Blood of an Empire: Helen of Sparta

by catt dahman

  “And would you believe the news of my being with child reached his ears? He is quite beside himself with joy, and I didn’t mention a miscarriage. So he thinks I still carry his abominable spawn. Helen, what will I do? He’ll kill me. I came here to think.”

  Helen had the tiniest twinge in her lower belly, a soft start to what would be hellacious labor, and it gave her the answer needed. It wasn’t perfect, and it would cause problems in some ways, but she suddenly knew how to solve both her problem and Clytemnestra’s problem. Hurriedly, Helen explained.

  As Helen outlined her idea and Aethra added thoughts to enhance the plan, a brilliant strategy was born. Listening intently, Clytemnestra managed to actually eat and strengthen herself. “That’s brilliant, Helen; I think we could do it,” she said as she still cried, but not as hard.

  “And you’d care for her well? And love her?”

  “I hate anything that horrible man sires on me, but your child, a lovely baby, I will love and cherish as my very own.”

  Helen’s labor was hard. Aethra rubbed her with olive oil and wiped her brow often, and she gripped Helen’s hand as the child struggled to be born. After a grueling twenty-four hours, Helen pushed once more and in a gush of fluid, a baby girl was delivered.

  Aethra and Clytemnestra cleaned the baby with barley water thoroughly, washed her with rose water, and then rubbed her skin with grape seed oil infused with lavender so she smelled wonderful. The three women, at first, could only gaze upon the female baby; she was perfectly formed and the most beautiful baby they had ever seen, with pale blue eyes, rusty blonde hair in curls, and a tiny rosebud mouth.

  “I love her already,” Nessie said.

  When she cried, both Helen and Clytemnestra felt milk fill their breasts.

  Aethra handed the hungry baby to Clytemnestra. “She is the mother. That is the plan we have made. Let her feed her child.”

  “Ah, Iphigenia, she who is born strong,” Clytemnestra said as she nestled the baby to her full breast to nurse her.

  “Helen, she is the most beautiful babe I have ever seen. I swear to you I will love her with all my heart and treasure her. Though Agamemnon will cause me to bear children, I will curse those children of his loins and will love only Iphigenia.”

  Helen, weeping for her child, could only nod and said, “I will endeavor to be a good aunt to her, but I will love her all my life, my first child. But sister, I ask one thing, and this you must do for her. When it is her time to become a woman, you must let me explain everything to her.”

  “What? How odd.”

  “It may be odd, but I beg of you for her own health. I carry a slight problem, inherited from our mother, and I wish to explain to her how to overcome the misery. It’s all I ask.”

  Nessie, puzzled, agreed.

  Aethra forced both women to eat properly everyday as she healed one woman of an emotional devastation and the other of childbirth. Aethra called for vegetables and fruit, cheese and lean meat and filled both with plenty of goat’s milk, sweetened with honey and figs. She had them walk and stretch their bodies, forcing them into the exercises they had done as maidens to make their bodies both strong and beautiful.

  They took some sun, were bathed in milk and rose water, and were massaged with olive oil. Aethra oiled and cleansed their hair, and in time, both their skin and hair gleamed with health and vitality. Both got their perfect figures back quickly under Aethra’s tutelage.

  Helen would have been devastated had she not known that in this way, her child would live.

  In a short time, Aethra called for an audience with Tyndareus.

  He smiled broadly to see Helen was as lovely as ever, had stopped brooding, and was cheerful and endearing. It was as if Aethra had performed magic on the girl and taken her back in time to a year earlier.

  Tyndareus announced that he would look for Helen a husband and entertain suitors for her hand.

  As for Clytemnestra, Tyndareus rejoiced in her child, praising little Iphigenia as the loveliest princess he had ever seen. When Agamemnon saw his girl-child with burnished locks, like his own, he was pleased. Despite the brutality he had shown his wife, he seemingly forgot it all and treated Clytemnestra as his wife and queen, while she harbored only hatred for him.

  The sisters both felt tremendous hatred and pain toward Agamemnon, but neither showed a sign of it, a tribute to being a Spartan princess, holding their heads up high.

  Tyndareus announced he would allow Helen, Princess of Sparta, to be married.

  Chapter 11

  Helen Is Married

  Suitors for Helen descended onto the castle. There were so many, more than forty, and her head spun as each tried to impress her with athletics, charm, and good looks. Their small talk all ran together, and she despaired of watching them toss spears and shoot at targets, wrestle, race, show horses, and attempt to out-do the others. None stood out to her; all were a mass of boasting males who could barely form a correct sentence and sounded like fools.

  First, there was Ajax and his brother Tuecer, sons of Telamon. Ajax was the strongest of men, with large muscles and big hands and feet. Tuecer was an archer, and Helen remembered him because he was very persistent and smiled with a boyish charm.

  Menestheus was one of Helen’s suitors; he was the usurper to the throne of Theseus and only viable as king because of the support of the Dioscuri, or Castor and Pollux, Helen’s brothers.

  Odysseus was the craftiest, cleverest, sly man Helen faced. He, of all of them, didn’t sweet talk her but said, “I wonder at the fact Clytemnestra gave birth unexpectedly when you two were cloistered.”

  “I think that topic is inappropriate.”

  “Iphigenia is very beautiful. She resembles you.”

  “Clytemnestra is beautiful. She resembles her, and the rusty hair could only come from Agamemnon,” Helen said.

  “Doesn’t Theseus have ginger hair?”

  Helen pretended to think. “Ah, yes, he does, but I don’t think Clytemnestra and Theseus have kept company? Is that what you are implying?”

  Odysseus considered this and nodded. “Of course not. Iphigenia is Agamemnon’s daughter in full,” he said, but his eyes said something else. They were insolent and sly. He knew that it would be highly improper to suggest Nessie had been an adulteress.

  Patroclus was whom Helen enjoyed spending time, and they often spoke of never-ending love and how terrible it was to love one person but have to fill a specific role. Helen understood in time that Patroclus, or Patty, as she called him, was deeply in love with his cousin, Achilles.

  At some point, Tyndareus felt outwitted; no matter whom he chose, there would be over forty who would be disappointed and angry at not having been chosen, and he put off a decision as long as he could. All would be angry and wage war if he turned them away.

  Odysseus met with Tyndareus and unveiled a clever plan: Odysseus would share his plan if Tyndareus would support Odysseus in his pursuit of Penelope, a very fair and lovely daughter of Icarius, who offered his daughter to the one who defeated him in a running contest. The King of Sparta agreed.

  In the morning, Tyndareus faced the crowd of suitors. “I have made my choice, but this decision is all about the future of Sparta, and I need your help. I am asking all of you to make an oath upon your very life that whoever is chosen for fair Helen will be your brother-in-blood. You will swear an oath to protect and uphold her marriage to whomever is chosen.”

  In turn, each swore the pledge, and Odysseus grinned all the more.

  When it was done, Dareus told them whom he had chosen: Menelaus, brother of Agamemnon. Two sisters would be married to two brothers, sealing allegiance. Helen thought he was among the less offensive suitors, but she hated his brother for the brutality he had shown Nessie.

  Odysseus succeeded in defeating Icarius and married Penelope, and Helen married Menelaus, the brother of Agamemnon.

  It was done.

  Chapter 12

  Life and Death

  Helen, bri
ght, energetic, curious, and exuberant, found Menelaus to be very dull. He was a very serious man, intelligent, quiet, and driven to succeed. It was his desire to rule a great kingdom and to do it fairly and kindly, so everyone of Sparta liked him.

  Shortly, Tyndareus abdicated his throne to Menelaus, and thus Menelaus became King of Sparta, and Helen was Queen of Sparta.

  Luckily, Agamemnon was eager to visit his brother often, so Helen was able to see Clytemnestra and Iphigenia fairly often.

  Helen, in her role of aunt, spoiled the child terribly, sending her the most elegant, most expensive cloth for dresses, some in deep purple, dyed from using the excretion of the snails found in the ocean. Some of those were embroidered with threads of gold. She sent sky blue cloth, trimmed in the tinniest beads of lapis, pale green-edged with bits of jade, and crimson with designs set in silver.

  She sent a brush and comb set of the best silver, hair clips of gold and silver and precious gems, special salves or oils of saffron, and a locket. She also gave the child a dagger of silver; one day she would need it.

  Iphigenia squealed as she ran to embrace Helen and get her gifts.

  “Oh, Helen,” Clytemnestra rolled her eyes, “this is so bad to spoil the child.”

  Helen laughed, “You spoil her already!” They both burst into laughter.

  Iphigenia tore open the first gift with clumsy baby fingers and found an exquisitely wrought silver bracelet that she demanded to put on at once. Little charms danced about the intricate chain: a tiny horse for Hades, an owl for the goddess Athena, a fish for Poseidon, a stag for Artemis, a dove for Hermes, and an eagle for Zeus.

  She unwrapped a package that contained a perfect little statue of Athena. Next, she opened a large gift that looked like some type of hard plant with many branches, each tipped in silver; it might sit on a table.

  Helen opened a big bag that went with it and showed her what was inside: dolphins in various poses: a different fish, a small pearl, a mermaid with long blonde hair. Each had a little hole formed in it, and Iphigenia could set each character on the tableau and tell stories.

  “Oh, Helen,” Clytemnestra breathed, “these gifts are too much.”

  “Is it fun? Iphigenia will enjoy it.”

  Iphigenia was captivated over the gift.

  “I enjoy this,” Helen said, adding a tall stack of new cloth that was wispy silk and in shades of rose and purplish-blue, the two colors Iphigenia loved most.

  She had new sandals for her sister, a stack of fabric for dresses, earrings, and a huge fresco she had commissioned for her home: of the goddess Artemis in the wilderness surrounded by wild animals and virgins. It was beautifully carved and barely painted and would take two men to carry but would look wonderful in her sister’s home.

  Menelaus remarked later, “Clytemnestra and Iphigenia enjoyed their gifts. They were thoughtful.”

  “I am pleased that they like them.”

  “I wish I could buy you gifts.”

  Helen was shocked. “You have given me gifts. We redesigned the main rooms and expanded the baths. You added the cold bath to go with the hot one, and you added that lovely down rug on the bed that is soft as a cloud and warm as can be.”

  He waved a hand of dismissal. “Silly things.”

  “I enjoy them.”

  “I don’t please you or make you happy.”

  “Menelaus, this is not a worry.”

  “It is for me. I am married to the most beautiful woman on earth, and every man desires my wife and wants her for himself. I look at you and know you were given to me as a political move, but I am as captivated as anyone else by your beauty. I am not worthy, and we know it.

  Oh, Helen, I am always so angry with you because you are so pretty and perfect. It grates on me and hurts me every day.”

  “I am a loyal and loving wife to you. You have no reason to be pikraino or embittered,” she said, but he was a very jealous man.

  “Yes, you are Spartan to the core. I couldn’t find fault if I tried. You are the most magnificent, perfect thing I own, and I guard my most prized possession carefully. Helen, you are mine.”

  “If I can’t have your heart and soul, I will have your body and beauty,” said Menelaus while he worked himself into a frenzy. “I don’t know what I can do to keep the most beautiful woman in the world with me.”

  Helen sighed, “We are married.” He was choosing to make himself talaiporeo.

  “Nevertheless, men desire you. I can’t kill every man who glances at you with my sword,” Menelaus said, “but I want to. I want to drive the desire out of them; I want them to stop. I would have you drape your face and body every time you go out.”

  Helen nodded. She wore himations and scarves over her face and hair when she went out even with her husband. She was already forced to peek from thin silks and netting.

  “But I can’t stop them from looking and wanting you,” he raged.

  “That isn’t my fault.” Because of her hidden pregnancy, she had gone out alone at dark but not far. She had been forced to hunt right on the palace grounds.

  Each time Helen had cut the men’s throats with a silver knife after draining them, she had made a few more cuts along the face and the upper chest, and then robbed them to hide her intentions. What she found, she just threw to the poor beggars.

  But in two months, she had not been out hunting.

  “Menelaus, I am with child.”

  He stopped fidgeting and worrying and came to her; he tenderly touched her flat stomach. “Are you…are you sure, Helen?”

  “Positive.” She longed for children but knew Menelaus would be even more tiresome.

  The huge man went to him knees and held her. With his face against her belly, he wept. “Oh, wife, will you be mine, locked to me with this babe? Will I stop fearing that you will be swayed to leave me? Will I find hope and believe you will stay true to me?”

  “You must. Your jealousy drives you away from me. I am Spartan. No other culture of women is as chaste and loyal as the Spartan women are. You should appreciate and enjoy what you have.”

  “Please help me, oh, Helen, a child. I am the luckiest man alive.”

  Helen had hoped that night this strange man might mellow and be loving and kind. In time, if he were good to her and the baby, she might grow to love him; she was already in a place where she kind of liked him. Tentatively.

  For the next seven months. Menelaus was respectful and caring. He made sure she was comfortable, walked with her, made sure the cooks made her favorite foods, demanded they find specific delicacies, and spent hours rubbing her feet with rosemary oil for the swelling.

  Helen’s labor was almost laughable in the ease. Aethra pretended it was more complicated, just to keep anyone from guessing it wasn’t a first. Helen presented lovely Hermione to Menelaus, he found she was a beautiful girl, and she became the very apple of his eyes.

  Helen settled into marriage as best she could and tried her best to get along with her husband, but Menelaus seemed only to have eyes for the little daughter Helen had given him, and Helen couldn’t claim her own, firstborn child.

  “You aren’t her nurse, Menelaus; stop running every time she cries,” Helen snapped.

  He glared. “She is upset.”

  “She’s spoiled,” Helen snapped back.

  Hermione only had to whimper and Menelaus would run to her. She grew fat with all the food he fed her, and she didn’t have to learn to walk as he carried her everywhere. In time, both Helen’s husband and child ignored her, so she had no place in the marriage.

  Helen dreaded when Hermione became a woman and had her first bleeding and her first hunger for blood. The silly thing was so spoiled that she would feed and leave bodies everywhere in her laziness. She would have to be tightly reined in when the time came.

  One morning, Helen came upon Aethra weeping in the garden.

  “Is it Theseus?”

  Aethra nodded and said, “Lycomedes of Scyros gave him refuge on the island at first, b
ut Theseus was very popular there and well-liked by all the people. In jealousy, he threw Theseus from a cliff into the sea.”

  Helen felt her legs give way. Like Theseus’ father, he had fallen into the sea. “Is he…?”

  “He is dead,” Aethra told her.

  Helen collapsed onto a bench. She didn’t cry or say anything but stared ahead. Theseus would not be restored to his throne or come for Helen or be reunited with his daughter and true love. Helen had nothing, less than nothing.

  In a few days, it was the time of Helen’s feeding. This time, she didn’t feel regret or unhappiness at what she was doing. She calmly dressed and sneaked out. If she were caught, she would rip their throats out, husband or guard alike.

  Uninterested, Helen moved past a woman who walked alone.

  A pair of Spartan women slipped from the baths, and Helen ignored them as well.

  Finally, in an alley, Helen found the prey she sought. Two men drunkenly staggered along, loud and boastful. “Oh, who have we here?” one asked.

  Helen moved along gracefully, her face veiled but figure on display in the thinnest and shortest of flesh-colored silks that were almost transparent in the gleaming moonlight. “Katanoe,” she said cryptically, inviting them to behold her.

  “Stand back, Phophoros. She will be mine,” one man said. He was dressed nicely in a good quality peplos, and he had an embroidered chalamys, but it was wrinkled and dirty about the hemline. Helen could smell wine and cheap meat and sweat and smoke on him.

  “Katabrabeuo,” the other man muttered with a curse, wishing to cheat his friend of the prize that was beautiful Helen.

  Helen laughed lightly. The second man was less finely dressed in a coarsely woven peplos and a plain chalamys that was disheveled and hemmed too short to be fashionable. She crooked her finger to the second man to join her as she slipped into the shadows.

  With a whistle, he slapped his friend’s shoulder and walked over to her. “What shall I call you?”