“What else have you heard of the king of Athens?” I asked.
“His servants think he is a very fine master, and a better king. Athens has known great prosperity beneath his rule. Perhaps that is why he brought you such gifts.”
“To prove his worth as a king to my father.”
If he married me, he would bring the same peace and prosperity to Sparta. But I did not see how he could rule Sparta and Athens. The distance was too great between them. Still, it would serve me better to be away from here. If I were in Athens, the prince would not find me when he arrived in Sparta. And even if he did, Theseus was a hero and much wiser than Menelaus.
“King Pirithous of the Lapiths joined his party. The servants say he spends much of his time in the kitchens, gossiping. I’ve never heard of a king behaving in such a way, even if he is a son of Zeus.”
“King Pirithous must be a good friend of Theseus, to be his travel companion.” I did not remember meeting Pirithous, but there had been another tall man at the feast, head and shoulders above everyone but Ajax the Great, son of Telamon. Men did not claim to be children of gods unless they had the height to prove their words.
A man ducked out a side door from the servants’ quarters. His red hair would have marked him, even if the line of his shoulders hadn’t. I had spent more time than I cared to consider watching those shoulders on the practice field before and after Mycenae had been won. It had been time foolishly spent, and no doubt half the reason he felt so confident in his pursuit of my hand.
Menelaus went into the kitchen before reappearing again with bread in his hands. He glanced up at my window, and I was a moment too late in jerking back. I had not meant for him to see me. I didn’t want to see him after what Pollux had told me last night.
“The mint leaves, please, Clymene?”
She nodded and left. I kept a window box of the herb in one of the empty rooms for mornings like these. They happened far too often.
“Helen?”
I swore under my breath and leaned out the window, searching the courtyard for anyone who might see or hear, but it had emptied even of the slaves. Menelaus stood beneath me, only an arm’s length from the wall, eyeing it as if he might climb up. He stepped back when he saw me. I did not smile or offer him any greeting.
“Good morning, Princess.” He bowed with a formality that seemed absurd. “Did you sleep well?”
“No,” I said. He could hardly have expected otherwise.
I couldn’t help but glance toward the slaves’ quarters from which he had come. My window faced them directly, a long wing across from the family’s own. The megaron, with the majority of our storerooms, linked the two sides of the palace on one end of the courtyard opposite the wide-porched entrance, which completed the enclosure. A dark-haired girl had just emerged, her cheeks flushed and her face glowing. I may have been a maiden, but I knew the signs of a woman who had been well loved. Would he have done as much to me, if we had not been interrupted? The memory of his imposition made my own cheeks burn.
“Helen.” The formality was gone, and he stepped closer to the wall again, lowering his voice so that I could barely hear. “Forgive me.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. It had been unforgivable. “You fly into a rage when another man treats me with kindness during a banquet, but I’m expected to overlook other women in your bed?”
His face turned red. “And who told you that?”
“Does it matter?” I asked. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? Because you cannot bear to be near me otherwise. Give me up, if I am so troublesome. It’s all I’ve ever asked of you.”
“You are mine, Helen.” His jaw locked, and his eyes flashed with fury. “You are meant to be mine.”
My own temper rose, and it took all my strength to keep from shouting. “I am a princess of Sparta and a daughter of Zeus. I belong to Sparta, not to you! And if you do not care for Sparta’s future, I will never allow you to rule as its king. I will never be yours.”
I jerked my head back from the window and threw myself on my bed. Menelaus called my name, but I buried my head beneath the cushions and blankets so I could not hear him. I would not answer. I would not come to his call like a dog trained to heel.
And I would never, ever, be his bride.
CHAPTER SIX
Well.” Pirithous leaned back on the cushions that made up his seat beside the low table in Theseus’s rooms. Somehow he’d diverted an entire haunch of mutton from the feast the previous night, as well as bread, grapes, and a soft goat cheese. “If Tyndareus has not settled on Menelaus as a husband for Helen, he had better put a guard on her or he will be left with little choice in the matter before long.”
Theseus forced his jaw to relax and laid his hand flat against his thigh so that he would not be tempted to throw his cup across the room. The space he had been given was generous, two bedrooms and a receiving room, the walls painted with galloping horses on green fields and fish-tailed hippocamps, leaping over ocean waves on one side, and soaring eagles and griffons in a storm-dark sky on the other. By the grumbles of Helen’s brothers, these were Pollux and Castor’s own rooms, and Theseus thought it would be poor repayment to return them damaged because he had been too irritated to remember his strength.
“It’s a relief to know I wasn’t imagining the man glaring daggers into my back. He followed Helen, then?”
He did not bother to ask where Pirithous had taken himself the night before, after Helen had returned to the feast. Nor did he ask when his friend had finally found his own bed, if at all. Morning had come too early, but the sacrifice today was not one Theseus could miss; the victims were his own bulls.
“He was not pleased about your attentions to her. The man is half-mad with jealousy.” Pirithous shook his head, reaching for a loaf of bread. When he broke it, the inside steamed. Theseus prayed that whichever poor kitchen slave Pirithous was cultivating, he would have the good sense not to plant her with his seed. “I only hope that he was drunk, for I cannot excuse his behavior in any other way.”
“What exactly did he do?”
“They argued. Something about nightmares she’s been having and Agamemnon threatening her. Menelaus insists he’ll marry her, regardless of any cost, but it seems that Helen is reluctant to accept his terms.”
Pirithous picked at a stem of grapes and spit the seeds into his palm as he ate them. He seemed much too focused on the food, and Theseus was certain there was something more he did not say.
“I suppose it will depend on how much weight Tyndareus gives to her feelings on the matter, but if it were up to her, she would not wed him at all. That much was quite clear.”
A weight lifted from his chest, and Theseus grinned. “She does not want him.”
Pirithous’s smile disappeared and he leaned forward, brushing the grape seeds onto his plate. “My friend, I would not do this. To yourself or to her. Ariadne, Antiope, Phaedra. You loved them all, and the gods turned them to poison. You’ve already lost one son because of love. What if the gods take your kingdom this time? Helen spoke of seeing a war coming. You risk Athens, in this.”
“It’s too late, Pirithous.” He felt as though he had freed Atlas and shouldered the world himself with the words. It was not even her beauty that captivated him, either, so much as her concern for her people, and the way she fished for wisdom rather than compliments. “If there is any hope she might love me, I cannot turn from her now.”
“It has only been one day, Theseus. You barely know her.”
“Proof, then, that it is the will of the gods. Aphrodite and Eros, involving themselves.” He did not like to admit he did not have control, but he did not see how he could explain his feelings in any other way. “Tell me if there is hope. You can see more clearly in this than I.”
Pirithous sighed, leaning back again. His reluctance to speak was an answer itself, but Theseu
s needed to hear the truth.
It had been Pirithous who had believed coming to Sparta would be the answer to his troubles; Zeus would surely protect his daughter from the meddling of the other gods and goddesses. And Theseus had risked war before, when he took Antiope as his bride. War had not been the problem for Athens, then. The Rock would never fall. It had been the gods—the goddess of maidens and Amazons, Artemis, to whom Antiope had broken her vow—who had doomed them. No, it was not war he feared. Not at all. But Helen was a daughter of Zeus, the only daughter Zeus had ever sired with a mortal woman. Surely that must mean something.
“It is hard to say after only one day, Theseus,” Pirithous said at last. “Whether or not she could love you, only the gods can know so soon.”
“Then I will pray for a sign.”
Pirithous laughed, but it was sharp and humorless. “Of course you will. For all the good it will do.” He pushed the rest of his food away and rose. “I suppose that I should dress and make an appearance at this dedication to show our allegiance.”
Theseus smiled, breaking off a large piece of the bread. “It has only been one sleepless night, Pirithous. Surely you cannot be tiring so soon.”
Every potential suitor seemed to have arrived to see the sacrifice made to Zeus. No doubt they hoped the god would send some sign in blood of who might be favored as Helen’s future husband.
Or else they had hoped she would dress in the Cretan style, with her breasts bared for the ritual. Theseus had been relieved to see she had chosen otherwise, but the red gown she wore was still stunning. The bodice was a brilliant poppy shade, with the tiered skirt fading into deep purple at her feet. A practical choice when dealing with animal sacrifice or any amount of blood.
Theseus frowned. Perhaps he should have spoken to Tyndareus the previous evening and made his intentions known. Theseus still wasn’t sure he should be intent upon anything, but he could not seem to stop himself. Helen was charming and brilliant, and she did not look at him as though he were anything more than a man. She did not fear him, or simper, or offer him any undue honors simply because his father was Poseidon. The last woman who had treated him in such a way had been Antiope.
But Helen was no Amazon. Unlike Antiope, Helen would be capable of returning his love fully as an equal, without the disdain of years spent among a people who would rather spear a man than marry him. If she wanted him. If she loved him at all.
Aphrodite, I beg you. Smile on me, now. Let her return my love.
From where he stood, Theseus could see Helen’s hand shake as she held the knife to the bull’s throat. Tyndareus noticed, too, and his hand covered hers, steadying the blade. Helen’s brothers stood beside her, ready to offer two more victims to Zeus. The priests droned on as they scattered the barley, taking advantage of such an audience to remind those gathered of their duties to the gods.
Theseus did not listen to the words of the priests, but he said his own prayer to Zeus, his uncle. Give me your blessing, Zeus. Let Helen be mine, if you will it. You will find no man more capable of guarding your daughter, no man more fitting to be her husband.
Helen, with Tyndareus, made the cut across the animal’s throat, and blood poured out, steaming in the morning air. The priests pressed golden bowls to the skin to collect it.
Someone touched his elbow, and he glanced down to see a woman near Helen’s age. He had seen her in the palace. She was one of Tyndareus’s servants, almost certainly. She gestured him closer, and he ducked his head that she might speak without disturbing the others around them.
“My lady Helen wishes to speak with you, my lord.”
He grew still as stone, and his gaze leapt to Helen at the altar. She watched him closely as her maid went on.
“In private, if it might be arranged without drawing attention. She trusts you will not betray her confidence in this matter.”
The woman released his arm and he straightened. Helen met his eyes and inclined her head as if confirming her maid’s words. The motion was so slight and smooth, the gold and silver ornaments in her hair did not even chime.
Is this your sign, Zeus? Or is it only Helen’s?
It didn’t matter. He could not deny her either as hero or man.
Theseus nodded.
Helen’s posture relaxed almost at once, and she turned her gaze back to the priests as they spoke the final words of the ritual, carving the thighbones and fat from the carcass to burn for the gods.
Theseus glanced down at the maid, but she had disappeared. Pirithous arched an eyebrow, following the girl’s movement as she slipped back through the crowd. Of course Pirithous would have made it his business to overhear.
Tyndareus led Helen away from the altar. A few men stepped forward to make their own offerings, but most followed after the princess, and Theseus joined them.
She dropped back as the procession became more of a mob, hemmed in only by the thickening oak saplings on either side of the path. Adult oaks bared chestnut trunks where the cork bark had been harvested, but not yet regrown, and sword lilies bloomed in the pinks and oranges of a sunset around the shrine, more poppies scattered among them like drops of blood.
Helen walked with Pollux, and Theseus smiled to see the men around them kept a respectful distance, though it meant they bumped elbows with one another. When Theseus managed to reach them, that distance increased even further. Pollux excused himself almost immediately, grinning at Theseus, and Helen frowned as she watched her brother go.
“I hope it isn’t my presence that causes your displeasure, Princess.”
“No, not at all.” She smiled. “I did want to thank you for your generosity. My maid tells me that the gold and silver in my hair come from your gifts, in addition to the bulls.”
“A daughter of Zeus deserves more than I have to give. You look lovely.”
Her face flushed, and she ducked her head, causing the decorations to ring against one another. “I’m afraid it won’t last, my lord. The ornaments are beautiful to look at, but heavy to wear.”
“Yes, I would imagine so.” He lifted one of the delicately wrought discs from her hair and shook his head. “I admit that when I gifted them to you, I had not intended for you to wear them all at once.”
“In your honor, King Theseus.” She bowed her head, and the silver and gold chimed again. She grimaced at the noise. “And I hope you appreciate my sacrifice,” she teased. “I’ll have a headache before I reach my room.”
“I may have something to cure that ill since it seems I am responsible for giving it to you. Should I have my physician sent to you?”
She glanced up at him sidelong, and he smiled. If Menelaus had not been glaring at them, he might have been tempted to ask her what she wished to speak with him about. But if she wanted privacy, better that he play along with her ruse.
“I don’t think my father would permit him in the women’s quarters.”
“Then perhaps you could come to him,” Theseus suggested, pretending innocence. The excuse should hide a short meeting without trouble. “Surely your father cannot object to that.”
Helen raised her eyebrows with all appearance of curiosity, and he had to struggle not to laugh. “Has your physician made great strides for the treatment of headaches in Attica?”
“Quite so.” He hoped no one was studying him too closely, or they would see the amusement in his eyes, even if he kept it from his lips. “In fact, he has invented a powder of his own that, when mixed with water or wine, can cure any ache. A very closely kept secret. I’m afraid he would not be willing to share even a sample of the medicine with your father’s physician, for fear of the mixture being deduced. If you are to be well enough to take part in today’s festivities, you must allow him to treat you.”
“You are too generous, King Theseus. I will have my maid bring me to his rooms as soon as I have removed the ornaments from my hair.”
&
nbsp; “I imagine it will take you some time to free yourself, or does your maid make quick work of such a chore?”
Helen started to shake her head, then stopped when the metals sounded. She pressed her lips together as if to keep herself from a curse before forcing a sheepish smile.
“I’ll see him before the meal is set on the table,” she said. “Would you ask him to wait for me?”
“Of course.” He did smile then, hoping to reassure her. But Menelaus watched them both like an eagle about to strike; she would have a difficult time getting away from the man. “I’ll see that everything is arranged. If for some reason you cannot come, send your maid.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She squeezed his arm, looking up into his face. Her eyes were the green of spring grasses and myrtle leaves. Last night, he would have sworn they matched the turquoise of the sea.
“Theseus!”
He jerked at the call, tearing his eyes from hers and excusing himself. Athena, help me. I must keep my wits. He thanked the gods it was only Pirithous who had noticed. Theseus joined him.
“Do you want Menelaus to have you killed in your sleep, Theseus?” he hissed.
“He wouldn’t dare.”
Pirithous gave him a dark look that suggested otherwise. “All the same, you would do well to keep your admiration to yourself until you speak to her father. I don’t understand how you ever got on without me. Even with Antiope you did not behave so foolishly.”
“Antiope would have sneered if I had.” He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but it did not help. All he could think of was Helen, and he searched for her again in the crowd.
Menelaus had gone to Helen’s side, leaning down to whisper against her ear. Helen stiffened and pulled away. She raised her chin, her voice sharp even at a distance, though Theseus could not make out the words. Helen walked quickly away, joining Castor and Pollux instead.
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