Page 13 of Odette's Vow

“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.”

Thosewords 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 eatthismuch.”

My jaw dropped open. Τ?ιλορ?α wasDiomedes’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, tomytent, 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?”

---