Helen of Sparta

by Amalia Carosella

  He laughed bitterly, raising his head to look at me. He gripped the bark of the tree so hard, it broke off in his hand, turning to splinters and dust. “You should not have to sell yourself. Is that not what I said, when you came to me in Sparta? That I would not have you sell yourself for peace or protection. Not to any man and not to any god!”

  I went to him, cautious but determined, and stroked his cheek. “In this, perhaps I must, but I do not do it lightly, and I do not wish for it. Don’t you see? Poseidon is our best hope—” But I swallowed the rest of my words before the dream slipped from my tongue, and I hid my face in the curve of his shoulder. “Theseus, I must believe he will be your father now, and grandfather to our child. I must believe he will be more than just a god, this day. Please, do not make it any harder.”

  His arms wrapped around me, drawing me close, and if he held me tighter than I might have liked, I refused to complain. He buried his face in my hair, and then his lips found my neck. The roar of the sea filled my ears, and I felt his body hard against mine. My fingers coiled into his hair, holding him fast. If I must face the god today, I would go to him a wife. I would go to him with the feeling of Theseus’s kiss still on my lips, and my body still aching for my husband’s touch.

  Theseus loosed the belt at my waist and pushed the fabric from my shoulders, letting the shift fall. Only then did he step back, gazing at me as though I were water in the desert and he near perishing from thirst. I let him drink his fill, first with his eyes, then with his mouth, before stripping him of his tunic and taking my turn at the well.

  The spilled olives were crushed beneath our bodies, oil staining the fabric he spread to protect me from rocks and twigs. He teased me with clever fingers and urgent kisses until I writhed, moaning, and begged for his body inside mine. He did not answer me at once, but took his time.

  “Look at me,” he said, for my head had tipped back, my eyes closed with pleasure as our bodies joined at last. I met his eyes, then, and wrapped my legs tight around his waist.

  “Love me, Theseus,” I said, pulling him closer. “Make me yours.”

  I did not need to say anything more.

  Theseus pressed a kiss to my forehead, holding my hands in his. We had come to the shrine just past midday, and the bull waited for me in the grove. “I will wait for you, near enough that if you shout for me, I will hear.”

  I squeezed his hands. “Only come if I call your name. I will try not to shout otherwise, but I can make no promises that my temper will hold.”

  He smiled at that, some of the shadow leaving his eyes, and kissed me again before going. I waited until he had left my sight, then smoothed my skirt over my hips and took a deep breath to steady myself before stepping forward into the grove. It had been years since I had sought the favor of any god, and I could only hope this would not end poorly, if it accomplished anything at all.

  The bull cropped the grass around the stones, and Theseus had left the knife and bowl for me on the worn altar. This shrine, Theseus told me, had been ancient when he was young, and he had seen it kept up since his return from Crete. I knelt in the grass and bowed my head. My knees trembled.

  “Lord Poseidon, father of Theseus, I come to give you thanks for your blessing, and beg your grace and protection for the child in my body. Accept this bull as my gift to you.”

  I realized then, it was not my knees that trembled; it was the earth, and when the sound of footsteps came, I held my breath, not daring to lift my head. It could be Theseus, still, come to check on me. The bull snorted, hoof scraping over stone as it pawed the ground. I waited, listening, but when no voice spoke, I began again.

  “Lord Poseidon, lover of Aethra, father to my husband, forgive us for any offense we have given. Grant us the promise of peace in our future, and protect us from my father, Zeus.”

  “A bold request, daughter of Zeus.”

  I swallowed against the thickness in my throat, and kept my eyes upon the earth. The footsteps sounded nearer, but I did not wish to show him my face. I had promised Theseus I would do nothing to tempt the god, and to look upon one in the flesh—for one, sharp moment, I resented that Poseidon had come at all when my father had abandoned me so completely for so long.

  “You offer this bull as gift rather than sacrifice. Do you think I am so easily trapped by sacred laws? I am not a king that you can make me your guest-friend and bind me to your protection.”

  “I come to speak to the father of my husband, my lord, not to the god.”

  “And yet, it is the god’s favors you ask for.” His sandaled feet were tied with seaweed instead of leather, so dark a green they looked black. He offered me his hand, and I had no choice but to take it, or risk giving offense. His fingers closed over mine, warm and dry and well calloused. “Rise, daughter of Zeus, ill-gotten wife of my son.”

  I did as he bid, keeping my gaze averted from his face. He wore a sailcloth kilt the color of sea foam, wrapped around his hips and tied carelessly with thick ropes similar to those I had glimpsed on the deck of Theseus’s ship, but his chest was bare, and he stood taller than his son by a head or more. He was as brown from the sun as any oarsman, his body so thick with muscle, he made Theseus look sparely built.

  “Make your sacrifice, Helen, for you surely need the god’s favor more than the father’s love.”

  Poseidon led me to the bull, his thumb caressing my knuckles. I snatched my hand away as soon as I could, feeling his laugh through the soles of my feet, more than hearing it. My hand shook when I took up the knife. The bull stood placid, Poseidon’s hand on its shoulder. It tossed its head, but the movement was lazy. A good sign. I stroked its nose.

  “Forgive me,” I murmured, for even with the god beside me, the waste made my stomach churn. “Lord Poseidon, accept this sacrifice.”

  The god said nothing, but his hand did not move from the bull’s shoulder, as though he held it still by his touch. I set the bowl on the ground beneath the victim’s neck where I thought the blood would flow, then sliced its throat.

  Hot blood covered my hands, sticky and wet. The bull dropped to its knees as its eyes dimmed, nearly knocking over the bowl. I picked it up to catch the rest of the blood, stepping around the bull’s head so it would not fall upon me. Poseidon said something I did not hear, but the bull shuddered once more and toppled dead. When the flow of blood became a trickle, I set the bowl upon the altar and bowed my head.

  “You begrudge us even this much,” Poseidon said at my back. “Why should I grant you any reward in exchange?”

  “For your son’s sake,” I said, closing my hands into fists. “And for his child.”

  Poseidon took the golden bowl from the altar, filled with blood, and set it before me. “Wash your hands.”

  “They have already been washed in blood,” I said, unable to bring myself to look into the bowl.

  “Wash your hands,” Poseidon said again. “Or will you refuse to obey your gods even in so small a matter?”

  I pressed my lips together and dipped my hands in the bowl. Instead of warm, sticky blood, I found cool water. My face flushed, and I scrubbed my hands clean without comment. When I had finished, Poseidon threw the water away into the trees and tossed the bowl back to the altar with a clatter.

  “You try my patience, Helen. And your father’s, besides.” Poseidon gestured for me to rise again, and I did, though I kept my gaze upon the altar. “Look at me, girl.”

  I lifted my face, forcing myself to meet his eyes, ocean blue and liquid as the sea. I could almost see waves crashing against the shore inside them. I understood now, how Aethra had known Theseus as Poseidon’s son. But Poseidon lacked his son’s warmth when he looked at me.

  “Your child belongs to Zeus,” he said. “Not to Theseus, and not to me. Just as Hippolytus belonged to Artemis.”

  “But you are Poseidon the Earth-Shaker, lord of the land and the sea. Surely you ha
ve the power to claim the child of Theseus as your own. Surely you have the right to do so.”

  “Perhaps I would, were the child’s mother not a daughter of Zeus, and Theseus not fool enough to steal you from Sparta.” His gaze traveled over my body, his eyes narrowing. “Though I cannot say I blame him for losing his head. I would have taken you myself this day, but for the babe already in your belly. Later, perhaps, after it is born.”

  My stomach twisted and my face flamed. “I am your son’s wife!”

  Poseidon arched an eyebrow. “Not for long, if you continue in this fight against your father. Do you think he will leave you unpunished, insolent as you are? What will you do then, with Theseus’s life traded for your child’s, when Mycenae comes in the night?”

  “I would have both,” I said, raising my chin. “Theseus living, to care for our baby under your protection. I would have them live in peace!”

  “It is no small favor, even for the sake of my son, and Zeus is determined.”

  “My lord, in this if nothing else, I am my father’s daughter. I will have my way, even if I must sell myself to Hades. Will you have it said that your brother stood against Zeus when you would not? That the lord of the Underworld has more courage than the god of all the lands and seas?”

  The ocean roared in my ears, and the ground shook beneath my feet. The gold bowl fell from the great stone altar, ringing loudly against the rocks.

  “So be it.” Poseidon spat the words, fury turning his eyes to hurricanes. “If my son will be bound by this, they will both have my protection. But when the day comes that your child is born, and Zeus’s wrath falls upon you, do not call to me again, Helen, for you will have no more of my kindness.”

  Before I could respond, the god was gone.

  It was not until much later that I realized what Poseidon had promised me. The lives of Theseus and our child would be spared, yes, provided that Theseus himself agreed.

  But surely there was no reason he would not?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I took offerings daily to Aphrodite and Hera for Theseus’s sake, and to reassure his people. A queen should never be seen to slight the gods, no matter what I felt in my heart, and more than one king had lost his throne when the people believed the gods had cursed him. I had already angered Poseidon, though he had promised his protection. It would not do to offend the goddesses as well, much as I might dislike honoring them.

  “You should rest,” Theseus told me after I returned and we were alone together in his room for the evening.

  He had spent the day with Demophon and Menestheus, counting ears of wheat and amphorae of olive oil. The musty smell of the storerooms still clung to his tunic, making me sneeze. He stripped it off at once and tossed it away before coming back to me in the bed.

  “And if I’m not tired?” I propped myself up on an elbow, running my fingers through the fine hairs on his chest.

  I may not have had the favor of Aphrodite, but watching him stretch out beside me, all bronze skin and muscle, had a predictable effect on my desires. Theseus had not asked what had passed in the grove, and I did not tell him, but I made certain he knew Poseidon had not touched me. If he came later, it would go poorly for us both, but as long as Theseus lived by my side, I would not fear it. Poseidon was not Zeus, to treat his son in such a way, even if he had no love for me.

  The rumble of a chuckle rose from his chest to his throat. He caught my hand and kissed my palm.

  “You should rest,” he said again, meeting my eyes. “For the sake of the baby in your womb. We need not tempt the gods, and all it might take is a fall.”

  I sighed, rolling away to stare at the ceiling. He had repainted it with stars, when I had described my bedroom in Sparta, in the first days after I had come. But these were made of gold hammered into the thinnest sheets, and the play of light from the hearth fire gave them the illusion of twinkling.

  “You worry still, and overmuch. Poseidon protects us, even if the goddesses will not. Whatever slight Aphrodite believes we have done her, it will not be solved with sacrifice. Aethra even says so.”

  He stroked my hair from my face. “Perhaps it is best if you stopped going to the temples so often, now that you are so heavy with child.”

  “And what will I do then? You will not let me sit with you in judgment, either. All I do is lie in bed when I am not on my knees. I am going mad, Theseus.”

  “Let me open the queen’s megaron, and you may choose any of the women you’d like to join you while I cannot be by your side. Surely the company will keep any madness away, and I will know you are cared for.”

  “Surrounded by servants, you mean, waiting to sprint off to find you if I so much as twitch in discomfort.”

  “Would you deny me that small reassurance?” His hand found my waist, cupping the swell of my stomach. “Perhaps Menestheus’s sister would join you, and I am certain Aethra could find other women, wives of the nobles, who would be honored to be chosen to sit with their queen.”

  Menestheus’s sister was the last woman I wished to be near. Since that day he had found me in the megaron, I had seen the way he looked at me while I sat at Theseus’s side, eyes narrowed and lingering. I had no doubt every action, every beat of my heart would find its way to Menestheus’s ears if I took up the company of his sister, or any others. I would have to be Egyptian from dawn until dusk, never Helen, never myself, and I had already given him one reason for suspicion. It would endanger Theseus more to be so on display, and if I faltered and Menelaus heard of it . . .

  I shook my head, covering his hand on my stomach with my own. “If you will give me a loom and yarn, weaving will keep me occupied well enough here.” I forced myself to smile at him. “Will that do?”

  He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

  “If it will please you and allow you to rest, I’ll have it done tomorrow.”

  Theseus lay back beside me, and I fit myself against his body, resting my head on his shoulder. I thought of the nights I had spent in Sparta, weaving when I could not sleep, and how the work had always calmed me. It had been a long time since I had used a loom. Aethra had always supplied me with so much fabric, and so many new gowns, I had never asked for a loom to be placed in the queen’s room. And Theseus had distracted me.

  I trailed my fingers over the scars on his chest, then rose and kissed each one. Beneath me, Theseus sighed.

  “Helen,” he pleaded, “that is not what I meant by rest.”

  But it was not long before his lips were too busy to object.

  The following morning when I returned from my bath, a loom stood against the wall, the warp already threaded and weighted to the floor. A basket of yarn in every color I could want sat on a stool beside it, waiting.

  Theseus did not return until evening, and from the sweet smell of his tunic and the blood beneath his nails, he had spent his day making offerings to the gods. I did not ask, and he did not tell me, but it would not be the last time he left me to pray.

  We ate lamb stew, cold and hot, and lamb steaks, legs, and every other cut, seasoned in every way imaginable, sometimes with herbs I could not name. Theseus offered so many of the poor beasts to Hera, Aphrodite, Artemis, and Zeus, I wondered that there could be any left in the city. Still the months passed, and Aethra brought me lamb-stuffed breads in the morning and roasted lamb for the evening meal, while Theseus spent his days upon his knees.

  I began to weave, planning a family scene as a counterpoint to so much gloom. The lands of Athens would be in the background, framed with olive leaves. It would not be a large work, more a wall hanging than anything else, and it would take considerable skill, for I meant to make the figures in our likeness, but it would keep my mind off the things I could do nothing about.

  “I’ve never seen a woman so heavy with child so determined to stay on her feet,” Theseus teased me one evening, watching me from the b
ed while I shuttled the last of the blue yarn through the warp for the sky.

  “If every woman had a husband as kind as you to rub her feet, she wouldn’t mind being on them nearly so much,” I said, smiling over my shoulder.

  “Is that so?” He rose and came to stand behind me, studying my work. “You’ve even put clouds in the sky.”

  “Mmm.” I stepped back to look at it from the circle of his arms. The light from the hearth didn’t do it justice. “I needed to stretch the blue, for there was not much of it, but I think it will do. Of course, I will probably need more of the white later.”

  “If I had known you enjoyed weaving so much, I would have given you a loom long before now. All those months you were locked away, why did you not ask for one?”

  I leaned against his chest. “You had done so much for me already.”

  “Not enough.” He kissed me behind my ear. “And so I pay my debt by seeing to your swollen feet. Will you come willingly to bed now that you can barely tell the colors of your yarn apart, or must I take you by force?”

  He swung me up into his arms before I could answer, and I laughed, curling an arm around his neck.

  “Tomorrow, Demophon will see to Athens, and you and I will spend the day in any way you desire,” he said. “I only wish I could give you some greater gift for your birthday. A feast day for all of Athens to celebrate with us, perhaps. But I’m afraid it would be too great a coincidence for anyone to overlook if word got back to Sparta.”

  “You remembered,” I said, blinking back tears. With as often as he had been gone, I had expected more of the same.

  “How could I forget the day we first met, or the reason for it?” He laid me down on the bed, kissing the tears from my cheeks. “Aethra said she will prepare you a meal of anything you wish. You have only to whisper it.”

  “Anything but lamb.” I pulled him down. “Please!”

  Theseus laughed and lay beside me. “Nothing else but that?”