“Lady, an envoy has arrived from Pylos. He’s asking to see your husband.”

“I’ll see him here, Dio, please.” She resumed weaving. The spring day was warm after a difficult winter, and she was disinclined to leave the comfort of the sun.

Moments later, the envoy was ushered onto the porch. He bowed.

“Nestor of Pylos greets Odysseus of Ithaca and his queen Penelope, and invites them to Pylos to celebrate the marriage of his son Thrasymedes.”

She set the shuttle on the frame of the loom. “My husband isn’t here. Forgive me. Has Nestor returned to Pylos?”

“Yes, my lady. Six months ago, after the war.”

Her heart sank. “The war ended… six months ago?”

“Had you not heard so, my lady?”

“No,” she said.

Nearly 1500 men from Ithaca had gone to the war, but none had yet come home, though six months was more than adequate time. She stood and moved to the edge of the porch overlooking the sea, and she whispered a prayer to Poseidon for their safe return. As though in answer, storm clouds gathered on the horizon.