Chapter Text
“So, Miss Ctimene…” one of the older women in the group leaned forward, a teasing smile on her wrinkled face. “You’re ripe to be that age, you know.”
Ctimene did know. She had heard it from about everyone she knew ever since her thirteenth birthday. Multiple times. And now, two years past, some of the ladies in her acquaintance were growing antsy that the princess remained unmarried. She focused her eyes on her loom as she responded. “Yes, I know, tēthē.”
“Your brother and I cannot keep you tucked away here in the palace forever,” her mother murmured beside her. “The gods only know. But it will be a lucky man that has your hand.”
“And a wealthy one, surely!” One of the younger women in their inner circle giggled.
“Yes, wealthy is the first requirement- anything else is possible, but not guaranteed,” another agreed. “That said, Ctimene, since King Odysseus favors you so- you might get a say in choosing your husband when your hand is offered.”
“Exactly! So…what kind of man are you hoping to see in the lineup?”
Ctimene hesitated, watching as all eyes suddenly swiveled to her.
Just answer honestly. You’ve thought about it before, have you not?
She had indeed thought quite a bit about it, but she tried not to let her thoughts wander to the inspiration for her answer.
“Well…” Ctimene stared at the half-filled loom before her. “I would like him to be handsome, of course, no girl wishes to marry an ugly man. Strong. Well-educated and kind, even to those beneath him. And loving, perhaps even gentle. One that treats me almost equal.” Gods knew she would rather die a lonely spinster than spend her life with a heartless and haughty man, especially since she would be one of those ‘beneath him’.
What scared her most is she knew she wouldn’t have that option.
There was a long way of silence after she finished her description, in which Ctimene was afraid to look up. Until, finally, the older woman spoke.
“Anticlea, what have you been teaching this child?” The grandmother sighed, as the younger women took their cue to start laughing.
“What?” Ctimene lowered her distaff and looked at the laughing girls her age. “I do not think I said anything outrageous!”
“Ctimene, you need to lower your standards,” one of the girls chortled. “Or you’re going to die a spinster!”
“You can’t demand all that when you can barely weave a decent sheet,” another teased, gesturing to Ctimene’s slow, somewhat messy progress on her loom. “The bare minimum. No man would be willing to wear the clothes you make.”
Anticlea shook her head and reached across to pat Ctimene’s knee in a mildly patronizing way. “Don’t worry, my dear. Odysseus will find some satisfactory…but it would do for you to manage your expectations.”
Kind, smart, respectful…Ctimene did not think that she had asked for a god. But it seemed, to others, she had.
Perhaps that was the way of life. Being disappointed. Or as her mother put it, ‘managing expectations’.
Ctimene did not take part in the rest of the conversation until it had moved on to something different.
“Ctimene.”
Ctimene lifted her head as her name was called, and stood to join Eurylochus on the other side of the room. He stood before her loom, where she had draped a himation she had finished earlier that afternoon. She was not entirely satisfied with her work; there were many flaws, a stray thread, the uneven pattern. Perhaps she should have spent longer on it, but she’d been so sick of the pattern and her fingers had been so tired that she just wanted to get it done.
Eurylochus picked up the cloth, turning it over in his hands and studying it. Ctimene’s face warmed. Would he not want to wear it? Of course, he shouldn’t. It was practically shameful.
“I can redo it,” she offered, reaching out for the himation. “It’s not-“
“Redo it?” Eurylochus’ grip on the fabric did not loosen; he did not let her take it. “Why?”
Ctimene looked up at him. His head had turned towards her, and he was now studying her, with a faint expression of puzzlement settled on his handsome face. And something else that she recognized- he was biting his tongue to find the right moment to say something. Possibly, probably a critique. “Well, because it’s not good enough. The pattern is uneven, the thread- you don’t want to wear it, do you?”
“Of course I do.” Eurylochus’ hand shifted over hers, until her tugging fingers relaxed. “It is wonderful. I called you over to thank you.”
Ctimene paused. “Thank me? For this? But it’s my job to make this. And it’s not even good. The pattern-“
“Enough of the pattern. I like it. I am fond of the asymmetry.” A strong arm slipped around her waist and curled her closer to his side. “And even if it is your job- I know it is a long labor to make this, a single piece of clothing for me. So, thank you.” He settled the himation back over the loom, and turned her towards him to press a gentle kiss to her head.
Ctimene leaned into it, resting her head against his chest when his lips pulled away. She held her hand over her breast, lest her heart flutter from its rightful place.
“I do not have any duties for tomorrow,” Eurylochus murmured. “Is there anything you would like to do together?”
“Mmmm..” Ctimene smiled as an idea entered her mind, one that pushed aside all other thoughts of going down to the beach or to the market, or perhaps not even leaving their house- or bed- at all. “Well…I think we should visit my mother. And a few others, some people I used to do this with.” She gestured to the himation and the loom. “I’d like you to meet them.”
Eurylochus eyed her for a moment. “You’ve got that sly look.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. What is it for?” Eurylochus glanced between her and the loom, but he couldn’t quite seem to figure out the mischievous gleam in her eye, so he gave up. “Never mind. Yes, we can visit the palace. Would you like me to wear this tomorrow?”
Ctimene started to shake her head, but hesitated.
Let them see I’ve found a man who’s ‘willing’ to wear the clothes I make.
“Yes, actually. And bring your sword.”
Eurylochus’ brow furrowed. “Why? Do you think Odysseus will be free tomorrow to train?”
“Er…I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Then why bring my sword?”
“Because it makes you look strong.”
Perhaps she should have put that answer through a thicker filter, for the look Eurylochus gave her made her skin tingle- amused, bemused, and definitely suspicious. “For no other reason?”
Ctimene busied herself with picking up the himation and carting it off to the other side of the room to do exactly nothing with it.
“Ctimene!” Eurylochus turned after her, and his poorly-suppressed laughter made her warm again. “Are you trying to show me off?”
“Wild, unfounded accusations. How would you like to wear that shoulder pauldron, too?”
“‘Mene!”