Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Not so rough with that brush,’ Penelope chided her. She stepped from the bath to drip on the stone floor, where Neaera at once began to dry her off. ‘Are you this brutal with Helen? She told me you had a delicate touch.’

The truth was that Neaera was nervous. First Clytaemnestra, then Damastor, had instilled in her the vital importance of getting Penelope to the feast at the same time as Odysseus. Damastor would apply the charmed ointment to his master’s tunic and ensure he was by the double doors of the great hall just before the food was brought in to the guests; Neaera was to do the same with Penelope, or risk Odysseus reacting to the first female he saw. But unless she could persuade Penelope to be a little quicker, they were going to be woefully late.

‘Give me that, you clumsy girl,’ Penelope said, taking the towel and drying herself. ‘Bring me my best robe – the purple one. I feel like a change tonight.’

‘But my lady . . .’ Neaera stuttered.

‘Stop flapping, Neaera. It’s in the basket by the wall. Hurry up and fetch it for me.’

Why tonight, of all nights, did she have to be fussy about what she wore? The slave girl ran past the dress she had prepared and began looking through the large woven basket by the wall, all the time thinking about what she should do. There was not enough ointment left and no time to apply it anyway. Then, as she found the neatly folded dress in the basket, she heard Penelope pad barefoot into the room behind her.

‘Come on, then. I’m dry,’ she said, holding out her arms for Neaera to slip the dress over her naked body.

Neaera stood up, clutching the dress to her chest, but as she did so she felt it snag on the weave of the basket and tear.

‘Oh, my lady! I’m so sorry,’ she said, tears rimming her eyes. She was too shocked to realize that her clumsiness had solved her dilemma.

Penelope sighed at the sight of the rip.

‘Never mind, Neaera. Don’t cry, now: I can mend it after the feast. I suppose I’ll have to wear this old thing you’ve laid out on the bed for me instead.’

Suddenly, as if Penelope might change her mind, Neaera ran over to the bed and held the large oblong of cloth before her. ‘This is just fine,’ she said, turning the simple garment this way and that as if it were an item of great beauty. ‘You’ll look wonderful in it, my lady.’

‘Of course I won’t, and you know it. And just for once I wanted to look attractive.’

Neaera sensed something in Penelope’s tone and enquired whether she wanted to catch the eye of anyone in particular.

‘Perhaps,’ Penelope answered. ‘But it doesn’t matter. Like most men here, he’s much too besotted with Helen to look at any other woman. Now, put that dress on me before I catch cold, and then you can put my hair up. Assuming you can do that without mishap?’

Neaera was embarrassed but managed to return the princess’s well-meant smile. She took the dress, folded it once and wrapped it about Penelope’s body. With the deft skill of one who had dressed women all her life, she pinched the upper corners of the cloth over her mistress’s left shoulder and fastened them together with a golden brooch. She then used a second clasp to secure the garment over the other shoulder. This left the left side of Penelope’s body exposed, but the slave girl quickly fastened the two open halves of the dress with a cord about the waist. Then, remembering the ointment, she drew the woven material closer together so that it rubbed against Penelope’s skin, ensuring that Clytaemnestra’s potion was brought into contact with it. The adjustment also left less flesh exposed so, keen for Penelope to look as alluring as possible for Odysseus, Neaera arranged the material to fall open about one of her long, smooth legs, exposing it almost to the buttock.

Pleased with the effect of this, she proceeded to bunch Penelope’s hair above her head with all possible haste, conscious that the feast would already be starting in the great hall below them. Despite this, Neaera risked precious time to make the princess look as attractive as she could. For someone who was used to the obsessive demands of Helen, the task was an easy one to execute. As a final touch, Neaera applied a little fine soot to darken her eyebrows and the transformation was complete. Penelope no longer looked like the plain and simple daughter of Icarius, whom only the most discerning men ever noticed for her natural beauty; now every feature of her femininity had been emphasized for all to see. Penelope asked Neaera how she looked, and was told she could not fail to catch the eye of every man in the hall.

‘Hmmm,’ Penelope purred. ‘I feel good, too. Despite your hasty manner, Neaera, I think you’ve worked wonders with those clumsy fingers of yours. For the first time in ages I actually feel attractive. It’s like I’ve had too much wine, but instead of going to my head it’s worked its way under my skin. I’m tingling all over.’ She looked down at herself and ran her hands over her stomach and thighs. ‘You’ve done me up a little tight, though,’ she added, and proceeded to loosen the cord about her waist so that her bare ribs and the swell of her left breast fell open to view. ‘That’s better. Now, let’s go to the feast.’

As usual, the great hall was filled with suitors, warriors and slaves. Some of the guests were seated about a bard who sang a song on a lyre, recalling the feats of ancient heroes. Others were filling themselves with food or sharing wine with the friends they had made during the seemingly endless weeks spent at the palace. But as Penelope arrived their heads began to turn, in ones and twos at first until, eventually, every man was looking at her. She returned their lascivious stares, delighting in the feel of the air fanning across her bared flesh. She felt drunk with her own sensuality, and as her skin crawled with peculiar sensations she looked about the crowds of revellers, seeking one man in particular.

Neaera felt awkward beside her adopted mistress. They were only slightly later than the appointed time, but Damastor and Odysseus were nowhere in sight. This made her nervous, as she did not know what to do if one of the warriors should approach Penelope. Clytaemnestra had warned that Penelope’s intensified affections could easily be directed to any man, and unwanted attention could prove fatal to her lover’s plans. Then her fear became a reality as one of the men left his seat and walked over to them.

‘You look even more magnificent than usual tonight, Penelope,’ Little Ajax said, his small, closely-set eyes roaming up and down her body. He licked his thin lips and the snake about his shoulders did the same. ‘Maybe you’d like to join me for a little wine?’

Neaera looked at the man with distaste, repulsed by his broken nose and pockmarked cheeks. The snake about his shoulders had more charm than its owner, and so the slave girl was terrified to see Penelope look down at the man with something akin to desire in her expression.

‘If this man’s bothering you, mistress, I can fetch your father. He’s only over there.’

The warrior laughed. ‘As if a mere serving girl would dare approach the royal dais. Besides,’ he added, placing a hand on Penelope’s exposed thigh, ‘your mistress doesn’t appear to be complaining.’

‘Yes, Neaera,’ Penelope agreed, ‘there’s no harm in spending time with such a strong, good-looking man, is there? Why don’t you go back to my room and see if you can mend that dress.’ She turned back and ran a hand along the neck of Ajax’s snake. ‘Go on now.’

Everything was falling down around Neaera’s ears. This was not how things were supposed to have happened, but what could she do? She was only a slave, and not a very intelligent one at that. Feeling the panic growing inside her she glanced around the hall again. And there, finally, was Damastor.