The White Doves of Penelope

We hide, clutching each other in the dark. The sounds of men on the other side of the door cause us to shake and hide our faces in each other’s dresses. The ground is cold and hard, my position uncomfortable, but I cannot move. One of my sisters leans on me and I hold her tight, both for her and for myself. Her body is warm and soft, reminding me of the nights we would lie with the others, talking until Selene in all her beauty has crossed more than half the sky. 

Male shouts cause us to jump and tremble, the hot burning tears behind my eyes falling out, the barrier holding them back unable to hold firm any longer. Behind the door the room falls silent and then it is pushed aside, allowing harsh light to fall on us before it is closed once more. 

It is Telemachus, our lady’s son. He does not care for us, hurrying past like a puppy on his first outing. He kicks out at one of my sisters, her cry muffled by her hand to her mouth. I cannot help but stare at him as he passes, his leering smile makes my heart squeeze. I stroke my sister’s hair and whisper how it will all turn out well and then he is back with his father’s great bow. No one had strung it since the master left us, before I was born, no one had the strength. 

Cries start up again from behind the door, they talk about a test, proof of strength to judge whether the old man who came to the door is truly our master returned. They do not think so. I think they have much to fear. 

One of my sisters rises saying, “We must find our lady. She will know what to do.” But her path is blocked by Eurycleia, cherished companion of our lady.

“You will stay here,” Eurycleia says to us all. “You have not earned the right to see our lady. I will keep the stench of you far away from her.”

And there she stood blocking our path. We looked at each other, the twelve of us. I was sure that I must have looked like the rest of them, pale faced with dark patches under our eyes. Placing a hand on my stomach, no longer flat as it once was, I prayed the flutters to calm. 

I knew what she was talking about, we all did. And so, we all feared. The suitors had come for our lady years ago, when I was too small to be of their notice. But time went on and I grew, and my lady would not give in, she was waiting for her husband, she would say, she could not be unfaithful to him. He is dead, they would reply, but she would leave, turning her back. As Queen this was in her power, but for us lesser souls unobtainable. These were men, and men do as they please.

One of them had set his eyes on me and claimed me as his own. After he was done, he would hold me to him, my face in the space between his shoulder and neck where his sour smell of male would overcome me. Stroking my fair hair, he would tell me of his home, his great deeds and prowess, how he would claim my mistress for his own. At the last his gentle strokes would stop and clutching a fist of my hair would lift my face to his, the wine on his breath making my head swim. Holding me tight he would whisper to me of how he would keep me, how I would always be his, how he would marry my lady but would have me to warm his bed. Laughing softly, he would pull me closer and roughly press his lips to mine.  

When rosy-fingered dawn brought the mornings, my lady would look on me with kindness, having me sit in front of her so she could weave my hair back up and out of my face. Her gentle fingers brushing my cheeks, soothing my fears. She understood, although she never spoke the words. Eurycleia did not. Loving to my lady and her long absent lord, Eurycleia saw the others and I as vipers, poisoning the nest of our master, Odysseus, the one who had left and never returned. The one who had suckled him, Eurycleia’s sympathy was to him and him alone. To her, we were fallen. 

And now he was back, to claim his kingdom, his wife, and the son he had never known. Twenty years he had been away, but it was his by right and this hero was going to show men and gods the lengths he would go to prove his power. He was a man, favoured by Athene, here to have his vengeance. What could the rest do but crumble?

It had fallen silent behind the door but now shouts rose up. Then the screaming started. Horrible cries of fear that I knew all too well but had never dared utter aloud. Thuds and gasps, pleas and prayers. It would not stop. Holding out hands to our ears we tried to block it out, offering prayers to the gods beseeching them for aid but we were granted no rest bite. On and on, forever, and ever, until eternity was passed and only the gods were left, silent in their halls. 

A hand grabbed my arm, dragging me up from my crouch. It was Telemachus, bloodied and grinning, sword still in hand. I looked at it and he smiled. “You will clean it”, he said, pointing through the open doorway into the hall beyond.

Swaying, I saw the terrible deeds that he had wrought. Surely not alone, the golden youth who’d never seen battle. Then I saw him, the man I had never known but whose presence had stalked this house since the day of his leaving. My lady had her husband back. Tears wetted my cheeks.

“Clean,” Telemachus said hauling me towards the door to a scene from the very depths of Hades. Turning me, he spat in my face and pushed me back so I fell heavily. The life inside me protested. 

“Come”, said one of my sisters, taking me gently and helping me up. “It will be all right.”

Nodding, I gave her a smile. Lies. Such lies. 

Head dazed like those who have not slept in days, the eleven and I began to work. This was a task we usually found joy in, laughter echoing through the halls as we talked and told stories to one another, happy in our positions as we loved our lady, and she loved us back. Blessed only with one child before her husband left, it was us who made up the rest, running barefoot to her chamber where we would sit as she told us stories and weave our hair. Her girls, she would call us as we looked at her as flowers do the sun after a storm. 

Girls we no longer were, but something else. One cannot do what we did and come away unchanged. Together we wrapped the bodies and took them outside where they would be burned. Two of us were needed for each as they were heavy loads and it took us so long that when the task was done, the sun had begun its downward path. Going through them, I tried not to look at their faces, I did not want to see. But I recognised his body, how could I not? I would never be his now. I would have smiled if I hadn’t forgotten how.

Once they were all outside, we scraped the floors, the blood having dried into the cracks. We were kicked and told not to miss any, that this was our master’s floor and we had failed him, that we should be glad to be doing this for him. I was glad to do it, not for him for this was my lady’s hall and we had been happy here. I would have her know my love through the state I left it in. As much as the love carried me through, the pain in my back slowed me down and for this I was beaten and cursed. I continued, not offering them pleasure from my pain. No man would ever see that, they had taken everything, but not that. 

The morning had come again by the time the floor was what it had been. Sitting back on our heels we lifted our eyes to each other. There on the floor, my sisters swayed like ripened wheat in a field, and I joined them, the sun warming our aching necks. 

Telemachus and his father were talking at the far end, we had not seen our lady mistress, we were told she was sleeping. The son was disagreeing with the father pointing at us, his face a contortion of hate. Considering, sparing us no glance, his father nodded, and Telemachus smiled. Giving an order to the men who had been watching us, he opened the grand door to the outside and left, stepping with purpose.

The men came at us and bound our hands behind our back. Thick and coarse, the rope ate into my skin, my shoulders burning at their uncustomary angle. Together we were herded out into the day, each of us brushing our arms against each other for comfort. My sisters were all crying, I must have been too as I felt the wetness on my face. There was the cause for Telemachus’ earlier purpose. Strung between the portico and the roundhouse was a strong rope, strong enough to bear the weight of twenty men, strong enough for us. 

One by one they lifted them up, tying a knot around their little necks and letting the drop. One by one I witnessed my sisters dying. No longer would we laugh together, tell stories, or whisper into the night. Our lives were being taken from us again, this time from the men who were meant to protect us the first time. I was last. A man took me by the waist and lifted me up. I could see the sea and I looked out over the great blue expanse, imagining I was a bird, soaring over the waves, dancing through the air. I barely felt the rope being placed around my neck. I was still that bird, still free. They could not touch me.