elude my understanding.”
“Let us just say, I often find great fortune around olive trees.”
Tyndareus could only shake his head, not bothering to try and conceal the incredulous laugh that bubbled out of him. With a wave of his arm, he dismissed the audience that had gathered around this impromptu meeting, smiling in amusement as he watched the man Eurylochus tug on his king’s arm when he lingered a few moments by one of the windows.
“I am sorry, daughter, if your hopes are dashed,” he spoke once the room was empty.
“Never mind, father. Upon further inspection, I have come to discover that that man is exceedingly strange. Besides, I believe you are right. His presence does seem rather exhausting.”
“Those last few minutes of conversation certainly felt like some sort of riddle I was unable to solve,” Tyndareus agreed. “You know, in some ways he reminds me a lot of-”
“Penelope!”
The two royals turned their attention to the figure that suddenly emerged from behind the curtains that led to the royal family’s private wing of the palace.
“Did you hear what just happened? Out of the hundreds of men vying for my hand, the one I actually tried to choose rejected me. In favor of a tree, no less! Can you believe it? By the way, you never explained why you insisted on staying hidden behind there… Penelope?” Helen trailed off, as she followed her cousin who had made her way to a window overlooking the gardens.
“Cousin? Did you hear what I said?”
After a few seconds, the younger woman finally turned and acknowledged the royal princess, lips pressed in a thin line and a deep furrow in her brow.
“Yes… that Odysseus of Ithaca is no better than the other savages out there who have come to our home to hunt for wives like they would prey.”
“Wait… that’s not what I-”
But her cousin was already marching for the exit once again.
“Where are you going, child?” Tyndareus inquired as his niece breezed past him for the second time in less than two minutes.
“To hunt myself a hunter,” Penelope answered, barely sparing him a look as she swept from the room. Father and daughter were left to exchange confused looks as they tried to make sense of the strange events of that afternoon.
“It seems the unsolved riddles will have to continue.”
Just outside King Tyndareus’s throne room, another king found himself standing under an olive tree. His hands were clasped behind his back, eyes closed contentedly as the sound of rustling leaves and the faint smell of olives filled the air around him. Odysseus tilted his head back and drew in a long, deep breath, relishing the peace and quiet of the garden, the din of squabbling suitors and fussy second-in-commands too far away to disturb him.
The moment of tranquility was then abruptly ended by the sound of loud approaching steps and a very irritated voice accosting him.
“I do not know what things are like in your land, King of Ithaca, but here in Sparta it is considered bad manners to leave one’s things lying around.”
Odysseus barely had time to open his eyes and form a coherent thought at finally beholding the woman he had been longing to meet before he was registering a sharp pain at his chest.
“Ow! What-?”
Rubbing a hand at the sore spot and looking down, his eyes caught on a familiar piece of wood in the grass. Bending down, Odysseus picked it up and held it in his palm.
“Why did you-?” he began, before cutting himself off when the trinket was suddenly snatched from his hand again. The king took a step back, arms flying defensively in front of him lest the item was hurled at him a second time.
“Oh I am sorry, my lord,” though his assailant's tone held no apology at all. “Is the ‘quarry’ that has proven so elusive to you not as docile and meek as you were expecting?”
Odysseus’s eyes darted from Penelope’s angry expression to the small wooden sheep she held aloft before him, his usually quick mind suddenly feeling as slow as mud.
“What? What are-?”
“Sheep are notoriously helpless things. They blindly follow wherever they are herded. They are defenseless, obedient, and rather stupid and I can assure you that if you are looking for such a creature among the women of Sparta, then you are sorely mistaken!”
“What?! No!” Odysseus nearly shouted, the strangled cry quite incongruous with the collected ease with which he had addressed a king only minutes ago.
“No, no no! That's not it at all! Of course , that's not what I… You know I do not… I mean, I would never… I would never think-”
The obviously struggling man forced himself to take a few calming breaths before continuing in a marginally less frantic tone.
“Am I correct in assuming that you found the others?”
Huffing, the princess stomped over to a nearby railing and unceremoniously dumped the contents of a small pouch that had been slung around her wrist onto the stone. Odysseus scanned the scattered pieces of wood and, despite the unexpectedly antagonistic nature of the encounter thus far, he could not help a delighted smile when all were indeed accounted for.
“And what meanings have you derived from these other ones?” he inquired before valiantly absorbing the blow that was the now empty pouch launched into his face.
“I am not going to-!”
“You have lodged a serious accusation against my character, Your Highness,” he pointed out, bending to retrieve the pouch and placing it on the railing, noticeably just out of reach of the princess glaring at him so fiercely. “I think it only fair that I understand all that led to it so that I may defend myself properly.”
After a few moments of scowling eyes meeting a pair of almost comically pleading ones, the lady finally relented and plucked a wooden owl from among the strewn pieces. Odysseus only flinched a little before he trusted that it was not about to be thrown at him as well.
“It is no secret that you have the special favor of the goddess Athena,” she began in a flat tone, her displeasure at doing this clear. “It is also widely rumored that she takes the form of an owl when she chooses to present herself to mortals. You left this at the docks when you first arrived, likely as some sort of announcement of your presence here and…”
“And?”
“And… to indicate that the purpose for which you have traveled to Sparta is done with the blessing of the Goddess of Wisdom. You are saying that this quest of yours was not embarked upon impulsively nor taken lightly. It is being carried out with great thought and care.”
She fixed him with a level stare then, as if daring him to tell her that she was wrong. When he only nodded approvingly, she set the intricately carved piece down to pick up another two.
“You left this one at your place at dinner on your first night here and this one on the field where the foot race took place the next morning,” she stated, turning over likenesses of the moon and sun in her hands. “There are several meanings that could be attributed to these, some I found less practical than others.”
“Let's start with the practical ones.”
She shot him another glare at the teasing lilt in his voice, but heeded him nonetheless.
“They symbolize the darkness and light that exists within each person, the happiness and sadness that exists within each lifetime… It is an acknowledgement and offering of both.”
“And the less practical ones?”
Penelope's eyes then dropped back to the items in her hands, suddenly unable to meet his penetrating gaze. Her voice had much less bite when she continued.
“That thoughts of this quest have occupied your mind for some time now. Night and day you have been consumed with them. Furthermore, the sequence in which you left them is a message in itself. You left the moon first, then the sun, implying that you have only known darkness until you were able to come here and begin your quest in earnest. Should you succeed with it, you will have secured the light of your life.”
A slight blush colored her cheeks as Penelope chanced a quick glance at the man beside her, apparently less confident about this interpretation than she had been about her previous ones. A soft, earnest smile greeted her in turn and she nearly forgot to scowl back.
“The wonders of this kingdom continue to astound me, for I daresay nowhere else could I find such a perfect union of keen insight and incomparable beauty.”
Ripping her eyes from the infuriatingly captivating man before her, Penelope then dropped the wooden pieces back onto the stone, with much greater force than was necessary. A reminder to Odysseus (and quite possibly herself) that she was still terribly displeased with him. She snatched up the next piece, schooling her features into stoniness once again.
“You are outmatched in size, reputation and wealth by most men here,” she then stated bluntly, raising her brows at him, silently challenging him not to take offence to the not-so subtle insult. Her opponent did not fall for the bait, however, as Odysseus only nodded in agreement as easily as if she were simply stating that the sky above them was blue.
“However, if my uncle were to arrange an archery contest, I wager no one would come close to your skill,” she remarked, tracing the wooden bow and arrow in her hand with her finger. “This represents the strength and skills that you do possess as a renowned hunter and archer. It represents the security and protection that you offer. Also…”
“Also?”
“This was carved with the arrow already notched. A bow or arrow has little to no effect on its own, but when paired together they yield greater… results.”
Penelope’s eyes were then drawn to his once again, the distance between them having narrowed considerably over the course of the unusual conversation. The charged moment lasted for a few seconds longer before she shook herself again and took a deliberate step back.
“At least, that is what I thought it meant, until I discovered your latest offering after that stunt you pulled with my uncle. Now I understand that this quest of yours is merely just another hunt to you. You see your quarry as easy prey, defenseless and meek. You expect blind obedience, someone easily manipulated and I can assure you-”
“Ithaca has sheep!”
“that I am not -... … … what?”
“Ithaca, my island, we are... small and admittedly not as wealthy as other places, but we have lots of sheep there. The best sheep, really, and I defy you to name another kingdom that produces better wool than us.”
Having only received a few blinks in response, Odysseus decided to continue with this more direct approach, only a small amount of hysteria seeping into his voice.
“It was not meant to represent how I see you! But rather what I could provide for you. I know that you are a skilled weaver. You once said that it brought you peace and fulfillment. I was… I was just trying to say that you would be wanting for neither were you to spend much time on my island.”
When he still received no response, he moved to grab the little sheep from where it had been laying on its side on the stone next to them.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back.”
“No!” she suddenly yelled, snatching it away from his grasp before gathering the rest of the carvings and placing them back in the pouch.
“Since you were so careless with your things, you have lost the right to keep them. These are mine now,” she declared, drawing the strings of the pouch closed and securing it around her wrist once again.
“Also, you might have considered carving an actual loom instead. You know, the weaving of two things together? The ability to create something new? Something that is warm and beautiful? Or at least not gifting an image of something that is easily killed right after the thing that does the killing?”
Then it was Odysseus's turn to blink at her wordlessly.
“That… that would have been better, yes,” he eventually agreed, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, looking at her rather sheepishly.
“Though I concede that your choice is the more pleasing one to look at. And perhaps… I should have realized that the spirit in which the others were given and the conclusion I had hastily drawn did not align,” she admitted with an apologetic look of her own.
The two usually self-assured people then lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, each sneaking unsure glances at the other, both clearly embarrassed by the part they had played in the misunderstanding. Their nervous fidgeting did not last long, however, as the moment their eyes met again, the two almost immediately burst into laughter.
“Just out of curiosity,” Penelope spoke once they had collected themselves again, her tone light. “Are there other similar items that I can expect to stumble upon?”
“Stumble upon, my lady? I daresay at present I am not the only hunter here.”
“Then perhaps, you could spare me the trouble of a chase.”
“Ah, but the chase is rather thrilling, don’t you agree? Is that not why you have been so elusive these last few days?”
“I can go back to being elusive if you that is what you prefer,” she offered, turning to leave, but was stopped by a hand gently grasping her arm.
“This one is not yet finished, so you cannot judge the craftsmanship too harshly,” he admonished before pulling out a wooden piece from his pocket and placing it in her outstretched palm.
Penelope took a few moments to study the piece in her hands. It lacked the intricate detail of the others, many edges still rough and jagged, but its shape was still easily recognizable.
“It is uneven here,” she observed, fingers tracing over a rough edge of the little house in her hands.
“I told you that it is not finished.”
“Your knife, please,” a request that was instantly granted.
“Show me?”
Odysseus then eagerly demonstrated how to hold the knife, gently guiding her hand as it pushed the blade through the wood. Her initial cuts were a bit awkward, but her technique quickly improved and soon enough, her instructor's helping hands fell away.
“There!” she exclaimed triumphantly once the edge was smooth. She turned to show Odysseus her work, but was momentarily taken aback to see that he had not been watching her progress at all. Instead, he was just watching her , the sheer tenderness and awe in his gaze quite literally taking her breath away.
Clearing her throat and shaking herself slightly, she thrust the knife and wooden project into his hands.
“I just thought it would be more meaningful if we worked on that one together,” she mumbled, turning away to dust her hands off and hide her flushed cheeks.
She then moved to sit on the stone railing, making somewhat of a show of arranging her skirts. When she worked up the courage to look at her companion again, she found him standing very near her, his hip leaning on the railing scarcely an inch from where she was sitting.
“So… tell me, are your carving skills limited to miniature form?” she inquired.
“I built you a palace.”
“You… what?”
“I mean, I built a palace. A palace.. Erm….” he corrected quickly, before joining her in sitting on the stone structure.
“There is a hill on Ithaca. It is certainly not the tallest hill in the world, but it is decently high and from there you can see almost the entire island. That hill is where I built my palace and, truly, from every direction there is the perfect view. The gods themselves could not ask for a better sight than that of the sunset seen from its western side. Penelope, the colors of the sky reflect off the sea so perfectly that it is impossible to tell where the earth ends and the heavens begin. I swear, it is like looking at paradise itself. But oh, the afternoon sun shining on the rolling hills on the northern side is just as exquisite. I can stand at one of the windows facing them and watch the goats and sheep roam there for hours.”
Penelope felt her eyes drift closed, her mind conjuring up images of the beautiful scenes that were being described to her.
“I built a balcony on the eastern side that faces the forest. It is almost perpetually in shadow because of the height of the trees there. Naturally it is a perfect refuge on a hot summer day. And every morning the sound of birds singing is so loud there, it almost feels as if you are right up in the branches with them.”
And so the Ithacan king continued describing his palace, the grand and not-so grand rooms he built, the pillar that he made a little crooked to make it more comfortable to lean on, his favorite spots, his dog’s favorite spots, the best place to listen to the rain during a storm, which window let you see the most stars, the secret passageway connecting his council room to the kitchens. His voice was soft, a faint murmur in the massive garden, and if anyone were to stumble upon them, they would have assumed that he had lulled the woman next to him to sleep with it.
Indeed, at some point Penelope’s head ended up on Odysseus’s shoulder, her eyes remaining closed as she listened to him. The man might have thought she had fallen asleep himself had she not been peppering him with questions, demanding more details when she wanted them, and letting out contented sighs when he described something she liked.
“And at the center of all this is… an olive tree,” he eventually revealed. There was slight hesitation in his voice when he said this, nerves that had not been there when he first began speaking about his home. Penelope’s eyes fluttered open.
“It is very special to me, this olive tree. You see… I met a girl there.”
Here Penelope lifted her head to look at him, but his gaze remained on the unfinished little house he was fiddling with in his hands.
“We were just kids then and I am fairly certain I did not actually say anything that first time. She was so tall and pretty and clever and I was just a silly boy who had run away from home because he was tired of watching his father wither away.”
“She does not know this, but during my darkest hours, I would always think about her, that girl who sat with me under that olive tree that day. She gave me a reason to smile. She gave me courage... hope."
“Years passed, and we met several more times under that olive tree. Now at first, I saw her as a friend, my dearest friend who I would only get to see a few days a year. And, oh how I looked forward to those few days! We would spend hours talking, laughing, playing until the stars were shining above us. Those days were so precious to me, the few times I was allowed to forget that I was a king.”
“Then as we grew older, those few days became too few for me. I wanted every day with her, every night with her. I wanted to be by her side forever. But I was just a king of a small island and she a princess of a mighty kingdom. I did not even have a palace to offer her.”
“So, around that olive tree where we first met, I built her one, and in that tree, I carved a place where we could share a life together. Then I begged the Goddess of Wisdom to help me come up with a plan to win over the girl of my dreams before I traveled here to see her.”
“And now I am sitting with that girl under a different olive tree. She is still so tall and pretty and clever, and I am still a silly boy falling over himself trying to impress her, hoping beyond hope that he did not make a complete mess of it.”
Odysseus took a fortifying breath before chancing a look at his girl. He felt a heavy weight drop in the pit of his stomach when he noted the tears falling down her face.
“No, please don’t cry! I understand if you don’t-”
But his frantic speech was interrupted by a gentle hand on his own.
“You really are picking... me?” Penelope asked, her voice barely a whisper, the awe in it unmistakable.
“I’m rather desperately asking you to pick me, actually.”
“You could have picked the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Who says I didn’t?”
Her answering laugh was instantaneous and incredulous and the most beautiful sound Odysseus had ever heard in his life. Despite the feeling of the cold stone under him, he could have sworn that he was flying.
“Is this the part where you throw an apple at me?”
Odysseus stared at her for a few seconds before he shot up suddenly.
“Wait here, I’ll go find one!” he exclaimed, nearly tripping over himself to complete the task, but was held in place by her hand grasping his once again.
Standing up herself, Penelope reached up into the branches above them and plucked an olive. She sent him a pointed look before tossing it at him, and unlike the other things she had thrown at him that day, Odysseus was able to catch it easily.
“There, you caught it. You are mine now,” she declared, lightly bopping him on the nose.
Odysseus stared down at the tiny fruit in his hand, his usually quick mind failing him not for the first time in this woman’s presence. He looked back at her and was met with an amused smile, but it was the deep affection in her gaze that snapped him out of his trance.
After placing the olive securely into his pocket, he did not delay any further in gathering her into his arms. The garden was then filled with shrieks of laughter as the king spun his future queen around in the air.
And unbeknownst to the embracing couple, an audience was watching them from a balcony above.
“Well, that solves one riddle,” King Tyndareus commented to which his daughter nodded in agreement.
“Indeed it does, father. This certainly explains why my dear cousin has been acting so strange in recent days. I would be angry with her for being so secretive, but alas, I can only be very happy for her.”
Helen then kissed her father on the cheek before taking her leave
“Guards!” the king called. “Please send for my brother. I expect we shall be needing to have an important conversation.”
Casting one more fond look on the happy scene, he turned to follow his daughter, but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of an owl perched in a nearby tree. The two stared at each other for a few moments before the king bowed respectfully. The creature seemed to acknowledge the gesture before taking flight, both king and goddess bestowing their blessings on the blissful couple in the garden below.