Helen of Sparta

by Amalia Carosella

  “We celebrate today the coming of our bride, Meryet, princess of Egypt, daughter of the pharaoh.” He allowed his gaze to sweep over the men in the hall, taking in their expressions. Most had eyes only for Helen, and for that he could not blame them.

  He nodded to Aethra, who stepped forward with a cloth bundle in her hands. Theseus unwrapped it, lifting up the circlet of braided gold, a single emerald nestled within the overlapping threads. He’d sent all the way to Troy for the jewel, but when he placed it on her head, he thought the wait well worth it.

  “With this crown, we make you our wife and queen of Athens.”

  Moisture dampened her eyes, and she touched the circlet on her brow, her fingers brushing across the gemstone. Helen met his gaze and rose from her seat before falling gracefully into the henu that never failed to impress him. He could have sworn he even heard the barest click of the gold band against the stone tile of the floor.

  “My king honors me,” she said in halting Achaean. “Thank you.”

  “To the new queen!” Demophon called out, raising his cup. “May the gods smile upon her and rain blessings down upon our city.”

  “To the queen!” the others answered. “To the king’s bride!”

  Theseus offered his hand and helped her to her feet. Her eyes matched the stone on her forehead, bright with joy.

  She lifted her cup and offered the most brilliant of smiles, turning to the nobles who filled his hall. “To the king!”

  When they had offered Theseus their salute, she drank as well, and they both retook their seats with the cheers of his people ringing in their ears.

  Because Helen pretended ignorance of the language, Theseus’s greatest challenge was reminding himself not to speak with her as he would have if they had been alone. Demophon and Acamas sat beside her at the table, engaging with her in stumbling Egyptian, but he did not remember enough of the tongue himself for even that much, and having her beside him in his hall at last, without the pleasure of telling her its history, was almost worse than not having her at all.

  “Stop glowering at your sons, Theseus,” Pirithous said, halfway through the meal. “The last thing your people need is to fear their new queen will be another Phaedra.”

  Theseus ground his teeth, transferring his glower to Pirithous instead. “This is my wedding day, Pirithous. Can you not watch your tongue for this one evening?”

  His friend smiled. “Shall I make it my gift to you? I thought you might prefer something made of gold, or perhaps a sacrifice to the gods for the health and happiness of your bride.”

  “Gift me with whatever you like. As long as you don’t mention my ill luck, I will be content.” He poured more wine and forced himself not to show his jealousy that Demophon and Helen were laughing together over some Egyptian joke. His son spoke the language easily after his journey.

  “Perhaps a distraction, then.” Pirithous reached for more grapes.

  Bowls of fruit, nuts, and bread, dishes of olives, platters of roasted wild boar, and plates of honeycomb covered the tables in quantities that would serve twice the number present, though Pirithous seemed determined to make up for the lack of guests, his appetite as hearty as ever. “The pharaoh bid me give you a message from his god, and since I do not expect anyone will see you for days once you take your bride to bed, now seems the best time to deliver it.”

  “From his god?”

  Pirithous nodded, and though he smiled, lines had formed around his eyes. “It was by the order of Amun-Ra, their highest god, that the pharaoh agreed to this marriage at all.”

  “And his message?”

  “Amun-Ra has taken interest in the affairs of your bride, as he does all those who are troubled. He says that if her future comes to find her here, she must be sent into his hands. Egypt will grant her its protection, in the pharaoh’s own house.”

  Theseus glanced at Helen, and she turned her smile on him. The emerald of her diadem flashed fire in the lamplight, and her skin glowed bronze. Aethra had outdone herself.

  “I do not know how he knew, Theseus, but he did. When she spoke of war before, I thought perhaps her fears were unwarranted, just a woman’s worry over men’s affairs. But if the Egyptian gods concern themselves . . .”

  “Only fools do not listen when the gods speak,” Theseus agreed.

  “What will you do?”

  He shook his head. “Keep her hidden and safe as best as I can. Listen, if she dreams again. Honor her for as long as she is my wife, and hope what has been done already will be enough to stop what she feared would come.” He swirled the wine in his cup, staring at the ripples that played along the surface. “And I will turn to Egypt if her future, whatever that may mean, seeks her out. But if the pharaoh helps us only at his god’s command, I wonder what reception we will be given.”

  “A warm one,” Pirithous said. “From the moment Amun-Ra showed his favor, Demophon and I were given a most royal welcome. The pharaoh took us into his palace, gave us skilled women for our pleasure, and showered us with gifts of every kind. Your son has a strong start on a treasury of his own thanks to the pharaoh’s kindness. The hold was stuffed so full of guest-gifts, we hardly had any need to raid.”

  Theseus nodded, but when he looked down the table, Demophon was absent and Acamas had taken his place. A quick survey of the room showed his son moving among those seated at the tables below, slapping the backs of the men he had fought with and speaking to the older nobles who had stayed behind. Menestheus watched him sourly, jealous no doubt. Demophon had become a favorite of the Athenian nobles even before he’d proven himself on this journey. But that was as it should be, and Menestheus knew better than to hope for anything else.

  “How many were lost?”

  Pirithous shrugged. “A handful in all, a couple to wounds that Apollo did not see fit to heal and a few in battle who were too eager for booty to keep to the line. None of any importance or real skill. You should be proud of Demophon. Had I not known who stood at my side, I would have thought he was you, the way he fought.”

  Theseus grunted, drinking his wine and waving to a servant for more water. “Let us hope he was gifted with all my strength and none of my youthful foolishness.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself, Theseus. The bards will sing of you long after you’ve gone to Hades for what you did as a young man alone. How is that anything to be ashamed of?”

  “I had my father’s favor then, or I would have died a hundred times over. Poseidon does not take such a personal interest in Demophon.”

  “He took enough interest to see him delivered back from Egypt with only the barest of scratches. You worry too much, my friend. You raised a fine boy into a finer man, and when you are gone, he will be a great king. Certainly those who sailed with us found much to admire in him, and those who heeded him always returned to the ship without meeting any real harm. You could make him a leader of the host now, and no one would object.”

  Theseus shook his head. Helen’s haunted eyes, when she told him the story of her nightmares, rose in his mind. He had practically heard the swords clashing and the screams of the dying when she spoke. It would be a bloodbath if it came, and little honor in it. That was not the legacy he wished to leave his son. And there was still Zeus’s price to be paid.

  “With what might come, I don’t dare. Not until we know for certain what the future holds.”

  Pirithous snorted. “The future is never certain, Theseus, not even in the eye of the Fates. What comes depends as much on our choices as the determination of the gods. Obedience, disobedience, prayer, and sacrifice, all of these things change the course of our lives. The only certainty in life is death. Let your son die with honor, and he will thank you for it.”

  “There is no honor in this, or she would not fear it.” Helen had offered the same arguments, but he knew the gods, had witnessed firsthand how they could tear lives apart and st
rip them of glory. “Content yourself with raising your own son, Pirithous, or distract yourself with finding another bride, and leave me to see to mine.”

  Pirithous grinned. “Name a woman worth winning and I shall claim her as my own, but even with your help, I cannot hope to be half so fortunate in choosing a second wife as you have been with your third.” He raised his cup. “I wish you a very long and happy life together, or if not, that you will at least let me have her when you’re through.”

  He glared, but Pirithous only laughed, then stood to toast the new queen of Athens in front of the entire hall. When he had finished, Aethra gave them Hera’s blessing and announced that their rooms had been prepared.

  The desire to finish his conversation with Pirithous fled the moment Theseus was freed from the banquet to take Helen to their marriage bed. More than half a year he had waited, and now he took her by the wrist, leading her from the hall as her husband.

  Nothing else mattered but that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  During the feast, I had not thought the evening could go quickly enough, but now that Theseus shut the door to the bedroom, my stomach twisted into knots. I stared at Theseus’s bed. It was the same bed I had slept in every night for half a year, but tonight, Theseus would do more than stroke my hair and kiss my forehead. Tonight, he would claim my body as he already had my heart.

  The price of the crown on my head and payment for the risks he had taken. He had not said it, had never suggested it, yet the words played through my thoughts, and my heart picked up speed. I owed him this, after all he had done.

  Menelaus’s words wormed through my thoughts, haunting me now.

  I shivered. Menelaus was the last thing I wanted to remember, but how could I not think of him when he had taken the same payment in kind?

  A hand touched my shoulder, and I bit back a cry before it left my throat. Theseus dropped his hand at once, but I turned to him and hid my face against his chest to keep myself from sobbing. For a terrible moment, it had been Menelaus’s touch I had felt, but even as understanding as Theseus was, I could not tell him that. I would not let Menelaus poison this night for either of us.

  Theseus kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair, the weight of his arms around me enough to drive the memories away.

  “What’s the matter?” he said into my hair.

  All night, I had waited to be alone with him. During the length of the feast, I had dwelt in his kiss, anticipating the next to the point of distraction. I had barely thought even of eating, though the food filled the table before me. And then I had been too anxious for what was to come, my stomach roiling with nerves. Theseus, my hero, my king, my husband, at last.

  “Nothing,” I said, inhaling his warmth and waiting for my heart to calm. “I only missed you.”

  He laughed and I drew back, looking up at his face. His hand slipped from my hair, caressing my cheek instead. Then he stopped, staring at his fingers for a moment. The umber from my skin had darkened his fingertips.

  “This will not do at all, Helen.”

  I shook my head. “I’m Meryet now.”

  He raised his eyes to mine, brilliant as the sea.

  Theseus drew me toward a low table and reached for a linen towel, dunking it in a basin of water and rose petals. I had not noticed it before, but it seemed Aethra, or perhaps Theseus himself, thought of everything. He held my face in his hands and wiped the powder and paint away, his touch gentle.

  “I had my heart set on taking Helen of Sparta to my bed, and making her Helen of Athens, my wife.” He paused to dunk a dry portion of the towel in the bowl and cleaned the kohl from around my eyes. “Does Meryet have any objection to that?”

  I shook my head, my heart skipping at his words.

  Theseus finished wiping the paint from my face, brushing the cloth across my lips and making them tingle. He stroked my cheek again with his bare fingers, lighting a fire beneath my skin.

  “Even with hair so black, you still glow golden.”

  He kissed my forehead, then each of my eyelids, and when I turned my face up to his, he kissed the corners of my mouth. I sighed, winding my fingers through his hair and pulling his head down again to kiss him properly.

  His mouth tasted of mint, and one arm encircled me, drawing me closer. My body, flushed from head to foot, begged for his, aching with anticipation for what he had denied us both. How had we waited for so long?

  Theseus stepped back, taking up the cloth again to wipe the umber from my throat and neck, then my shoulders, working the material of my shift loose to bare that strip of skin between my breasts. The light fabric clung to me but, even so, it threatened to slip from my shoulders. He paused to kiss my pulse and I shivered, the coolness of the wet cloth only making my skin burn with greater heat. After he washed away the color from my arms, he kissed my palm.

  “This is the woman I missed,” he said, his voice rough. “Pale and clean as moonlight on water.”

  I dropped my forehead to his shoulder and let him gather me into his arms again, my fingers tracing the lines of muscle beneath the silk of his tunic. “Will you love me still when I am sun-kissed from wandering the palace grounds?”

  He laughed and caught my hand, holding it against his heart. “I will love you still when you are old and gray and stooped with age.”

  “Will you?” I looked up into his face. “Will you keep me in your bed, even then?”

  He sighed and stroked my cheek again with gentle fingers, meeting my eyes. “I would keep you in my bed for eternity, and it would not be time enough. I would make love to you night and day if you wished it, and never let you rise. But let it be for your pleasure, Helen. Let me please you tonight.”

  I pressed his hand to my cheek and turned my face to kiss his palm, wondering at my fortune to have ever found such a man. When he kissed me again, my body formed to his like warmed honeycomb.

  He lifted me in his arms and crossed the room to the bed. When he laid me down, I pulled him with me. Theseus hovered over me, his eyes searching mine. I could feel the effort it took for him to pause, the tension in every line of muscle, every surface of his face.

  “Tell me this is what you want.”

  “Shh.” I pulled his head down to kiss him. “Let me be your wife in body as well as heart.”

  The flash of sunlight in his eyes darkened as he brushed the hair from my neck and shoulder, his jaw tightening. When he lowered his head to kiss my throat, I shuddered at the touch, a whisper against my skin.

  The warm metal of the circlet on his forehead brushed against my fingers, and I raised it free from his brow, then reached for mine. He stopped me, drawing my hand away and sliding the sleeves of my shift down my arms to bare my breasts. His lips followed the trail of the fabric, down the valley between them, his calloused palms grazing my sides, rough and warm at my ribs. His tongue teased me until my back arched, and I pulled him closer, moaning.

  I did not need his encouragement to free the belt from his waist, but my fingers trembled, fumbling the tie. He chuckled, helping me, and then I pulled his tunic up over his head, forcing a sliver of space between us.

  My breath caught, and I could not tear my eyes from his body. All these months we had spent together, I had never seen him less than fully clothed. Even when we slept, he had remained modest. Now I pushed him to his back, that I might see him naked. He pulled me with him, laughing as he rolled, but I didn’t let him draw me down, sitting on my heels.

  “Am I so fascinating?”

  I ran my hands over the muscle of his chest, my fingers tracing the faded lines of scars and old wounds. Even marred, he was incredible, the planes of his stomach chiseled perfection and the lines of his body balanced to absolute symmetry. Looking at him, seeing the bronze of his body laid bare, I no longer wondered that when he called himself the son of a god, men believed him.

  “Y
ou’re beautiful,” I whispered.

  His hand slid down to the small of my back. My shift had bunched at my waist when I had rocked back to my knees, but he tugged at the belt that held my skirt in place atop it, and the fabric fell to my hips. I felt myself flush and turned my face away.

  “Look at me, Helen.” The gentle pressure of his finger beneath my chin raised my face to his. “I am nothing compared to you. Unworthy.”

  I shook my head, taking his face between my palms and pressing my forehead to his. “You are the most worthy man I have ever known.”

  The last of the fabric between us was pushed away, the gold ornaments on my skirt chiming against the tiles, and my shift following soon after. Theseus rolled me to my back, kissing me again while his hands moved over my body, fondling and caressing, tickling my stomach before sliding between my thighs. His touch at my sex made my heart stutter. When his fingers slipped inside me, I gasped.

  His hand stilled, and he kissed my throat, then my collarbone. My body arched of its own accord, pressing against his hand until I moaned with pleasure. Palm flat against me, he matched his movements to mine.

  I had never realized what pleasure a man could give this way, with just the touch of his hand. The wave built a roaring of the sea in my ears, and Theseus’s lips found my throat, teeth grazing the flesh. My hands closed into fists in the linens, as though if I did not hold on, I would be swept away. And then the wave burst, and I cried out, my whole body shuddering with release.

  Theseus’s hand slipped free when I had stilled, and I heard him chuckle again, low and smug. He tickled the inside of my thighs. I shivered and he shifted, his hand persuading my legs to spread beneath him.

  “Open your eyes, Helen.”

  I could not have denied him anything then, and did as he bid, meeting his eyes as the length of him pressed against my opening where his fingers had been. Anticipating the pain of his thrust, I bit my lip against it.