Theseus turned slowly, letting the entire room witness the flash of irritation for such an interruption, even if it came from his cousin. Menestheus had always been presumptuous, the more so because of his blood.
“King Tyndareus of Sparta invited us, as king of Athens, to celebrate his daughter’s birth,” Theseus said. “It’s true that Helen is uncommonly beautiful, but even we cannot be in two places at once. We cannot hold Athens and Sparta both.
“Even if we had been tempted,” Theseus continued over the mutters of some of the younger men, raising a hand to quiet them, “Queen Leda seems to have misplaced her daughter. Helen went missing four days before we left Sparta, stolen from her bed in the palace. When she is found, the girl will no doubt marry one of the sons of Atreus. King Pirithous will be disappointed to hear the news.”
That remark earned him a rumble of laughter from the nobles, and Theseus forced himself to smile. Pirithous’s proclivities were well-known, as he often came to Athens. Most of the nobles kept their daughters out of sight for the duration of his visits, and Theseus could not blame them. Had he a daughter of his own, he would have done the same.
“The brothers Atrides are cursed,” one of the men called out. “Sparta insults us by choosing one of Mycenae’s sons over the Hero of Attica and Athens herself!”
Theseus found the man in the crowd, one of the lesser nobles, and young, too. Not even of age with Menestheus and spoiling for a fight. It was long past time he led a raid to give the younger men experience in battle, but he would not leave Helen behind, now. Not until he knew whether Mycenae would march. If his nobles knew already of Aphrodite’s supposed appearance on the ship, it would not be long before word spread to the Isthmus, then Corinth, then the Peloponnese, with Mycenae and Sparta listening eagerly for any news.
“If the House of Atreus is cursed, then we would not want them for so close a neighbor, never mind a tie by marriage through Helen’s sister, promised to Agamemnon,” Theseus said. “Let Mycenae have Sparta, if they can hold it. All of Attica follows Athens, and we are not so in want of a bride that we cannot find a suitable princess elsewhere.” He nodded to Demophon. “You have your heir; Athens is secure. And in the meantime, we have guest-friendship with Tyndareus of Sparta.”
“We heard that King Pirithous stole her,” Menestheus said. “And if he has, will that not bring an army to our door as his ally? Surely they will march by the Isthmus road to Thessaly, and just as surely you will wish to stand in their way at Eleusis or Megara, and they will turn south toward Athens instead. Atreus always coveted these lands, and by all accounts Agamemnon is much his father’s son.”
“If they do, they will break upon the Rock,” Theseus said, keeping his tone firm. Just as the Amazons had failed, so long ago, so would Mycenae, regardless of Agamemnon’s greed. But he hated to even think of Antiope in the same breath as Helen for fear of giving the gods the reminder of the blood-price they had taken then. He forced it from his mind and met Menestheus’s eyes. “And Corinth would not allow Agamemnon to overreach, besides. But Pirithous has sworn his innocence before the gods themselves. Helen of Sparta is not in his hands.”
“If she were, you would still defend him,” one of the younger men called out.
“Pirithous of the Lapiths is our closest ally and friend.” Theseus searched the assembly as he answered, but he could not identify the speaker this time. It hardly mattered. He could not censure the man for speaking the truth. “We will not turn our backs on an honorable friendship. King Pirithous would come to the defense of Athens without hesitation, and we will do the same.”
The older men nodded their agreement, for honor meant much to them, and he could see the younger men smiling at one another. Conversation broke out among the assembly. Theseus waited for another moment to be sure no one else had anything more to say, but it was only a susurrus of noise, now that their concerns had been addressed. Better for them to blame Pirithous than to realize Helen lay in his bed beneath their noses.
Menestheus grunted. “A shame the king of the Lapiths did not steal her, after all.”
Theseus shook his head. “War will come in its own time without our helping it along, Menestheus. And if it does, we will all be grateful for the overabundance of young men looking to prove themselves in battle. There’s no use in wasting their lives without need.”
“But surely with Aphrodite’s own blessing—”
“Aphrodite’s blessings do not guarantee peace. Where she walks, Ares is quick to follow, and I will not risk the prosperity of Athens without need. Certainly not for the pleasure of a woman in my bed, no matter how beautiful.”
“But it is not only her beauty, is it?” Menestheus pressed. “It is said once a man looks upon her, he will never be satisfied by any other lover.”
Theseus snorted. “She is hardly some Medea, seducing men to her side only to see them suffer. She is just a girl, Menestheus. A young woman determined to serve her people as well as she is able. Nothing more.”
“I will be sure to pass on your reassurances to the palace women.” Menestheus bowed, excusing himself. “You are welcome home, my lord.”
Theseus watched him go. He had not thought of the palace women until that moment, and the reminder from Menestheus’s lips made his blood run cold. They would notice the change in his habits, even if no one else did. Not only would they notice, but they would also complain bitterly to one another, and worse, to any man whose attentions they sought. Menestheus may have been bold, but he was not foolish. If Theseus chose not to take any women to his bed, the man would wonder at the reason.
But Menestheus had already found a reasoning he liked—this curse of Helen’s. Perhaps it would be enough. At least for now. He had to hope, for even if he had desired it, he could not in good conscience take the pleasures those women offered. Not as long as Helen was caged.
Theseus turned to his throne. He had never liked to climb the dais and take that seat, knowing it would mean entire days wasted while he listened to the imagined slights of men who had too little to keep them occupied. But now it was even worse with Helen waiting for him, locked away in his rooms.
If she could not be free, he had no wish to be, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I sat on a stool before a great bronze disc so large it might have made a set of armor instead of serving as a polished mirror for the previous queen of Athens, Phaedra. All around its edge, it had been etched with bare-breasted women in tiered skirts, carrying bowls and platters, weaving at large looms, raising snakes into the sky. In Sparta, we had treasured the few mirrors we owned, only the size of an open hand at the largest, and kept them in fur-lined pouches so they would not be scratched. Had I known nothing else of Phaedra, this mirror would have told me everything that mattered. As it was, I now knew far, far too much.
Behind me, Aethra worked upon my hair. Most she had left to fall in thick chestnut waves down my back, but the top half she had pulled back into a knot at the crown of my head, holding it in place with ivory pins. The dye had stained her hands poppy red, and the bone comb, once a milk white, would never be less than orange again.
It would all be for nothing, if I still could not walk the corridors of the palace without attracting stares. It would not have been so bad if I’d had something to do, but Phaedra’s room might as well have been empty for all the activity it offered. No loom, no fibers to spin into yarn or thread, and no spindles to wrap them around. It seemed all the queen had done in her room was lounge on cushions and drink wine, for the shelves certainly did not lack any cups.
“It isn’t going to be enough,” I said, staring at my reflection. “Is it?”
Her blue eyes met mine in the mirror. Pale and unchanging, they were nothing like Theseus’s. “It’s a beginning. If anyone catches sight of you leaving a room, they at least will not know you by your hair.”
I sighed.
One day I had been in Athens, half of that spent in sleep, and already I felt if I could not leave the queen’s rooms, I would go mad. Such was the price of freedom, I supposed, and I curled my fingers beneath the stool to keep from fidgeting. I would not leave until it was safe, not after the incident on the ship, but surely Theseus did not intend for me to sit idle all day long.
Aethra glanced behind her, checking the angle of the sun. The shadows had lengthened considerably since we had begun.
“My son would not have brought you here if he did not think he could give you some joy of it,” she said, her hand dropping to my shoulder. She squeezed it once and then smiled. “Shall we see what Theseus thinks of your disguise?”
I rose and smoothed the green skirt over my hips, my fingers lingering on the fabric. In Sparta, I had worn fine linen, bordered with rich embroidery, but never something as smooth as this. It felt like the caress of water against my skin.
“Was this gown Phaedra’s?”
“Mine, once, when I was not much older than you. King Aegeus sent me bolts of the finest fabrics after the news of Theseus’s birth had spread. For months after, peddlers would come to Troezen, take one look at me, and declare that the gods had told them it belonged to me. I think if Aegeus could have acknowledged us, we would have been swimming in riches.”
“But Theseus claims he is the son of Poseidon,” I said, following her through the bathing room. “Did Aegeus not know it?”
“You must understand that Aegeus went to the oracle, desperate for an heir. The answer he received was a riddle, of course, for the gods never speak plainly. So he came to my father in Troezen, hoping his famed wisdom might discern the answer.” Aethra’s lips twitched as she pulled open the door to Theseus’s bedroom, and the glance she gave me was almost sly. “My father realized at once the meaning of the oracle’s words, and he saw an opportunity to advance the fortunes of his people, through me.
“When Poseidon saw that my father meant to trick Aegeus into my bed, he came to me first. Hair so black it was almost blue, and eyes that seemed to trap the ocean itself in their depths. I could hear the sea, when he looked at me, and seagulls calling to one another. He said he would not let me be defiled by a drunken man who did not know what he was about, for I was too beautiful not to be given my own pleasure in the taking. He did not leave my bed until Aegeus stumbled through the door to take his place. But it was clear from the moment Theseus was born, he had been sown from both men. He has Poseidon’s eyes in Aegeus’s face.”
My cheeks flushed. “Poseidon must have loved you.”
“Love or not, he honored me, and I have given him thanks for it every day since,” Aethra said. “I would not have traded that night for all the silks and jewels in the world.”
I turned from her, so she would not see the confusion in my eyes, pretending interest in the owl carvings on Theseus’s bed. Aethra’s story was nothing like Leda’s. If Zeus had treated my mother so kindly, perhaps she would not have resented me so.
But what Leda thought of me did not matter anymore. And Poseidon had still abandoned his son. Why had the god not saved Antiope? Or Hippolytus? Or even Phaedra? Why had Poseidon not saved Theseus from so much grief and pain? It seemed the gods had only enough kindness for one mortal at a time, and Poseidon had given all of his to Aethra. But then, I did not think Zeus had any kindness for anyone at all. Aethra had been fortunate it was the Earth-Shaker who had come to her that night.
Aethra threw open the curtains of the balcony, and sunlight poured into the room. Now that I was better rested, I noticed how different it was from Phaedra’s. In place of Phaedra’s mirror, Theseus’s bronze sword and shield hung on the wall by his bed, within arm’s reach while he slept. The side table beneath them held nothing at all, though the dark wood was inlaid with ivory. I stared at the image for a long moment before I realized that one of the armies was all women. The war with the Amazons. I looked for Antiope on the side of the men, but could not find her.
Low stone benches wrapped around the room from the door to the hall to the entrance leading to the bathing room, around a round hearth where Aethra was building up the fire. There was room still for small tables to be set, if he wished to eat in private, and stools of the same height circled the other side of the hearth for more seating. They had cushions, of course, but not even the hint of a tassel, and all were fashioned from undyed fabrics and fleeces.
Even the walls were modestly painted, with borders of olive wreaths and branches in subdued tones along the ceiling and the doors. Phaedra’s walls were overwhelmed by color, with so many bulls and horses and dolphins and fish that the eye could not follow any of it. I breathed a sigh of relief to be free of the oppression of such a crowded space and sat on the edge of Theseus’s bed.
Perhaps these first days, if Theseus would allow it, I could remake the queen’s room into something less suffocating.
The door swung open, and I rose.
Theseus wore a long tunic, belted around the waist. Embroidered fish leapt and flashed with gold and silver filament at the hem above his knees and the cuffs of his sleeves, matching the gold olive leaves of the circlet he wore as a crown. He glanced at me in passing as he entered, then stopped and looked again, his eyes narrowing and his expression falling blank.
I bowed my head. “My king.”
He stood there for a long moment, the silence stretching between us.
“Where is your courtesy, Theseus?”
The sharpness of Aethra’s tone tore his gaze from me, and he seemed to notice his mother for the first time. He pressed his lips together, but I could not tell if it was to keep from smiling or frowning.
“Can’t you see she hoped to please you?”
“Of course,” Theseus said, turning his attention back to me. He offered a formal bow, and when he lifted his head, sunlight glinted off the sea of his eyes. “Forgive me, Princess. It is only that I was caught by surprise.”
“It had to be done, and better sooner than later,” Aethra said. “All it would have taken was a glimpse of that hair, the color of sunlight, and word of it traveling back to the Peloponnese.”
Theseus nodded, but his eyes did not leave mine. “I’m only sorry I could not give you the freedom to live undisguised.”
“But you’ve given me the freedom to live,” I said. “Without fear that I will be molested or harmed. That is enough to begin, Theseus, and we will build the rest upon it.”
He smiled and crossed to me, fingering a strand of my hair. Aethra had refused to oil it, saying there was no reason when it already gleamed. “No matter what color your hair is, you are still the loveliest woman I have ever known. It is your spirit, Helen, that makes you so, and that much you will never have to hide as long as you live within my walls. I swear it.”
“Then do not fret so,” I said, though I knew I chided myself as much as him.
Theseus laughed, pressing his forehead to mine. “I will do my best.”
His breath tickled my skin, sweet with honey, and I closed my eyes, lifting my face. Theseus had never claimed his prize that day on the practice field, and now he stood so near, I could think of nothing else. He caressed my cheek, and my face burned at his touch. Our noses brushed.
But he only sighed and instead of my lips, he kissed my forehead. I bit back my disappointment and hid my face against his chest. He smoothed my hair and rested his chin atop my head.
“Forgive me,” he murmured.
I did not trust myself to respond.
The table overflowed with food, and it was fortunate the sun had not set, for there would be no room for oil lamps until after we had eaten. Demophon bowed to me formally, and Aethra prodded Acamas, too busy smiling, to do the same. Theseus’s sons both had hair as black as jet, but I wondered if they had gotten it from Poseidon, their grandfather, or from their mother. From their manners, and the way Acamas looked to her for guidance,
I had no doubt it was Aethra who had raised them.
“What will happen in Sparta?” Demophon asked after we had all eaten as much as we could. “With the heir missing, who will inherit?”
“My sister,” I said. “Though if she is promised already to Agamemnon, my father might choose to give the throne to Pollux. I do not think the people would mind so much, if he passed over Nestra for a son of Zeus, but Sparta has always been inherited through its daughters, as long as one lived. He might wait to see if the people would welcome Agamemnon as their king before he decides.”
“For the sake of your people, I hope the kingdom falls to Pollux,” Theseus said. “He’ll make a fine king when he’s put to the task, and care more for them than Agamemnon will.”
I brushed my thumb over the impressions of a chariot race on my wine cup. The hearth fire lit the room with a warm glow now that the sun had fallen lower, and the wheels almost looked as if they spun.
“I think Tyndareus will want to honor Zeus. That was what Leda always said. That it was not only that I had been born first, but that I was Zeus’s daughter that made me heir.”
“Is it true what they say of Castor?” Acamas asked. “Can he tame a horse with just a word? They say he knows the secret names the horses call one another, and when he whispers those names in their ears, they acknowledge him as their lord.”
I buried the pang of grief that came with my brother’s name, and forced myself to smile. “Castor is very good with horses, but as far as I know, he does not whisper secret names. The head of my father’s stables swore my mare would never be broken, but Castor trained her to a bridle in a month, and she responded to every twitch on the reins as though she knew my thoughts.”
Acamas sighed. “I suppose now he’ll never come to Athens, or if he does, you will not be able to ask him to teach me.”
The smile faded from my lips. “I suppose not.”
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