Helen of Sparta

by Amalia Carosella

  “What would you ask?” I said. I was already trembling, remembering Menelaus, his breath in my ear, the sour smell of his sweat, and the weight of his body on mine.

  “A kiss, my lady, and I will keep your secret even from the gods themselves.”

  I turned my face away, blinking the tears back from my eyes. This was how it had begun. Love of my beauty, desire for my body. And it—I—had driven Menelaus into madness. But Paris was only a boy.

  “You need not do this,” Theseus said to me, his voice low. I heard my own pain echoed in his words. He would have spared me this, if I had gone to Ariston instead of following. “You need not give him anything. If you would not have him killed, I will cut out his tongue to finish it.”

  I shook my head. A kiss was a small thing to give, to spare his life and keep the fate I feared from coming. I had given much more to Menelaus, promised myself whole and consenting to Theseus, though he had honored me by refusing, and at least this boy had asked first, instead of taking.

  “I will pay his price.”

  Theseus said nothing, but the boy stumbled free of his grasp. Paris grinned as if he could not believe his good fortune. I could not look at Theseus, for fear he would see how much it cost me, and perhaps out of fear I would see how much it cost him.

  Paris stood a finger’s width taller than me, and now that he had his prize, he did not seem to know how to claim it. I took a breath to steady myself and stepped forward to meet him. Rising to my toes, I pressed a kiss to his closed lips, the softness of them sending a trickle of dread through my heart.

  I left them both without another word, walking back the way I had come, and wishing I had never followed Theseus to begin with.

  We arrived at Piraeus, Athens’s port, four days later, before dusk. The return from Troy had been swift and uneventful, without storm or mist to slow us. The gods had exacted their punishment, it seemed. Theseus had lost one man in Troy, when the men had tried to steal livestock from one of the shepherds. A boy had fought them back, protecting the cattle long enough for more men to arrive, and dealing a lethal blow to one of our oarsmen. When Pallans told the story and named the boy as Paris in my hearing, my stomach heaved up what was left of my midday meal. Ariston had been forced to cover the sounds with a false coughing fit, and Theseus feigned exhaustion to sit with me inside the small shelter until I cried myself to sleep. It had been a hard journey for both of us.

  From the tent, I heard the shouts of his people, cheering his return home. Theseus grinned at me like a boy before leaving the tent. The shouts and cheers became a roar. But what would they think if they knew Theseus had stolen himself a new bride? He was not a young man anymore, to be forgiven for his impulsive acts or ruled by lust, and Athens had not had a queen for a very long time.

  Theseus left me behind with Ariston after seeing the rest of his men to shore. I paced in the tent as night fell, and Ariston poured me wine.

  I sat down, staring at the cup in my hands. “How much longer?”

  “Not long,” he assured me. “On horse it is not even half a morning’s ride to the palace and back.”

  “Do you suppose he went on horseback?”

  Ariston smiled. “My lady, the king would never be left to travel on foot. If he requires a horse, it will be found for him. Is this not so in Sparta?”

  I shook my head. “Tyndareus would never ride on horseback. It is beneath his dignity. He would wait for his chariot to be driven to the coast to meet him.”

  “King Theseus does not stand on ceremony in his own city, nor do the people expect it of him,” Ariston said. “It helps that he has not aged. Sometimes we forget how old he really is, though most do not remember well a time before he ruled.”

  “It’s so odd.” Perhaps he’d keep his youth long enough that we might age together. But as a daughter of Zeus I might be gifted similarly. After all, Pirithous was a son of Zeus, and he looked no older than Theseus, though he could not have been younger.

  Ariston shrugged. “He is a son of Poseidon. Why should he age like a mortal when he isn’t one?”

  Movement on the deck stopped my reply, and Ariston rose. He drew a small wicked knife from his belt and looked out, but the tension in his shoulders eased almost at once. Theseus ducked into the tent, a dark cloak over his arm and a small clay pot no larger than a fist in his other hand.

  I let out a breath and he smiled. “Did you think I wouldn’t return?”

  “I knew that you would, but the waiting was an agony. If I never see the inside of a tent again, it will be too soon.”

  He helped me to my feet and wrapped the cloak around my shoulders, settling the heavy wool to cover me from head to toe. With his arms free, he produced a stick of kohl from the pot in his hands.

  “To hide the beauty of your face in darkness,” he said.

  I grimaced, but when he placed a finger beneath my chin to raise my face, I did not argue. Smudged kohl was really the least of it. I would have colored myself blue if it would have protected Athens.

  When he finished painting my face, he pulled the hood of the cloak up over my hair, tucking the stray strands behind my ear with black-stained fingers.

  Theseus stepped back to inspect me. “How is that, Ariston?”

  “She is unrecognizable, my lord.”

  Theseus nodded, glancing over my costume once more. “It will have to do, but I pray to Athena and Hermes we are not seen at all, or questions will be asked as to why a filth-covered servant rode before me on my horse.”

  “Just say I am a slave girl come from Egypt, and you meant for me to save my energy for your bed.”

  Theseus raised both eyebrows, his lips twitching. It seemed his good humor had returned with the sight of Athens on the shore. “And what do you know of Egypt?”

  I smiled and dropped into the henu of the pharaoh’s court, which Alcyoneus had taught me, my forehead nearly touching the deck in the deep genuflection.

  “How may I serve you, my lord?” I asked in the Egyptian tongue.

  Theseus stared at me, eyes wide. “Helen, how—?”

  I rose from the bow. “I was always a good student, and Alcyoneus was a fine tutor.”

  “Perhaps she would do better as an ambassador to Egypt than your wife, my lord,” Ariston offered, a laugh in his voice.

  Theseus glowered at him. “And perhaps you would make a finer jester than a physician.”

  Ariston hid a smile with a bow. “As my king wishes, of course.”

  “Come,” Theseus said to me, ignoring Ariston’s false courtesy. I wondered if the physician had spent too much time with Pirithous, or if returning home had made him bold. “I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll have you to the palace before the moon begins to set, and my mother will have a bath already filled for you.”

  Horses waited for us, and Theseus waved Ariston to a brown gelding.

  “Go to your wife,” Theseus told him after we had mounted. “But do not whisper a word of Helen to anyone.”

  “Yes, my lord. My thanks.” Ariston saluted his king in the Cretan way, fist to forehead, and then rode away. Even in the moonlight, he disappeared quickly into the night.

  Theseus glanced down at me in his lap and adjusted the hood of my cloak, tucking my hair beneath it again. “An Egyptian slave? And what shall I call you to keep the secret of your name?”

  I ran my fingers through the horse’s mane, thinking. “Miriam?”

  “That isn’t very Egyptian.”

  “No,” I agreed. “It came from a Hebrew story Alcyoneus told me. He said there used to be thousands of them in Egypt, until their god told them to leave.”

  “Mmm.” Theseus kicked the horse into a trot. Piraeus slept as if Ariston had slipped the entire port one of his potions, but Theseus wasted no time passing through it. “What of Selene, since it seems you travel so much by moonlight?”

 
I smiled. “I suppose that will do just as well. And it is only proper that a slave be renamed something in her master’s tongue.”

  Theseus grimaced. “I do not wish to treat you as a slave, Helen.”

  “Selene,” I corrected him. The road from Piraeus to Athens was well worn, and as quiet as the port had been. Few people traveled after the sun set, and at this time of night, even fewer would be awake at all. “And you need not pretend I am a slave unless someone sees us. Though I do not know how you will keep me hidden in the palace from your servants. There are not two women in Achaea with hair like mine. Better if we dye it.”

  He sighed. “I had hoped to find another way.”

  “Confine me to your rooms, then.”

  “And how will I explain to the palace that the king no longer wishes to be served in his chambers?” He shook his head. “No. That would arouse nearly as much suspicion. Better to dye your hair and call you a slave until rumors of your abduction fade.”

  I bit my lip to keep from asking how many slaves he had kept in his bed. Some things were better left unsaid. “And will you wait that long to marry me?”

  “You’re determined, then, in spite of everything I’ve told you?”

  “I am.” I held my breath, waiting for him to refuse me after all the trouble I had caused him. One of his men had died because of me, and Aphrodite had nearly swept the rest of them into the sea. I would not have blamed him if he had changed his mind. My heart pounded in my ears.

  “If it is to be done, it will be done right, and that will take time. I must make offerings to the gods and see the priests and the augurs to determine the most auspicious day. I will do everything in my power to ensure our marriage is blessed by the gods, for I cannot bear to bring my misfortune to you. Can you wait at least that long?”

  Even knowing his words promised delay, I felt relief beyond measure. If this was what he needed to be easy about our marriage, then I could accept it, and gladly.

  “In the meantime, perhaps I had better dye my hair.”

  He laughed, brushing a golden strand back beneath my hood. “I suppose you’re determined about that, too.”

  I rested my head against his shoulder, wishing it were not so dark and I could see more than just pale shadows of the land that would be my new home. Knowing Theseus would marry me gave me more peace than I had realized I wanted.

  I smiled and said nothing, for Athens was before us, and in the moonlight it was too beautiful for words.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The palace rose up above the city, set atop a sheer cliff, walled in stone. Moonlight framed it from behind, casting long shadows over the houses and the path leading to the Rock. The buildings and homes, one and two stories tall, grew closer together as they neared the palace, until they sat on top of one another against the palace wall. Even from here, I could see parts of it were made of boulders rather than rocks, too immense to have been hauled by men.

  “It is a legend in Athens that the walls were built by the Cyclopes,” Theseus said in my ear, reining in the horse so I could look my fill. “But you would have seen something similar in Mycenae, I’m sure.”

  “No,” I said, not taking my eyes from the fortress on the Rock. A switchback road snaked up the hill, and what might have been torchlight winked from the gate above. “Menelaus promised me once he would bring me to Mycenae, but we never went. Is it much the same as this?”

  I felt Theseus’s shrug at my back, and the horse stamped with impatience beneath us. “The walls are made of the same tremendous stones. Tomorrow, I will show you all of Athens in the sunlight so you can see her beauty.”

  “It must rival the palaces in Egypt.”

  Theseus laughed. “How is it you have not even been to Mycenae but you know so much of the Egyptians?”

  I flushed beneath the kohl. “It is only that I have heard the pharaoh’s palace is very grand, and I can think of nothing grander than this.”

  Except perhaps for the burning city of my dreams, but I did not want to dwell on that, nor would I mention it to Theseus now and tarnish this moment.

  “You have not even seen inside,” he teased me. “But you are not wrong. It is a beautiful palace, and from the top you can see halfway to Troezen on a clear day.”

  He gave the horse its head, and we moved on. The outer wall grew larger, and the palace on its plateau loomed over us.

  “Athens has never truly fallen to any siege,” he told me while we rode, answering my questions before I could frame them. “The Rock will always stand, no matter what comes. Armies break beneath it like cresting waves, tripping over themselves as they fall. Ares may have strength and lust for battle, but Athena has the greatest mind for strategy and defense.”

  “Surely you do not depend on the goddess alone?”

  “Athena has never betrayed me. And when we have spoken, she has never misled me. I am king of Athens by her will more than my own.”

  “You speak of her as if she walks the streets.”

  He laughed. “Not the streets, perhaps, but the temples.” He fell silent for a moment. “She came to me in Sparta when I prayed for guidance.”

  He did not have to say what she had told him, and I knew we were both thinking of Zeus’s price. I felt I had paid him already with tears and terror inside the basket. But I wondered if it had truly been Athena who had spoken to Theseus or simply the priestess from the shrine. She was beautiful enough to be taken for a goddess, and I did not trust any message from Zeus not to be filled with lies.

  We passed through the outer wall without difficulty, for it stood unguarded. Knowing Theseus, I doubted it would remain so for much longer. He might not arm it with warriors, but he would keep watch for Mycenae’s march.

  The small whitewashed homes inside the walls were all dark, with even the dogs asleep on the doorsteps as we passed. Doors and lintels were painted with what would be bright colors in daylight, and some design I could not make out. Pens for animals adjoined the outer walls of the buildings, and goats and sheep and cows slept in their sheds.

  Theseus mumbled thanks to Athena under his breath when we reached the main gate of the palace; then he whistled softly. The massive wooden door groaned open, and it was too dark to see what had been painted upon it, but I would have guessed it was decorated with snakes and owls for their goddess.

  “Good lad,” Theseus said, and the horse trotted through into a dark courtyard.

  “Lad?”

  “My first son by Phaedra, Demophon, at the gate.”

  A boy no more than eleven appeared out of the shadows, taking the horse by the bridle and stroking its nose. Even so young, the child had broad shoulders and the look of height to come.

  Theseus lowered me to the ground and dismounted with the ease of a man who had spent years on horseback. Like Castor. My heart twisted with the reminder of my brother, lost to me, now, by the choices I had made.

  Theseus clapped the boy on the shoulder.

  “See him stabled, fed, and watered, and then find your own bed, Acamas. Not a word of this to anyone.”

  Acamas glanced at me shyly. “Yes, Papa.”

  I stared again at the boy, grateful the kohl kept my expression hidden even if the moonlight did not. His second son, by Phaedra. Just a boy! Younger even than the one he might have killed in the wood. Theseus watched me, waiting for my response.

  Acamas led the horse away. A cold breeze tickled the back of my neck. Somehow I had never considered his other sons, though he had mentioned them in passing.

  “I did not realize how young your children would be.”

  “Demophon is a year older than you, but Acamas was too young to remember his mother at all.”

  “Will they hate me?”

  He smiled. “Why should they?”

  “I’ll be their stepmother. That cannot be easy for them.”

 
He took my hand, his thumb caressing my knuckles. “They know their duty, and I cannot imagine you will treat them unkindly. But come. My mother waits to meet you.”

  I let him pull me toward the palace, where torches flickered on the porch, welcoming him home. He took me up the broad stairs, lifting one of the torches from the wall as we passed, and led me down an unlit hall painted with owls and olive trees. The flames danced over the images, giving the owls flight.

  He pushed open a heavy door engraved with a great bull and a group of dancers. I traced the shape of the largest figure, thinking of Pirithous’s story. Was this meant to be Theseus when he charmed the bulls in Crete?

  “This is my mother, Aethra,” Theseus said, drawing my attention from the door.

  She smiled, and though her pale skin held the lines of age, she wore them with the same grace and beauty as she did her fine gown, its layered skirt alternating blue and pomegranate red. With Theseus well into his forties, I did not dare to guess her age. Perhaps his own agelessness had come to him naturally after all, if his mother was so well preserved.

  I dropped into a deep bow. “My lady, I thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Come now,” Aethra said, urging me to my feet. “You need not bend your knee to me. Theseus tells me you are to be treated as a queen when we are in private, and I assure you no one is eavesdropping in the king’s own chambers. He barely allows the slaves to clean it.”

  “The mother of the king deserves to be honored,” I said. “And the mother of Theseus, doubly so.”

  “You must be eager to wash the kohl from your face, my dear, to say nothing of finding your bed.”

  I glanced back at Theseus when she drew me toward a door on the other side of the chamber.

  He smiled, setting the torch into an empty bracket on the wall. “You are in better hands than mine,” he assured me. “Have your bath and sleep well. I pray it will be dreamless.”

  Dreamless. I swallowed the swell of panic and forced myself to follow Aethra, though I wanted nothing more than to snatch my hand free and run. Fire crawled over my skin at just the thought of what might come when I closed my eyes without the sound of Theseus’s heartbeat to distract my mind. The door shut behind us, and I fought for calm.