by R. D. Brady
“What is it?”
Morcant grabbed her arm and pulled her from the cabin. “Iphigenia. She’s here.”
Clytemnestra frowned in confusion. “Iphigenia? But she isn’t due until—”
“King Agamemnon sent for her yesterday. She arrived only a few moments ago.”
You will regret this little rebellion. Clytemnestra’s heart began to pound. “Why did he send for her?”
“He said—” Morcant’s words were cut off by a cheer from outside. It sounded like dozens of men. Morcant’s eyes grew wider, and Clytemnestra’s trembling increased. Morcant pulled her out of the cabin and up onto the deck of the ship. It was filled with people staring at the docks.
“Hurry, ma’am, hurry,” Morcant begged, pushing through the men.
Clytemnestra was shaking now, but she hurried along in Morcant’s wake.
And then the men quieted as one man’s voice carried above all the others—Agamemnon’s.
“I have angered the god Artemis,” his voice boomed. “I mistakenly killed a deer in her sacred grove. I did not know the animal was sacred to her. That is why the gods have refused to provide us with wind to begin our journey.”
Morcant broke through the crowd and reached the gangplank, pulling Clytemnestra after her. Clytemnestra saw Agamemnon standing on a platform addressing his men—and she also saw who stood next to him. Oh gods, no.
“Artemis has given me a way to apologize to her. I begged her to allow me another method, but she would not be swayed. She demanded the sacrifice of my only daughter, Iphigenia.”
Clytemnestra was shaking so hard, she could barely see. Passing Morcant, she barreled through the gathered crowd, not caring whom she knocked into. When the men realized who she was, they made a path for her. Clytemnestra kept her gaze on Iphigenia, memorizing her light brown hair and her blue eyes. I love you. I love you, she thought over and over as she sprinted desperately toward her daughter.
Agamemnon grabbed hold of Iphigenia’s hair and yanked her toward him. Iphigenia struggled, tears running down her face, but he held her tight. He pulled a long knife from the sheath at his belt.
“No!” Clytemnestra yelled.
Iphigenia’s eyes locked onto Clytemnestra’s, with both fear and hope in her gaze. “Mother!”
Agamemnon looked into Clytemnestra’s eyes as well—and then ran the blade across Iphigenia’s throat. The girl’s eyes bulged, and she fell back into Agamemnon’s arms.
“No!”
Clytemnestra’s world slowed down and sped up at the same time. She scrambled up the stairs, sprinted across the platform, and fell to her knees, pulling Iphigenia from Agamemnon’s grasp.
Agamemnon put an arm around Clytemnestra, looking to all the world like he was consoling her. He whispered into her ear. “I told you that you would regret denying me.”
Then he stood and faced the crowd. “The gods have been appeased. We will sail in the morning.”
The men let out a cheer.
But all Clytemnestra saw was her beautiful daughter’s face, staring now at nothing. With a shaky hand, she pushed her daughter’s hair back and ran a hand over her face as her tears fell on her daughter’s cheeks. I am sorry. I should have been stronger for you. I should have protected you. She closed the eyes she knew so well one last time. Sleep, my beautiful girl, and may the gods take you to their bosom.
Agamemnon looked down at her, a small smile playing on his lips. Clytemnestra looked back at him and felt only hate. I will destroy you. Inside her, any allegiance she had felt to Agamemnon snapped—and in its place, a burning anger took hold.
But she lowered her eyes, feigning submission. She pulled her daughter close and let sorrow overtake her. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she sobbed for the daughter she had lost.
I am sorry, my beautiful girl. So very, very sorry.
Chapter 49
Troy, Turkey
Standing on the balcony, eyes closed, her head raised to the sky, Helen took a deep breath. She hated feeling powerless. As if she was just a piece of driftwood being pushed along by the current. She gripped the railing, but the inner calm she was searching for eluded her grasp.
She had been in Troy for three days now, and in those three days she had not once left her room. So far Adorna had been able to claim she was unwell, but Helen knew that lie would not last much longer. Soon she would have to go out and mingle with the ruling family of Troy.
And try to not kill Paris.
She knew that Menelaus would be gathering his army to come and get her back. And because of the agreement her father had elicited from her suitors, she also knew that Menelaus would not be coming alone. What had Paris been thinking? Everyone knew that anyone who intervened in Helen’s marriage would face the wrath of the other suitors. Paris had to have known his action would result in war. So why did he do it?
Regardless of what Paris proclaimed—or what he forced her to proclaim—she knew his actions were not driven by love, nor lust, nor even like. So what did he hope to gain—other than his own death? There had to be an easier way to commit suicide.
And Helen could think of no way to stop it. When she left Sparta, she thought there would be an opening, a clue that would allow her to regain the upper hand.
But none had materialized. Her children remained in danger. And she remained here—the personification of a damsel in distress. It was sickening.
A knock sounded at the door, and Helen smiled. Now it was time for this damsel to get some answers. She had been waiting for this. She walked back into the bedroom. “Come in.”
A small woman entered and bowed. “Queen Helen, Prince Paris would like you to join him in the courtyard.”
“Please tell Prince Paris I would like to speak with him privately first.”
The woman faltered. “I believe he is expecting—”
The smile on Helen’s face did not waver. “I need to speak with the prince. I will not be leaving my rooms until I do.”
The woman looked like a cornered mouse. “Um, yes, Your Highness.” She bowed so deeply that for a moment Helen worried she might tip over. Then she hurried from the room, nearly colliding with Adorna as she left.
Adorna looked at Helen. “Terrorizing the help, are we?”
“Hardly. That woman is afraid of her own shadow. What have you learned?”
“The royal family is well liked, I’d even say loved. They take care of their people. The king and queen even remember all their servants’ names and ask after their families. Hector, the eldest son, is also revered by all. Paris, however, is… shall we say, less well liked. His demands can at times be rather extreme or petty.”
Helen snorted. “Well, that fits. Wasn’t there also a daughter?”
“Ah, yes, poor Cassandra. They say she is mad. She claims to have visions, but all agree her mind is simply broken.”
Helen wondered about that. She had found that sometimes those whose mind teetered on the brink saw more than those with both feet firmly planted on the ground. “And what do the people think about me?”
“There’s some confusion. But no one doubts that you came for love.”
Helen blanched. “Wonderful.”
Adorna continued. “But they can’t quite understand why you would fall for Paris. Hector they could understand, but Paris? He’s not viewed as being particularly masculine or strong. And as the queen of Sparta, they feel that’s who you would go for.”
“They’re not wrong about that part,” Helen murmured.
“Still, they are happy for Paris to have found such a strong woman.”
“Even one who is already married, who left her children behind to follow her lover?”
Adorna shrugged. “No one has mentioned that.”
An impatient knock sounded at the door. Adorna looked at Helen. “Are you expecting someone?”
Helen took a seat and straightened her skirts. Adorna had found her some new clothes, but it was taking her some time to get used to these bulky skirts tha
t weighed her down. She missed her Spartan clothes that allowed her to move. No wonder women here just sit around. Just walking is a trial in this ridiculous dress. “That would be Paris,” she said. “You may want to make yourself scarce while we chat.”
“What are you chatting about?”
“It’s time to get some answers.”
The knocking came again, this time harsher.
Helen waved toward the door. “Please let my beloved in.”
Adorna moved toward the door. “I almost feel sorry for the man.”
Chapter 50
Paris stood impatiently outside Helen’s door. The woman did not understand her place. Well, he was going to remind her. He raised his hand to knock yet again when the door opened and he was caught with his fist in the air.
Helen’s servant stepped back with a bow. “I bid you please enter, Prince.”
Paris passed her without acknowledgement. Helen sat on the other side of the room, and Paris paused in mid-step. She was wearing a blue gown that almost matched her eyes. Her lips were plump as if begging to be kissed. And her skin was so smooth, it invited a man to run a hand over it. She was stunning, a true daughter of the gods.
He was barely aware of the door closing behind him as the servant left them alone.
Helen crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Prince,” she said, derision dripping from her lips.
For Paris, that voice brought everything back into focus. Yes, she was stunning, until she opened that damned mouth of hers. He narrowed his eyes. “You have not been upholding your end of the bargain.”
Helen shrugged. “I have been unwell.”
“You look fine now.”
“I have indeed recovered.”
Paris exploded across the room in three angry strides, his hand rising to strike. “Then what is this nonsense? I told you to meet me in the courtyard. How dare you—”
Helen leapt to her feet. “You touch me and it will be the last thing you do,” she said quietly.
Paris looked into her eyes. He had no doubt she would do exactly that. By the gods, why would the Spartans raise women like this? Who wanted to fight with a woman over every small thing?
He took a step back, trying to act like he was the one in charge, even as he was overcome by the sinking feeling that Helen was no one’s pawn. “So you have changed your mind? You wish your children to die?”
A knife appeared at his eye in a moment, and another below his waist. “If you continue to dangle that threat in front of me,” Helen snarled, “I will remove anything that dangles from you. Are we clear?”
Sweat broke out along Paris’s brow. “You doom them with your actions.”
Helen took a breath and a step back. “We need to make some rules here, you and I. I have agreed to this ridiculous farce only because of my children. But if you continue to provoke me, I cannot guarantee your safety. So I would suggest you stop.”
“I own you. You need to remember that.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “I am owned by no man. You need to remember that.”
Paris felt fear snaking through him. It was not supposed to be this hard. By the gods, what had he gotten himself into? Zeus had better keep his part of the bargain.
Helen broke the staring contest first, taking yet another step back. She put up her hands. “I suggest we call a truce. For all our sakes.”
Paris gave an abrupt nod.
“All right,” Helen said. “I think you and I have some things to discuss before I meet with your family. They will assume we’ve spoken at length and know about each other’s lives. It seems wise not to meet with them until we have covered some basic details.”
Paris could have kicked himself. She was right. They did need to talk. “Fine. What do you need to know?”
“According to your story, we fell in love when you came to Sparta.”
“Yes. And?”
“Well, why did you come to Sparta? You knew Menelaus was not there.”
“We had trouble with the ship and we needed safe harbor to make repairs.”
Helen’s eyes bored into him as if they could strip away the falsehoods and find the truth. But Paris held firm. “What else?”
Helen sat back down. “You did not grow up in Troy. You only arrived here when you were approaching manhood. Where were you raised?”
Paris glared. He hated this topic. His ignoble upbringing was something he never wished to dwell upon. “Why does it matter?”
“Because you are my beloved, and I should know.”
“I was raised by a shepherd.”
“So the tales are true.”
Paris nodded. Before his birth, a seer had warned his family that he would lead to their destruction. His parents had been told to kill him as soon as he was born. But neither of them could bring themselves to do the deed. Instead they handed him over to his a man named Agelaus, with the instruction that he should kill him.
But yet again, Paris was spared; Agelaus could not bring himself to kill the babe either—at least, not with his own hands. He left him on Mount Ida for the animals. But three days later, he returned to find that Paris was still alive. Agelaus took it as a sign, and he took the boy home and raised him as his own.
Being cast out from his family as a baby was why he had never had the benefit of the military training Hector had. And it was why he threw himself into all the adventures he could find. He was owed the luxuries he had been denied as a child. And when Zeus offered him the world in return for this farce with Helen, he grabbed it with both hands. It was his due.
“How were you found?” Helen asked.
“Cassandra, my sister. She claimed that I was their son—and for once she was right.”
Surprise flashed across Helen’s face. “They believed her?”
Paris straightened. “Once they saw me, it was obvious I was from the royal line. It did not take any more than one glance.” It was true—he looked too much like Hector for the relationship to be denied. And so his parents, Priam and Hecuba, opened their arms to him. After ordering my death, he thought bitterly.
“Hm,” Helen said.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just I thought Cassandra was merely mad—but apparently she is not. She does have the sight.”
Paris scoffed. “Please. She was right one time—that does not make her a seer. She rambles around here making proclamations about this and that, comporting herself like a crazy woman rather than a princess of Troy. I do not know how she knew of me, but she is nothing more than an insane person. Father should have locked her away years ago.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “Then you never would have been found.”
Paris puffed up. “I am a prince of Troy. I would have made my way home. After all, the gods watch out for me.”
“What do you mean, the gods watch out for you? Are you—are you blessed?” Helen asked. For once, she looked scared. Paris smiled. Even the mighty Helen of Sparta feared the gods.
“I am,” Paris said. “The gods have visited me.” He looked down his nose at Helen, feeling the return of the pride he’d felt when he’d realized the king of the gods himself had chosen him for this mission. “They even gave me you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You were my gift. They told me I was your rightful husband, and that if I followed their instructions I would have treasure beyond my wildest imaginings.”
Helen traced a shape in her dress. “Which gods promised you? It couldn’t have been anyone of import. Maybe Eros or Dionysus—”
“It was Zeus himself. So you see, the king of the gods supports me. Which means you need to be more careful with how you treat me.”
Helen looked up, and the fear Paris thought he’d seen before was now nowhere in evidence. She stood. “Of course, my prince. Shall we go?”
Paris stared at her for a moment, unsure what had just happened. But Helen brushed past him and opened the door. “Are you coming?”
&nb
sp; Paris found himself hurrying toward her, then slowed his pace. He gave her a nod as he swept by her out the door. “I’m glad you’re finally realizing your place.”
“But of course, my prince,” she murmured behind him. The words were right, but the tone sent chills down his spine.
Chapter 51
Helen held Paris’s arm lightly as they walked toward the courtyard. The home of the royal family was beautiful. The walls were stone but draped with rich tapestries, providing color. And wildflowers were in every room, their scent wafting through the rooms and out into the corridor.
Ahead, the doors stood open, and beyond them was the courtyard. The sun beat down on trees and colorful flowers. A small yellow bird flew by the door, and at the sight of it, Helen ached to get outside. She missed being able to feel the grass between her toes and run for miles without seeing another soul. Of course, that wouldn’t be an option here.
When at last they stepped outside, Helen couldn’t help but gasp. Dozens of flowering trees dotted the courtyard, and roses bloomed along its outer edge. In the center stood a giant willow tree with a swing attached to one of the lower branches. There was even a small creek, running beneath the tree and disappearing under the citadel’s walls.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
Paris looked around the courtyard and shrugged. “It’s fine. I prefer indoors.”
Of course you do, you pathetic man, Helen thought
Beneath the tree stood a man and a woman. The man had obviously once been tall, but was now stooped with age. The woman had long white hair and a royal bearing. Both turned as Helen and Paris approached.
The woman smiled. “Paris, dear.” She kissed him on both cheeks.
Paris turned to Helen. “May I present my mother, Queen Hecuba of Troy.”
Helen curtsied. “Your Highness.”
“Oh, none of that,” Hecuba admonished with a smile. She placed her hands on Helen’s shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. “You are the woman who has won my son’s heart.”
