The Memoirs of Helen of Troy

by Amanda Elyot

  Aethra bade me step out of the bathing tub and wrapped me in a warm cloth scented with lavender. Suddenly I felt very drowsy. She helped me into the magnificent bed and gently pulled the fleece over my naked form. “Rest for a while,” she murmured. “I will return before the evening meal to help you dress.”

  Hypnos, god of sleep, visited me almost immediately. When I awoke from the deepest slumber I can ever remember, Aethra was standing by the bedside. “Hurry,” she said, “it is nearly time to eat.”

  Here in Athens I thought I had seen every luxury imaginable until Aethra threw open the doors of an olivewood cabinet carved to match the bedposts. She must have understood the dramatic impact of her gesture, for each shelf displayed a stack of folded textiles in all the shades of Iris’s rainbow, from delicate rose to deep indigo and every hue in-between. She selected a length of cloth the color of smoky topaz, which she said matched the color of my eyes. I thought the subtle shade was quite sophisticated and was secretly pleased that it would make me appear older than my years. I exhaled audibly as Aethra draped the fabric over my body. “Why, what’s the matter, child?” she asked me, thinking I had gasped in pain.

  I had never felt anything so smooth, so soft against my bare skin. The fabric of the sepia-colored chiton felt like a fluid caress to every part of my body, from my shoulders to my ankles. “What is this?” I marveled.

  “Silk. From the East.” I had to laugh when Aethra added that talented little insects that lived in mulberry trees spun the filament. She may as well have told me that Aphrodite herself had woven it. Aethra encircled my waist with a golden girdle and, complimenting me on their daintiness, laced my feet into matching sandals. Then she dressed my hair by plaiting the lengths that framed my face, leaving the rest to remain loose and flowing. She wound the braids into an elaborate style at the back of my head and secured them with pins of tortoise shell tipped in gold. My headdress was a delicate gilded fillet. From an ebony chest overflowing with jewelry, Aethra selected a necklace and matching ear dangles of woven gold; she affixed them and admired her handiwork, then determined that two gilt cuff bracelets should dress my bare arms. As light as the filmy silk felt against my body, when I rose to walk I felt as armored soldiers must, weighted down by metal accoutrements.

  We descended the marble steps to the main level of the palace and crossed a colonnaded courtyard that led to the dining hall. A large brazier recessed into the floor in the center of the room provided enough warmth to ward off the evening breezes wafting up from the Aegean. Theseus was already at the table, reclining on a couch, as was the custom for men. On either side of him were two straight-backed chairs: one for myself and one for his mother. Even with only three of us in the grand hall, the king of Athens was apparently still observing propriety. I would have liked to recline at the table just once, although I was sure that women enjoyed better digestion for having to sit up while they ate.

  “You have gilded the lily, Mother,” Theseus said to Aethra. He waved dismissively at all the gold I was wearing. “Helen of Sparta needs no ornamentation to enhance her beauty.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” I said boldly, perfectly aware that attired and adorned as I was, I no longer resembled a little girl. I had not the feelings of a child, nor the desires of one, and was glad of Aethra’s efforts.

  I had never seen such a feast for only three people. I was surprised that the slaves served us roasted lamb. In Sparta, we only consumed meat during festivals and when honored guests were being entertained. There was no such thing in my experience as an honored female guest. After the meal, we were brought a dish of honeyed figs; and Aethra, claiming that her hip had been ailing her all day, requested her son’s permission to leave us. We wished her a pleasant night’s repose and watched her retreat from the hall. I felt sorry that she had exerted herself to bathe and assist me. “It doesn’t seem proper that the mother of the king of Athens should act as my handmaiden,” I told Theseus. “Surely there is a servant whom you trust to attend me just as well.”

  “A mere slave cannot educate you,” he replied. “There is no one better than my mother to guide you on the path to womanhood. She is wise and of royal blood. And she has a stake in ensuring that your virginity is safely guarded. She knows well that you will fetch the highest ransom when you are the most desirable in marriage in every way.”

  “And what if Tyndareus refuses to play your game?” I asked Theseus, refilling my wine goblet. “He is not known for being a spendthrift, and it is no secret that he cares little for me. What if he decides to ignore your demands and leaves me here in Athens to languish indefinitely? Or what if he chooses instead to amass an army and wage war upon Athens for the crime of abducting the princess of Sparta?”

  Theseus’s smile lines crinkled even deeper as he laughed loud and long. “That, lovely Helen, will never happen. I have seen many summers and have taken more than one princess in my day. You may be the most beautiful woman in the world, and even the most desirable, but men do not go to war over a woman. King Minos never declared war upon me for abducting Ariadne—even after I abandoned her—and he was a powerful ruler with many strong allies. No one waged war on Jason for eloping with Medea, and Europa’s abduction also went unavenged. So did the kidnapping of the Troyan King Priam’s sister Hesione many years ago.” Theseus drained his wine in a single draught and refilled both our cups again. “Throughout all Achaea, and even in the East, it is one of the most common—and vastly accepted—ways for men to find a bride. Of course, when I brought you here from Sparta, my ambition was not to wed you, but to sell you back to Tyndareus. He will not spend more than I ask in ransom to outfit and armor countless ships and men and risk their lives for the sake of a pretty face—even for the sake of the most beautiful one in the world.” He laughed again at my foolish question. “Men do not go to war over an abducted woman,” he repeated.

  The wine emboldened me to challenge the opinion of the great ruler of Athens on political strategy and diplomacy. “All right, then, tell me what does impel them to make war?”

  “You mean apart from pride and honor?” he replied dryly.

  I nodded. “Spoken like a Laconian! Already it is I who am having an influence on you!”

  Theseus seemed as interested in schooling me as I was in learning. “Power. Profit. Land and all the riches that lie upon it and within it. Trade routes. If a ruler controls the trade routes, he can tax other traders for traversing them and also retain the finest goods for himself and his people. Old King Priam of Troy is a perfect example. The waters of the Hellespont are so treacherous and the winds so often unfavorable that traders are forced to put into port there for several months; they must pay Priam for the privilege, in addition to forfeiting a toll in order to travel through his domain, whether by land or sea. Your sister’s husband, Agamemnon, has yearned to end this practice since he became High King of Mycenae, yet it is no secret among the Achaean chieftains that he seeks to gain control of these routes himself. Not only that, but the mountains of Anatolia, where Troy is located, are rich in minerals, especially copper, which is used to make bronze weapons and utensils. Men, Helen, like to control things, to master them, although”—he chuckled—“the one thing they have never yet been fully able to control is a woman.” Theseus gazed at me and smiled. “Particularly those with a Laconian tongue!”

  “We Spartan women are proud of our blunt speaking, sire. We must be known for something, and as we lack the lavish amenities available to your Athenian women, our wit must be our export!”

  And as the weeks went by, so it went every evening in Athens. We ate meat each night, accompanied by olives and dates and the freshest fruits and vegetables, all washed down with generous amounts of the finest wine. We often entertained, and I was becoming a talented hostess, conversant in many subjects, as well as an accomplished dancer and musician. Theseus, himself a gifted lyre player, was pleased that in all things I proved a quick study.

  On the evenings when we dined alone, after
the meal, Theseus and I would sit in the solitude of the Great Hall and talk for hours, until the coals in the brazier became flickering embers, and on some nights until the embers turned to ash and the rosy appearance of Eos heralded the sunrise.

  At Theseus’s elbow I learned about the ways of the world beyond Sparta—beyond Athens, even—and came to understand much about the arts of politics and kingship. Should it ever happen that I would be widowed, I would know more than how to run a household, play the flute, or employ the little feminine tricks practiced by fine Athenian ladies—(like holding a ball of amber in my hands to keep them cool and prevent my palms from sweating). I would know how to use my power wisely. I feared raising the subject, for I thought he might discontinue my education, but one night I summoned the courage to remark upon Theseus’s unusual willingness to speak to a mere girl about topics that were deemed the province of men.

  “You are talking to one who married an Amazon queen,” he reminded me. “There are some men who can admire a woman for her unconventional qualities. Any ninny can see your beauty, Helen, but few will see past it.”

  “And you are indeed one who sees everything,” I murmured.

  “Beyond your obvious physical attributes,” Theseus said, “I admire your spirit. Your curiosity, your pluck—and your mind—which, with the proper nurturing, will blossom into a flower as exquisite as your beauty of form and face. And,” he added, more to himself than for my benefit, “perhaps just as dangerous.”

  At that moment, I believe I experienced what it was to realize that one is in love.

  SEVEN

  Be careful, my son,” I overheard Aethra warn Theseus one evening after supper. “She possesses a feminine wisdom that is beyond her tender years. There is a knowing within her that even she may not fully comprehend. It would be prudent to effect her ransom as soon as possible—before she realizes her own power and learns how to wield it.”

  Three months had passed since I came to Athens. Aethra had recently taken to sleeping on a cot in my room and barring the door before I retired for the night. For the first time since my arrival in Attica, I truly felt like a captive.

  My admiration for Theseus increased with each passing day. He was not a man to crow about his achievements, but if he had accomplished even half the exploits for which he was renowned, he was indeed a remarkable man. He had slain tyrants, dived to the bottom of the sea to retrieve treasure tossed there by King Minos of Crete (perhaps that was how some people came to believe that Theseus’s true father was Poseidon, lord of the deep) and was credited with inventing the official rules of wrestling. Of course, Theseus had also broken several loyal hearts in his lifetime, but I discovered that he was not indifferent to the pain his behavior had left in its wake, nor had he ever been exempt from great sorrows. Thus I found it within me to seek to understand him, rather than being quick to condemn. This benevolent king had seen his father needlessly die, had lost his one great love, Antiope, to Thanatos, god of death; and their son Hippolytus had perished in a fatal chariot accident. As Theseus continued to take me into his confidence, my sympathies for him grew. Many evenings, I needed to summon all my self-restraint not to reach out and caress his arm or enfold him in mine, or even to climb onto his lap and settle into his strong embrace. Surely my secret must have been written all over my face. Aethra, I know, watched me very carefully.

  I’ll never forget her satisfied expression when she announced a messenger from Sparta. My stomach fluttered anxiously while he was received as an honored guest; according to custom, he ate and drank with us before being permitted to disclose his news. The young man was surprised that Theseus permitted two women to be privy to his message. Aethra, however, looked as though she already knew it. If she had not purchased his intelligence outright upon his arrival, she had divined it. It was the first reply we had received since Theseus had sent a messenger to Tyndareus with his ransom demand.

  “The sons of Tyndareus, Castor and Polydeuces, bearing one hundred talents of gold, are on their way to Athens to demand the release of their sister, Helen of Sparta,” the messenger said, staring at my bare shoulder as he uttered my name. He stammered the rest of his communication.

  Aethra raised her hands and uttered a brief prayer. Theseus at first seemed pleased; a hundred talents was an enormous sum. A royal ransom, indeed. Yet he became withdrawn, even morose, almost immediately. My behavior was the rudest of all. Despite being elegantly attired in a hyacinth-blue silk chiton, my hair elaborately curled with a metal wand heated in a brazier, I betrayed my girlhood by bolting from the dining hall. I ran up the marble stairs, threw open the door to my chamber, and flung myself on the bed, sobbing into the fleece coverlet.

  I should have been delighted at the prospect of being reunited with my brothers, the dearest of my kin. Certainly, I looked forward to seeing them, and I had thought of them often over the past quarter of a year. But I was no longer the child who had been taken from Sparta. Theseus had fulfilled his promise—to have abducted a mere girl, but to see her returned a woman. In every way but one, he had added then. Those words were etched on my memory.

  When Aethra finally entered my room, she believed I was fast asleep. I waited until I heard the irregular wheeze that signified her departure for the land of Hypnos, then tiptoed to my dressing table and anointed myself with perfume, dabbing the sweet honeysuckle fragrance on each wrist, behind my ears, and between my breasts. I stained my lips with color and smudged my eyes with kohl. With a silent prayer to Aphrodite to guide me in my mission, I unbolted the wooden door, closed it softly behind me, and quiet as a cat, made my way to Theseus’s chamber.

  His door was open just enough to light my path to his bed. The glow from the full moon illuminated the planes of his handsome face, making the few strands of gray in his thick dark hair resemble shimmering silver filaments.

  It was my only chance. The Dioscuri might arrive as early as tomorrow. Apparently, Theseus did not sleep soundly, for he woke with a start when he sensed my presence at his bedside. I touched my finger to his lips. “I am like a master craftsman who has been given the finest tools,” I whispered, “but I don’t know how to use them. Teach me, Theseus. Please. Teach me.” He began to protest but I stopped his mouth with a gentle kiss. “You are as celebrated in the art of seduction as I am renowned for my beauty. We are well matched.” If I had followed in my mother’s footsteps as a priestess of the Goddess, I would have chosen Theseus of Athens—adventurer, lover, ruler—as my bird-consort for the ceremonial rites.

  Theseus rose from his bed and stood beside me. With a practiced hand he unlaced my girdle and unpinned the brooch that fastened my chiton to my right shoulder. He took my face in his hands, kissed me deeply, then ran his fingers through my thick mass of gold-red hair, which he spread in tendrils like the rays of the sun. His caresses explored my neck and shoulders, and in a single fluid motion he slipped the filmy garment down the length of my body. He extended his hand and I stepped out of the puddle of blue silk like Aphrodite rising from the Cytherean sea. “My god, you are exquisite,” he murmured, appraising my nakedness.

  He drew me toward him, the heat of our bodies palpable, and kissed me again, letting his tongue explore my own. Where Theseus led, I willingly followed. He gently ran his tongue over the outline of my lips, along the ridge of my teeth, then sent it dancing once more with mine. My body was on fire. Eros and Himeros had made me their captive, and the only thing I sought beyond the glories of remaining their prisoner was the even greater ecstasy of release. Like a woman possessed, I pulled Theseus onto the bed with me, opening myself to him. “Please,” I whispered hungrily, “I want . . . now.”

  His eyes sparkled with amusement as well as desire. “You asked me to teach you. And your first lesson in the arts of seduction and lovemaking is never to rush. Ecstasy prolonged is the sweetest agony. Trust me.” He gently nestled me among the soft coverlets and urged me to allow myself to enjoy each individual sensation. His lips and fingers flickered over my face and
body, teasing my eyelids, lips, throat, breasts, belly, and even in the tender crook of my arms and behind my knees. Not a single part of my body was left unworshipped by his caresses. His mouth returned to the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and with the prolonging he had promised, Theseus began to honor my sex with the slow, deliberate stroking of his tongue.

  “My god,” I whispered. Never could there have been a better tutor.

  “The way for a man to truly please a woman in bed is to begin by taking everything one-tenth as slowly as he wants to go. We are always too eager.”

  “Who taught you that?”

  “A wise woman told me so. It’s the most valuable thing a son can know.” He took me with his tongue until I felt as though waves were crashing over me and I was being borne aloft to Elysium. I was breathless. Theseus aligned his body with mine and took me in his arms. My tears of pleasure bedewed his cheeks as he held me.

  “Now, teach me what to do with my mouth,” I said, and he needed no further urging to instruct me in how to pleasure him. I suppose my greatest surprise was learning how much power a woman has when she takes a man between her fingers and lips, bringing him to the brink of ecstasy and then permitting him his passionate release.

  “Make me a woman, Theseus. Completely.” My voice sounded throaty and unfamiliar to my own ears.

  “It will be my greatest pleasure,” he murmured, and slid a silken cushion underneath me before covering the length of my body with his. All reason had flown out the window on the beating wings of a moonlit breeze. Neither of us gave a thought to how the loss of my maidenhead might affect my marriage prospects.