Helen of Sparta

by Amalia Carosella

  The cool night air made it easier to breathe. I had not realized how stifling it was inside the megaron, with so many men at the banquet. So many men, and yet the one we hoped for had not come. The stranger, the prince who would steal me, had not shown himself. But if he was not Achaean, if he was some foreigner, why should he? He might not yet even know that I lived. It was folly to think that just because I was known in Achaea, the rest of the world knew of me, too. Or worse, perhaps it was the rumors spread by this very celebration that would bring him here later. Tyndareus and Pollux had refused to even consider it.

  The torches in the courtyard had guttered for the most part, and the servants had been too busy pouring wine and refilling platters to replace them. The columns of the entry loomed over me, drained of color by the moonlight and casting deep shadows over the walkway. I followed the wall far enough that I would not be tripped over by drunk men stumbling about and took shelter in the darkness, sliding down the wall and wrapping my arms around my knees. The chill of the stone beneath me raised gooseflesh on my skin, but I didn’t care. I needed to breathe and think and settle for myself what I must do now that Tyndareus’s plan had failed.

  It had been a year in the making, spreading rumor of my beauty to the far corners of Achaea before inviting the men of every city to this celebration, and the stranger had not come. For me, his absence brought relief more than anything. I did not want to even allow this strange prince to see me. I did not want him ever to come this far. I did not want to follow the path the dreams had laid at my feet any more closely than I must.

  But Theseus, king of Athens, Hero of Attica, had not appeared in them at all . . .

  “Helen?”

  I sighed. Of course Menelaus had followed me. I should have expected as much.

  Pottery clattered against stone, and Menelaus’s low curse followed, then my name again, with less patience.

  “Here,” I called.

  It would be better than having him trip over me in the dark. I saw a flash of moonlight on gold and caught his arm before he stepped on me. He sank down, his back against the wall, and held my hand in his.

  I stared at the shape of our hands together in the dark. “You should go back to the banquet.”

  His thumb caressed the back of my knuckles. In the last year, since learning of my dreams, Tyndareus had allowed him too many liberties. Perhaps I had as well. I pulled my hand free from his, and tucked it away where he could not take it.

  “And leave you to be stolen away?” he asked.

  “I won’t be stolen. Not tonight.” Our shoulders touched, the heat of his body seeping into mine. If we had been younger, I would have nestled myself against him and wrapped myself in his warmth. But we weren’t young anymore, and it would have been cruel to encourage him. “Tyndareus doesn’t want us to be seen together.”

  He put his arm around me, and when he spoke, I felt his breath against my ear. “We won’t be seen.”

  I shivered and pushed him away. “Stop, Menelaus. If anyone saw us, it would ruin everything.”

  He laughed, pulling me closer. “You’re going to be my wife, Helen. It hardly matters.”

  “You don’t know that.” I slid out from beneath his arm, my body cold where it no longer touched his. “Tyndareus might still promise me to someone else. And better for everyone if he does.”

  “You cannot mean that.” All the humor had left his voice, and I was glad I could not see his face clearly. “You can’t really want to be married to some fool who only sees your beauty and your kingdom, who cannot appreciate you for the sharpness of your mind, or the kindness of your heart. You think that Athenian will treat you as anything more than his whore?”

  “Better that than see your friendship turned into hate. Better that than to let the world burn!”

  I stood, intending to return to the feast, but he rose and caught my arm.

  “I love you, Helen.”

  I tried to pull myself free, but he tightened his grip, jerking me back. The force of it startled me, and I stumbled into his chest before regaining my balance.

  “I would kill a thousand men, burn a hundred cities to have you!”

  “Do you think that’s what I want? Wars and death, bodies and ash?” I shoved him, forcing him back a step. “Maybe a son of Atreus can live with all that blood on his hands, cursed as you are, but I can’t! You understood that once. Before you went to war with Agamemnon.”

  “The curse.” He flinched, turning his face away, his jaw working. “What could you possibly know of that? Of any of it! This has nothing to do with my family. Nothing to do with my brother, at all. I’ve made sure of that much.”

  “It has everything to do with him.” I was shouting, but I didn’t care. “Do you know what your brother will do to me, if this future comes to pass?” I didn’t wait for him to answer, but he had stepped back again, releasing me. “Agamemnon will rape me on corpses in the palace while the city burns!”

  Menelaus grabbed me by the shoulders, almost throwing me into the wall. His face was so close to mine, I smelled the wine on his breath, felt the sour heat of it against my cheek.

  “Do you spread these lies to your father, too? Do you think it will stop him from making you my wife? After everything I have done to help you, to protect you? The promises I made!” He shook me, and my heart pounded in my chest. His body pressed against mine. “Do you think this was what I wanted? Bad enough that I must bend my knee to my brother, but now you would give him reason to mock me with your refusals, and for what? A child’s fear of a passing nightmare?”

  I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.

  “You don’t believe me,” I rasped. “After everything. You don’t even believe me!”

  “My brother will never touch you,” he snarled, his fingers digging into my arms and bruising my skin. “He swore you would be mine when I went to war with him, and he will not break that vow.”

  “When you went to war?” I could barely hear anything over the roar of blood in my ears, and I clawed at his fingers on my arm. “What has that to do with me?”

  His hands gentled at once, as if he had only then realized what he had done. He raised his hand to my face and stroked my cheek.

  “Helen.” It was more a sigh than anything, and he dropped his forehead to mine, our noses brushing. “Don’t you see? I have done everything for you. To protect you. To keep you.”

  His mouth hovered over mine, sharing my breath, and I felt his body growing harder against me. He pressed closer and my heart raced, even as my body stilled and my stomach lurched. He could claim me, now, and I would not be able to stop him. If I screamed for help, there would be no hiding my shame. And Tyndareus would have no choice but to marry us.

  His lips brushed against mine, hesitant, and then fierce, forcing my mouth to open. I heard myself sob.

  There was a crash of clay, and Menelaus jerked back. I turned my face away, biting my lip and holding my breath to keep from crying out with relief. A man laughed and began to sing. Menelaus let me go, slipping into the shadows.

  I ran back to the entrance, eager to step into the light that spilled through the open doors. In the light, he could not kiss me or press me back against the building. In the light, he could not bruise me and shake me in rage.

  I wiped my face and raised my chin, forcing a smile to my lips. I walked back into the megaron, the tang of men and rich aroma of the food almost overwhelming me after the crisp air outside. But when Theseus rose to meet me, I knew at once that I was safe.

  I waited, hoping Menelaus would return to the banquet, so I might go back to my room without fear of meeting him on the way. Many of the men in the balcony had left, or been herded out by Tyndareus’s guards, but the megaron was still more full than empty. Most of the nobles would find beds on the tile and plaster floor, outside on the porch, or within the courtyard, though the most honored
had been given rooms of their own.

  Castor and Pollux had been forced to give up their beds for guests, according to their grumbles, and would be sleeping in the stables with the horses. It was one of the few benefits of being a woman in the palace; Tyndareus would never put warriors in the women’s quarters, and our rooms would always be our own no matter how many men descended upon Sparta. At least until marriage.

  “You’re falling asleep, Princess,” Theseus murmured.

  He shifted slightly, and I realized I had been leaning against his shoulder. The table had been cleared of everything but figs and honeyed nuts. Oil lamps glowed softly beside the platters, lighting the hall without the smoke of torches. As long as the kraters were still full of wine, a good portion of Tyndareus’s guests would stay up to drink it.

  “No,” I lied, sitting up. “I’m fine.”

  “My lady, I would not be offended if you went to your bed.” His lips twitched, forming something between a smile and a frown. “Let me call your brother to escort you.”

  I hid a yawn behind my hand and glanced down the table, but Menelaus hadn’t returned. The last thing I wanted was to meet him in the corridors on the way to my room.

  “Too much wine, perhaps.”

  “Wine does not account for the circles beneath your eyes.” He tilted my face up with a gentle finger beneath my chin. “You hide it well, you know. But I wonder what could keep a princess from sleeping at night.”

  I flushed. “I appreciate your concern, my lord. You’re very kind.”

  “But not kind enough to have earned your confidence.”

  “Kind enough to have earned my respect,” I said. Never before had I spent an evening in the company of a man who only looked on me with consideration and not lust. “More than any other has done in one day.”

  He laughed, waving for Pollux. “You are more generous than I deserve, Helen.”

  It was the first time he had used my name so informally, and I searched his face. His eyes were like the sea, sunlight glinting off water. Fitting in the face of a man who called himself Poseidon’s son.

  “Little sister.” Pollux joined us. “It seemed almost as though you had forgotten the rest of us existed.”

  “I apologize for keeping her to myself.” Theseus turned his smile on my brother. “But I wonder if you would do me the favor of helping your sister to her room. There are too many men who have had too much to drink for her to wander the palace alone.”

  Pollux arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth so slightly that I doubted Theseus would notice. He bowed. “I appreciate your caution, King Theseus, and your attentions to my sister.”

  I took Pollux’s hand when he offered it, and rose from the table. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Theseus stood and bowed. “Please, Princess. We are equals. Call me Theseus.”

  “Thank you, Theseus.” I met his eyes again when he straightened, and for just a moment, I heard the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Too much wine, almost certainly, and exhaustion, playing tricks on my senses.

  Pollux pulled me gently away, and I stilled the desire to look back.

  “You must have impressed him,” Pollux murmured as we passed through the side door and into the hallway.

  In the semidarkness, the painted oak trees seemed to grow faces to stare at us. The owls in the branches came alive, golden eyes glinting.

  “If you’re not careful, you’ll have another admirer. Menelaus won’t like competing with the king of Athens.”

  I pulled my hand free from his and glared. “And what about what I like, Pollux? Or do you think I should not try to prevent my future as well?”

  “You know that isn’t what I meant.” He frowned, slowing his pace and pulling me with him. “What’s the matter with you, Helen?”

  “I don’t need to be reminded of Menelaus’s feelings.” I pressed my fingers to my lips. There had been so much hunger in Menelaus’s kiss.

  “He did follow you, then. I thought he had, but when he didn’t come back, I just assumed he’d taken one of the servants to bed.”

  I stopped dead in the hallway and stared at my brother. “What?”

  Pollux laughed. “Please, Helen, even you can’t be so naive. How else do you think he can stand it, spending so much time in your company?”

  The fact that it shouldn’t have surprised me did not make me feel any better. My face burned, and my stomach twisted into knots. I should have known. Pollux had not kept his own trysts any kind of secret, and that Menelaus would find relief elsewhere made just as much sense.

  “You really didn’t know?” Pollux’s voice had softened. The concern in his expression made me feel even more foolish. “You shouldn’t let it upset you, little sister. The women he beds complain that he calls your name in his release.”

  “Am I so great a burden, Pollux? Is loving me so difficult a thing?”

  He laughed again. “Don’t be ridiculous. Any man who marries you will count himself the most fortunate in all the world. It would be worth any difficulty, I’m sure.”

  We went the rest of the way to the women’s quarters in silence, for I could not bring myself to speak further. I should have been relieved Menelaus had found other lovers. I should have felt secure and safe knowing he would not come looking for release in my bed. But the idea that he could not stand to be near me, that my very presence drove him to use other women as whores, made me feel sicker than before.

  “Theseus would make a good match for you,” Pollux said before pulling the curtain back. He smiled when I looked up at him, surprised by his words. “If you married him, there would be no dishonor in it.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Good night, little sister.”

  I watched him go from the other side of the curtain before I climbed the stairs to return to my room. Sometimes I forgot how well Pollux knew me.

  My maid, Clymene, rose with me at dawn and helped me dress. She slept on a pallet in the corner, behind a curtain, where she might be woken by my cries and wake me from my nightmares if need be. I no longer shared a room with my sister. It had been one of the first changes Tyndareus had made when he had learned the truth of my dreams, and Nestra had gotten her wish; her bedroom looked out over the practice field. Of course, now she complained it did her little good since Agamemnon rarely came to Sparta, and when he did, he did not bother to spar with the other men.

  Clymene laid out my gown on the chest at the foot of my bed, and arrayed rings, cuffs, and jeweled combs for my hair on the table. I took the low stool beside it and, as was my usual habit, began studying the weaving on my loom in the early-morning sun.

  So often, I worked only by lamplight, too restless to sleep, or too disturbed by my nightmares, but my loom leaned against the wall with the best light from the window. In daylight, I could see where I had chosen the wrong color, or if the weft threads were not tight enough in the warp.

  This morning my eyes seemed to cross, and I sighed.

  “Would you like mint leaves, my lady?” Clymene asked when she finished combing my hair. “You hardly slept.”

  “Yes.” I rose and went to the window, sitting down on the bench beneath it and hoping the streaming sunlight would counter my exhaustion. “I don’t want to yawn my way through the sacrifice this morning.”

  Few were awake aside from the servants, who were moving in and out of the kitchens, where they were baking bread and preparing the morning meal. Though I had expected to see the courtyard filled with sleeping bodies, there were none to be found. Two immense amphorae dried in the grass, emptied of their wine and tipped upside down. I would not have been surprised to see far more than that. Leda must have ordered it cut thin with water for the lower tables, unwilling to waste good wine on men of little consequence. Perhaps she had also made them pitch tents in the practice field rather than allowing them to sleep in the court
yard after the porch and megaron had been filled. Or perhaps Tyndareus had not wanted them to hear my screams in the night.

  Tyndareus left the megaron, scratching his jaw. He stared at the lightening sky as if it surprised him, and I wondered if he had even left the banquet at all. He went straight to the storerooms, no doubt to be sure of our foodstuffs and guest-gifts, though that was Leda’s duty. There would not be time for him to sleep before the morning’s sacrifice.

  Clymene brought ornaments for my hair and worked them into the braids as I sat. There was no point in wasting the effects of the mint before I needed it, and by now she knew to fetch it last. My eyelids drooped, lulled by the gentle tugs on my hair.

  “You should be honored that so many men have come to see you, my lady,” Clymene said. “The gifts from King Theseus of Athens alone are enough to keep you in gowns and jewels for the rest of your life.”

  “Oh?” I hadn’t been aware of any further gifts from Theseus, beyond the food and wine he had brought me on the dais.

  There had been gifts of gold from others, tripods and platters, cups and bowls, even jewelry, but nothing terribly valuable as anything outside of guest-gifts. No one actually used golden tripods or cauldrons, after all, except to regift them later, as proof that one could afford to keep such things as luxuries. For everyday use, gold was far too soft to be practical beyond a cup here or there, and as far as metals went, iron, copper, and tin—for bronze—were by far the most valuable and would be made into weapons and armor. Tyndareus lamented constantly that he could not find a man who knew how to work iron for Sparta, for the knowledge was rarer than the metal, and he feared that without it, we would be disadvantaged in any war.

  “A chest each of gold, silver, and copper,” Clymene said. “And at least a dozen bolts of fine linens and wool, plus the animals for the sacrifice this morning.”

  “So much.”

  Theseus had practically gifted me a dowry. And he thought I was too generous? A man did not give gifts of such wealth to a whore, no matter what Menelaus said. Perhaps a bracelet here, or a necklace there, but nothing so grand as bolts upon bolts of cloth and chests of metals.