“Father, hear me. Accept this offering in thanks for our safe passage.”
He rubbed his palms against his thighs, ignoring the seashells digging into his knees. It had been more than a decade since Poseidon had granted him audience or aid, and perhaps he was foolish to look for it now. But what else could he do? He hadn’t meant for any of this to be about marriage, no matter what Pirithous had said. Helen had been more curiosity than anything else, as she was to so many of the other men who had come at Tyndareus’s invitation.
“If she is not meant to be mine, Father, harden my heart. Make me like the ocean, callous and unfeeling. But if I might have her, if this is not too great a prize to ask for, give me your blessing, your protection. Give us both peace, and let it last.”
He stayed on his knees for a long moment, waiting, listening with all his being. Theseus lifted his gaze to his father’s painted face, but there was no life in the worn features there. No kindly smile or wrathful glower, just the silence he had come to expect. He rose, pausing to kiss the altar, and left the small temple.
“I should have known you’d be here, bending knee to your father.” Pirithous leaned against one of the pillars, shaded from the sun. “He does you few favors, Theseus. You’d have done better to offer sacrifice to Athena or Aphrodite.”
“Neither Athena nor Aphrodite is my father.” Theseus nodded to the palace below, set behind its walls. Guards walked the tops, wearing leather breastplates, no doubt ready to respond with bow and arrow if the mass of men below became a mob. “Did my servants make room for you?”
“Oh yes. As always, they were most accommodating.” Pirithous pushed off from the pillar and fell in beside him as he walked back toward the city. As usual, Pirithous had chosen to join his party at the last possible moment. “Helen seemed most impressed by your gift. Though I hear rumors that Agamemnon negotiates with Tyndareus for the hands of both his daughters.”
“And if that were true, and Tyndareus decided, what possible purpose could this celebration serve? Why invite so many eligible men to Sparta and wave Helen in front of their faces, only to tell them they may not have her?” Theseus shook his head, staring at the crowd still gathered outside the wall.
The temples were not far from the palace, but built upon higher ground to honor the gods. From this height, they could see the gold of Helen’s jewelry flash, almost blinding in its intensity. Goats and sheep grazed on the near side of the settlement, taking advantage of the uneven ground inside the greater city walls as it rose to the temples. A few shepherds, young boys for the most part, sat among them, their crooks resting over their shoulders as they watched the festivities below more than their flocks. Where the animals had not yet cropped the grass, poppies bloomed bright red, and violets in vibrant blues. No doubt the flowers would be trampled before the moon had filled, with so many men trudging back and forth from the temples to secure safe travel back home.
“No,” Theseus said. “Tyndareus would not risk a mob, and that’s surely what he would have if he meant her for Agamemnon, after all of this.”
“Not Agamemnon,” Pirithous said. Theseus had long since stopped wondering how Pirithous obtained such information so quickly; he could talk any man or maid into giving up his or her secrets in the time it took most men to survey a room. “It is Menelaus who seeks Helen’s hand. The servants in the palace say they are much in the company of one another. Menelaus follows her as though she were a bitch in heat and he driven mad to mount her.”
“Servant gossip. Menelaus and Agamemnon are like sons to Tyndareus. Their frequent visits could have nothing more to do with Helen than the interest of a brother.”
Pirithous snorted. “Do you honestly believe that even Pollux and Castor can look at Helen without their own loins stirring? She’s nearly as alluring as Aphrodite herself.”
“Careful, Pirithous.” Wars had been started over less, and he would not see Helen punished because Pirithous did not guard his tongue. “Aphrodite is not forgiving of such comparisons, and I have no desire to suffer her rage again.”
“Nearly, I said.” Pirithous flicked his fingers in dismissal. “And regardless, it’s only the truth. Zeus gifted his daughter great influence and power when he gave her that form, and recognizing the work of the gods as impressive can never be a sin.”
“Can’t it?” Theseus glowered at the mass of men.
Agamemnon climbed the steps to the dais, his swagger and the flash of bronze armor impossible to miss. The king of Mycenae bowed to Helen, but Theseus could see even from this distance the coldness in his manner, and Pollux’s expression darkened further with every word exchanged. Helen recoiled from Agamemnon’s touch, pulling her hand free as quickly as possible.
Tyndareus was sure to consult Pollux and Castor about her potential suitors, to ensure the man chosen would be respected and that his daughter would not be mistreated. No, if Agamemnon sought Helen’s hand, even for Menelaus, he was not yet successful, and antagonizing her brother was hardly the way to seal a marriage.
Theseus rubbed at his face and looked for the angle of the sun. It wouldn’t be long now. Perhaps he could impose on Tyndareus’s hospitality just a little further, and secure himself a seat beside Helen at the feast. No king would dare refuse such a modest request from a hero.
Father, help me. Uncle, grant me your favor.
If things went well tonight, he would go to Zeus’s shrine in the morning and thank the gods properly.
Seats were scarce in the megaron, but Theseus had received a place at the family table in exchange for a gift to Leda of the rarest green linen from Troy. The most noble of Tyndareus’s guests had been given places at the tables below, or at worst on the benches that lined the walls, but it did not account for half the men Helen had seen. The gallery above the hearth was filled again with more men, the women and children who might normally watch from above ousted in favor of those who had presented Helen with gifts.
She leaned forward, refilling his cup with wine, and their shoulders brushed. Theseus’s head filled with the scent of the white windflowers woven into the braided crown of her hair. She looked even more striking without all the gold and jewels from her earlier display.
“Is my company so unappealing that you wish to see me drunk?” he teased.
She smiled over the rim of her own cup. “I am pleasantly surprised by the good fortune of your company, my lord. I feared my mother would think it necessary to seat me beside King Nestor this first night, to do him honor, and I’m afraid I have no taste for stories of war.”
“You’ve spoken just in time to prevent me from launching into my own,” he said, forcing himself not to smile. “What of the tales of raiders, outwitting their foes?”
“It seems to me those, too, often end in bloodshed,” she said, the light of humor dimming from her eyes. She looked away, picking at the bread on her plate. “What makes men hunger so for such contests? Is there no suitable glory to be found in other pursuits?”
“Plenty, if a man has the temperament and the patience to find it.” There was more to her words than idle conversation, and he wished he knew where her distress had come from, but now was not the time to ask. “Does your brother Castor not find glory in his horses? He is known already as the finest horseman in the Peloponnese without even the benefit of being Poseidon’s son.”
Her eyes were the color of mint leaves in the lamplight, meeting his with all the warmth of gratitude. “Yes. Castor takes great pleasure in his horsemanship. I’m sure that if you asked it of him, he would share with you what he knows.”
He smiled. “I think your brother’s skill is not something that can be taught, but I will speak to him, if only to say that if he ever wishes to leave Sparta, he and his talents will be welcome in Athens.”
“You’re very kind, King Theseus.”
“It is only in the best interests of my city and my people, I assure you.”<
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“And would you put your people and your city above all else? If you saw some greater threat to them, some future that might be avoided at the cost of some smaller risk in the present, would you act, or refuse, to save them from the nearer pain?”
He laughed and picked figs from a dish at the center of the table. “That isn’t a question I can answer without knowing the nature of both events. Nor would I make such a choice without consulting Athena, for Athens is her city more than mine.” He offered her the figs, and she accepted one. “Why do you ask?”
She bit her bottom lip, toying with the stem of the fruit. “A good queen would collect wisdom from those who have led before her.”
“Very wise, indeed.”
Helen’s eyes widened slightly in surprise; then she smiled with such brilliance, he could not help but grin in response.
Nor would he risk losing such a gift by pointing out that a decision as she had described would fall to the king. His marriage to Antiope, the Amazon queen, had taught him the difference between a queen who took interest in the fate of her people and one who concerned herself only with the affairs of running the palace, as Phaedra had. There was no question in his mind which he preferred to have at his side, beautiful or not, but not all men would agree that a partnership between equals, ruling in all things together, made for a stronger kingdom. His gaze slid down the table to the king of Mycenae, Agamemnon, and his brother, Menelaus. Neither one had the strength of character to stand as an equal beside an Amazon.
“The younger Atrides takes great interest in you, Princess.” In truth, Menelaus had been watching them all night with an intensity that made his shoulder blades itch against the pressure of a phantom knife.
Helen glanced at Menelaus, where he sat with her sister and Agamemnon. Clytemnestra seemed to be enjoying herself, even if the two men were not as pleased with their seating. She smiled and laughed and flirted with Agamemnon as if they were alone in the room. For the banquet, Helen’s sister had changed into a gown that bared her breasts, her dress dyed pomegranate red and her black hair oiled to shining. Theseus did not let himself give her more than a fleeting look.
“Menelaus has been a brother to me for most of my life,” Helen said, returning her attention to the figs on her plate. “He comes often from Mycenae as my father’s guest.”
“I can imagine. Agamemnon would be foolish not to take advantage of his brother’s easy manners as an ambassador.”
“I do not think he does it for his brother.” The smile that he had only recently won back faded again, and a crease formed between her eyebrows. She picked an orange from the nearest fruit bowl, turning it over in her hands for a moment. It was a gift from one of the eastern princes, no doubt, for such fruits did not even grow so near as Troy.
He took the orange from her fingers and scored the rind with his knife in one long motion, keeping the actions as casual as he could. Had she really never considered that Menelaus might serve as a spy on Tyndareus?
“Agamemnon does not seem a very sociable man.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw her brothers watching them, though they lacked the intensity of Mycenae’s prince. If Helen meant to know the men whom she might marry, Theseus would oblige her with more than the truth of his own character. He worked the peel free as he spoke, being careful to keep it all in one piece.
“Menelaus, on the other hand, smiles more than he frowns, though tonight he seems too distracted for diversion. Agamemnon needs a man like him to forge alliances and build friendships if he plans to extend the influence of Mycenae.”
“And how do you know so much, when you have only just encountered them tonight?”
He smiled, passing her the fruit, free of its rind. The peel, he coiled back into its original form and set as if it were still whole onto the table before her.
“Agamemnon is much too young to have lines carved so deep in his face if he is not a taciturn sort of man, and there has never been a king in Mycenae who did not grasp for more. Menelaus is loyal, or Agamemnon would not wear the crown at all. He will serve his brother. Though I think it likely Menelaus will not suffer his brother’s demands longer than he must.” He grinned when she stared at the orange peel, her eyes widening again just slightly before meeting his. “If you know what to look for in a man’s face, there is much to be told of his habits, and I have had many, many years to master the art.”
“How old are you, to possess such wisdom?” Her good humor had returned, her mouth softening. She ate a piece of the orange.
“Do you really want to know?” He liked to tease her. When she played along, her eyes sparkled. But if she valued wisdom in a man, her choices were limited to those many years her senior. “I’m afraid if I tell you, it will frighten you away, and that will hardly help me to win your hand later.”
She laughed. “You can’t be much more than thirty, even if you are a friend of Heracles.”
He said nothing, taking a drink of his wine. Perhaps it was not fair to keep it from her, but he’d prefer to let her make up her mind before she realized how much older he was. He set down his cup and leaned forward.
“Tell me, did anyone else think to bring you something to eat after I left? I thought to stay and watch, but I did not wish to offend your father by not paying respect to him before the banquet.”
Helen broke off another section of the orange and offered it to him. “If I answer your question, will you tell me your age?”
He accepted the fruit and pretended to consider while he ate it. “Perhaps if it is a very good answer, I might be persuaded to give up my own.”
“What would make it a good answer?” she asked, smiling.
“If I had intended to make it easy, Princess, I would have told you already.”
She reached out, uncoiling the orange peel, her lips pressed together. When she looked up at him again, she was not smiling, but there was a surprising new warmth in her expression. It was more than just gratitude, this time, as if he had passed some sort of test.
“Of all the men who climbed the dais, none showed the courtesy and kindness that you did, to me or to my sister.” She wound the peel back together again before meeting his eyes once more with a look that made his heart soar. “I will not forget it.”
He swallowed the words he could not say and struggled to keep his tone light. “That is a very fine answer, but I wonder if you will be as pleased to know mine.”
“Surely the great Hero of Attica does not fear a young woman’s opinion?”
“You are not just any young woman, Princess. If I were afraid, it might be justified.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward her, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I confess to having seen forty-eight summers.”
“Impossible!” She clapped her hand over her mouth the moment the word escaped, her eyes wide, though he was not certain if it was because she shouted, or because of his age.
He laughed. “The truth, I swear it by my father, Poseidon. Does it disturb you?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, studying him more closely; then she shook her head. “I can hardly believe it’s possible. The gods must love you.”
Theseus forced himself to smile. Beyond Helen, Clytemnestra had turned her attention to Menelaus, who looked as if he had tasted something bitter. The younger son of Atreus looked away, smiling at Helen’s sister the moment he realized Theseus’s attention. Just a heartbeat too late.
“Somehow I do not think your sister would have responded to my confession with quite so much grace.”
Helen glanced down the table at Clytemnestra just as Menelaus stole a look in her direction. Helen’s face flushed. Theseus ducked his head, trying to catch her eyes, but she would not look up.
“It was meant to be a compliment, Princess.”
Her smile was forced and distracted. “Forgive me, King Theseus. I think the wine has given me a h
eadache.”
“Of course.” He called for a servant. “You’ve had a long day.” A boy came forward with a jug, and he poured most of the wine from her cup into his own, refilling hers with water.
“Thank you.” She took the cup but glanced down the table again.
“Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the evening? A good night’s sleep might help.”
Helen went white around the eyes and shook her head. “No. Thank you. Perhaps just some fresh air.” She set the cup down and rose.
Theseus stood with her. “I’ll join you.”
She smiled at him. “You are very attentive, King Theseus, but I won’t be gone long. Stay.”
He didn’t like it. Much as he would have enjoyed her company, his greater concern was the crowd of men deep in their cups with too few women to sate their appetites. Helen’s presence was temptation enough, but if she were alone in the dark—opportunity had been encouragement enough for worse than rape. Still, this was her home, her father’s palace. Imposing himself upon her would not do him any favors.
She squeezed his hand, and when she left, he did not follow. But he caught Pirithous’s eye, where he sat at a lower table, and lifted his chin. Pirithous followed his gaze to Helen as she skirted the tables toward the main doors, thrown open to admit the cool night air and keep the smell of wine and sweat from overcoming the lavender tossed periodically into the hearth fire.
Theseus retook his seat, his gaze traveling over the other men in the megaron. A few had watched Helen as she passed, but now that she was gone, they had returned to their wine.
All but Menelaus. The son of Atreus had followed Helen.
CHAPTER FIVE
Menelaus had stared at me throughout the banquet, his expression growing darker with every word I exchanged with the king of Athens. But Tyndareus had not promised me to Menelaus yet, even if he had not discouraged his hopes, either. I was not Menelaus’s to own, Menelaus’s to guard. I could not stand to sit beneath his glare any longer.
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