The War At Troy

by Lindsay Clarke

Gathering a purple shawl about her shoulders, Helen sat up beside her husband and put a hand to his shoulder. ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  ‘Try to sleep.’ He withdrew into his own preoccupations, ‘It’s enough that one of us should go without rest.’

  ‘Would you rather I nursed my fears in the dark as you do? If something is troubling you, you must share it with me.’

  Sighing, Menelaus turned over onto his back. ‘The riddle of the oracle was deciphered today. Its judgement is that Sparta can only be freed of pestilence if sacrifices are offered at some ancient tombs near Troy.’

  ‘Then send there at once,’ Helen exclaimed. ‘Have the offerings made. What is the difficulty?’

  Quietly he said, ‘I must make the offerings myself.’

  ‘You must voyage to Troy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I will come with you.’

  He shook his head, ‘No, I want you to stay here and watch over Hermione and the city for me.’

  ‘And what of my wishes? Do they count for nothing? Hermione can come with us,’ she added quickly. ‘We have counsellors who will care for the city.’

  Menelaus sat up to look at his wife. ‘I’ve no more desire to leave you than you have to see me go, my love. But I can’t take you with me.’

  Sensing that there was more on his mind than he had so far shared, she pushed him further until at last he declared that he was unwilling to take her with him because the journey might well prove dangerous.

  ‘Then we will share the dangers,’ she countered. When he shook his head and turned away again, she said, ‘What are you not telling me?’

  He lay in troubled silence for a time, not wanting to alarm her. But his need to unburden his cares was also great, so when she pressed him again he said, ‘I’m afraid that sooner or later war must come between Argos and Troy.’

  ‘Why,’ she demanded, ‘why should it come to that?’

  ‘Helen, there could be many reasons. Because Priam is an angry old man who has lost patience with Telamon. Because Troy would be the richest of prizes. Because men are fools who think there’s more glory to be found in a bloody brawl over a burning city than in cultivating their fields in peace. Perhaps because the gods have grown bored and are spoiling for trouble.’

  ‘Or because your brother is?’

  Menelaus glanced away from the cold question. ‘All I know is that the air smells of war every time Argives and Trojans jostle each other. It would take no more than a single reckless incident to provide a pretext and the whole eastern seaboard could go up in flames.’

  Helen had listened to this with increasing dismay. She sat staring into the darkness now. ‘Why have you said nothing of this before?’

  ‘Because I wasn’t certain. I didn’t want to alarm you.’

  ‘But you’re certain now?’

  ‘Not certain, no.’ He looked back at her and saw the light from the oil-lamp gleaming in her eyes. ‘But you’re right of course,’ he admitted. ‘Since Agamemnon became High King of Argos, it seems as if his hunger for power is feeding on itself. I hadn’t quite realized it till I saw him in Salamis but he’s been at peace too long and he’s looking eastwards now. He’s been probing the Asian coast with pirate raids for years, but it’s Troy that he wants.’

  Helen gave vent to her anger. ‘The man’s a monster. Is all Argos not enough for him?’

  ‘Apparently not. Fortunately, he can’t take Troy on his own and he’s not yet certain he can count on all the support he needs. Telamon and his sons would be quick to join him, of course, and there are others who are thinking about the plunder. Diomedes for one. But they wouldn’t be enough on their own.’

  Helen frowned into the gloom. ‘And you?’

  Menelaus turned to look at his wife. ‘Like it or not, if it came to war I would have to commit the strength of Sparta.’

  ‘Because Agamemnon is right? Or because he’s your brother?’ There was a long silence between them.

  Eventually Helen said, ‘And the oracle demands that you go to Troy at such a time?’

  Menelaus sighed. ‘The only choice I have is not to take you with me.’

  ‘Then you will go fully armed? You will take ships and fighting-men with you.’

  ‘That would be Agamemnon’s way -- to go bustling in, demanding access to the tombs and cutting his way through if they so much as blinked at him. But it would start the war I’m trying to avoid. That’s why I can’t sleep.’

  ‘Then what will you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

  Helen put a hand tenderly to his cheek. ‘Then perhaps you should try to sleep on it.’ She pushed him gently back down onto the bed and laid her arm across his chest, but neither of them could sleep and they could almost hear each other thinking.

  After a time, Helen said, ‘What do you think Odysseus would advise if he was here?’

  Menelaus thought about it. ‘Antenor knows I’m trying to avoid conflict,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m sure he read it in my face on Salamis. And Anchises isn’t looking for war. So I think Odysseus would tell me to go to Troy in a way which meant I could speak easily with them.’

  ‘That sounds wise,’ she said, ‘but how could it be done?’

  ‘Perhaps only honestly,’ he realized quickly. ‘Perhaps that’s it. I think you’ve solved it for me. After all, I’m going to Troy as a supplicant so that’s how I should present myself -- unarmed, a pilgrim on a sacred errand to the god.’

  He sat up in bed with sudden excitement. ‘I’m sure that’s it,’ he exclaimed, and took her warmly into his embrace. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘What will I do without you?’ she whispered. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘Absolutely sure. And all the more so because the thought came to me through you. And I’ll be back in Sparta just as soon as I can. Believe me, a man who shares his bed with the cleverest and most beautiful woman in the world won’t stay away a night longer than he needs.’

  ‘But the dangers,’ she said.

  ‘The best way of avoiding danger is not to provoke it. I should have seen it for myself. It’s going to be all right, I promise you.’

  Not long after that Menelaus fell asleep. But Helen lay awake for a long time that night, aware of the darkness behind everything, and fearful that for all her husband’s protestations the world was changing round them in ways that neither of them could ever hope to control.

  In Troy meanwhile, Priam had again summoned his council. Having listened while Anchises and Antenor reported on the failure of their mission, he said, ‘I’m minded to accept Telamon’s ungracious invitation. If he refuses our offers of gold then let him have bronze weaponry instead. How soon can we have a fleet ready to invade Salamis?’

  ‘Within a few months,’ his eldest son Hector replied, ‘but we should think carefully about this. Troy’s genius has always been for peace not war. If the High King of Argos should come to Telamon’s aid, there may be more to lose here than there is to gain.’

  ‘Hesione has suffered captivity for more than twenty years,’ Priam snapped. ‘How long would this council have me sit here doing nothing to aid her?’

  ‘I don’t doubt my brother’s courage,’ Deiphobus put in, ‘but Hector is too cautious. We Trojans can fight as well as any, and our friends will stand with us. The Argive pirates have troubled our coastline long enough.’

  ‘Mount such an expedition if you think it right,’ said Antenor, ‘but I greatly fear that war may be all that comes of it. I know the king cares for his sister. He should be aware that Telamon will see her dead sooner than give her up.’

  Frowning, Priam looked to his blind cousin. ‘Anchises, you were in Salamis. Do you believe that to be so?’

  Anchises lifted his head. ‘Telamon is a firebrand with an evil temper. Hesione’s life means little to him. He’s sacked this city once, remember. I could hear in his voice that he thinks he can do it again.’

  ‘Then let him come and try,
’ said Deiphobus. ‘He’ll find it a different proposition this time.’

  ‘He’s eager to come,’ said Antenor, ‘and Agamemnon with him. And if Agamemnon comes, then his brother will come, and they will not come alone.’

  Priam said heavily, ‘When Agamemnon is ready for war he will find all the excuses he needs. The fate of my sister matters nothing to him. He knows that Troy is rich. He knows that we command the Asian seaboard and that we hold the gate to the trade roads of the east. Those are the reasons why he’ll bring his ships against us sooner or later.’

  ‘Then if war is coming,’ Deiphobus declared, ‘we should take it to him before he brings it to us. Let the time be now.’

  Less impetuous than his brother, Hector sat at his father’s side in the grave silence of the council chamber. After a moment he glanced up at Antenor. ‘You said you thought that the younger son of Atreus might have doubts about looking for a war?’ Antenor smiled bleakly. ‘The King of Sparta is comfortable enough staying at home in bed with Helen.’

  Most of the men in the hall permitted themselves a smile, but Hector was not among them. ‘Then might we reason with him?’ he asked.

  ‘More easily than with Agamemnon,’ said blind Anchises.

  ‘But we can’t reason with Telamon,’ Priam declared, ‘and Menelaus will support his brother if it comes to war. The question is shall it be now or later?’

  A new voice said, ‘There may be another way.’

  Everyone turned to see Paris leaning against a pillar with a half-smile on his lips. It was the first time he had ever spoken in council, but he had been listening eagerly and carefully for many months, while he was taught the rudiments of reading, writing and statecraft. Though the names of Argos and Sparta had been unknown to him when he first heard them at Aphrodite’s lips, they were familiar enough to him now, and if, for everyone else, Argos was like the shadow of thunder looming across the prospects of the city, for Paris it was luminous with hope.

  Deiphobus said, ‘I’m sure our father values your opinion, but we’re not discussing the finer points of bull-breeding today.’

  ‘Peace, cousin,’ said Aeneas. ‘Let the king hear your brother.’ Paris cleared his throat. ‘I think my father is wise to build a fleet ready for war. But while it is building, why not let me take ship westwards and see if I can’t carry off some Argive princess to hold hostage in exchange for the release of Hesione? Telamon will not listen to us but he may take notice of his angry friends when they demand that he lets her go in return for the woman they have lost. That way we may save my father’s sister and still be ready for Agamemnon if he comes against us. And -- who knows? - with luck we might even avoid a costly war.’

  ‘Paris is thinking more clearly than the rest of us,’ Hector smiled. ‘This strikes me as a cunning plan.’

  ‘And one that is rather well-suited to his talents!’ Aeneas laughed. ‘Once the Argive women set eyes on him, they’ll be fighting over which of them gets abducted first. I might even go along myself to watch it happen.’

  ‘Then let it be so,’ said Priam gravely and turned to Antenor. ‘Have the ship-builder Phereclus summoned. I want a fleet of warships ready for an assault on Salamis before summer’s end. My son Paris shall sail in the first of them.’

  Two weeks later Paris was down at the shore clad only in a breech-clout as he worked among the shipwrights to help the timbers of his vessel take shape. Beside him Phereclus raised his craftsman’s eyes from a further satisfied examination of the figurehead that a wood-carver had delivered earlier that day. ‘She can never be as beautiful as the goddess herself,’ he was saying, ‘but this is as fine an Aphrodite as I’ve seen in a long time.’

  When Paris did not immediately reply, the ship-builder glanced across at him and saw that the young man’s attention had been taken elsewhere. A vessel had entered the mouth of the Hellespont and dropped sail while still some way out. Now she was coming in under oars with the sun behind her, leaving the boats of the fishing fleet bobbing in her wake.

  Phereclus shielded his eyes to study the approaching vessel. ‘She’s Argive-built,’ he muttered after a moment, ‘but no warship. So who do we have here?’

  The ship creaked closer inshore and ran aground about thirty yards down the strand. One of the crew leapt from the bow holding a painter to make her fast. With a jump of his heart Paris read the words painted above the eye on the scarlet prow. The name sprang in a whisper to his lips: Helen of Sparta.

  Phereclus heard it and grunted, ‘A good name for a pretty little craft!’

  ‘She’s more than pretty,’ Paris said, ‘she’s beautiful!’

  Almost without volition he fell to his knees, pressed a hand to his mouth, and then touched it to the lips of the figurehead where the goddess lay on an ox-cart, nestling the infant Eros at her breast. With his eyes briefly closed, and his mind on fire, Paris made a silent prayer of thanks.

  Looking back at the ship again, he saw a tall man in a tunic of white linen standing at the bow, fanning himself with a sun hat as he stared ashore. His hair glowed like a beacon in the ruddy light of the late afternoon.

  By now all the men working on the ship had downed their tools. Most of them were gazing in a mixture of admiration and apprehension at the foreign vessel, though one or two looked back at the city where a company of armed horsemen were already passing through the gates on their way to the shore.

  ‘What business does an Argive have in Trojan waters?’ Paris called.

  ‘Peaceful business, and holy,’ the red-haired man answered. ‘I come here as a supplicant.’

  Paris saw the long scar left by a sword across the man’s cheek. He said, ‘To beg forgiveness for the towns you’ve raided and burned?’

  ‘Not I, friend,’ the man smiled. ‘I’m no pirate. My name is Menelaus, King of Sparta.’ He glanced quickly askance at the approaching troop.

  Again Paris felt his heart lurch. ‘And husband to the lady for whom your ship is named?’

  ‘I have that honour.’

  ‘And with it every man’s envy, I understand.’

  Menelaus dipped his head in a courteous smile of acknowledgement. ‘My wife will be flattered to learn that rumour of her beauty has travelled so far.’

  ‘If you live to return to her.’ Paris kept his voice light, covering the agitation of his heart. ‘You still haven’t told us what you want here.’

  ‘I come at the bidding of the Delphic oracle. My country is afflicted with a plague that will lift only when I offer sacrifice at the tombs of Lycus and Chimaerus. I’m told they lie on Trojan land, near Apollo’s shrine at Sminthe.’

  A pang of guilt seared through Paris. He was thinking of Oenone and of the many times he and she had returned together to visit her father Cebren at Apollo’s shrine.

  But, ‘I know the place,’ he said. ‘I used to raise bulls not far from there.’

  ‘Then the gods are with me. Guide me there, herdsman, and I will pay you well, both for that service and for a hecatomb of your finest animals.’

  Paris smiled at him. ‘You’ll need my father’s permission first.’

  ‘Is this your father?’

  ‘No, this is Phereclus, son of Tecton, the most skilful shipwright in all Asia. My father is Priam, King of Troy, and this--’ Paris smiled in the direction of the approaching horsemen ‘--is his palace guard coming to arrest you.’

  Menelaus held up his hands. ‘Forgive my mistake, Prince of Troy. It was an honest one -- though I might have guessed as much from your noble bearing. Will you inform your men that I come in peace and am quite unarmed?’

  ‘Do you swear to that?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘On your wife’s life?’

  ‘That is a fearful oath - but yes, on my wife’s life.’

  ‘Then consider yourself under my protection, friend. My name is Paris, though some men call me Alexander. Be welcome here in Troy.’

  With a prayer of thanks for a safe voyage, Menelaus leapt down from his sh
ip and waded ashore through the surf. He was offering his hand to Paris as the troop of horsemen cantered up, led by Antiphus who shouted a challenge at the stranger from under his high-plumed helmet.

  Paris smiled up at him. ‘We are honoured to entertain the King of Sparta in our city, brother. Before your men get too excited, tell them to lower their arms and lend a hand to haul this lovely ship inshore. I have taken Menelaus under my protection. His royal person is sacred, both as a holy supplicant here and as the guest of my house.’

  True to his word, Paris took Menelaus into his own richly furnished apartment at the palace and placed himself as a buffer between his guest and the polite but suspicious way in which most of his brothers received the Spartan king within their walls. It was Paris too who conducted Menelaus into the presence of King Priam the next day, where he explained the urgent reason for this unannounced mission to Troy.

  ‘Far-sighted Apollo is revered here in Troy,’ Priam answered gravely. ‘If his oracle sends you, son of Atreus, then be welcome among us. The holy place you seek lies on the Dardanian lands of my royal cousin Anchises, whom you have already met at Telamon’s court. He speaks well of you and we value his wise counsel. No doubt his son Aeneas will conduct you to the tombs.’

  ‘Gladly,’ said Aeneas, ‘and Paris will help us choose the bulls for sacrifice.’

  ‘Then take the animals as our gift,’ said Priam. ‘Now come, Sparta. You and I must talk of other things. I have a sister who was carried away from us in an evil time and dearly wishes to return. Telamon listens neither to her pleas nor to my demands, but he does listen to your brother. Do you not think it would be well if Agamemnon and I were of the same mind on this matter?’

  ‘My own wife, Helen, was abducted once,’ Menelaus answered. ‘We understand your sister’s suffering, and your own concern.’

  Then you will help us in this matter?’

  ‘Telamon is certain of the justice of his case,’ said Menelaus quietly. ‘And of the power of your brother’s armies.’

  ‘I am sure,’ Menelaus smiled, ‘that the High King of Troy also protects his friends and allies.’