Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  “I was busy, Nestra. I’ve been fighting ever since I took back Mycenae. It’s been a year of constant marching and campaigns. I couldn’t come back here until things had settled down, you must know that.”

  To my surprise he sounded like a sulky boy. Where was the passion, or even the affection I thought we shared?

  “Well, I’ve been busy too,” I said, resisting the urge to stamp my foot. “I’ve been growing up, and today I have to choose a husband.”

  “But you can’t be serious? You’re supposed to marry me.”

  He still didn’t get it.

  I finally lost the last shreds of control I’d been clinging to. “I’m not supposed to do anything,” I shouted. “I am going to choose the man I marry today, and there are some very worthy candidates. If you’d arrived one day later, I’d already be pledged to another man and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You had as much of a chance as anyone else, Agamemnon, but you couldn’t even be bothered turning up to try and win me.” I was shaking with anger. I couldn’t believe his stupidity.

  Apparently I’d hit a nerve, because suddenly he was very angry indeed.

  “I didn’t think I had to compete for you, Nestra. I thought you’d already made a commitment to me and that we’d agreed to share our lives. Are you so fickle and faithless that you couldn’t wait a year? A year during which I was winning back the kingdom you agreed to share with me. I warn you, Nestra, I expect you to honour your word. If you dare try and pick another suitor, I’ll bundle you up in my chariot and steal you away. Bride-capture; that’s one of your fine Spartan traditions, isn’t it?”

  I glared at him. “Don’t you dare try and threaten me.”

  He moved closer, put his hands on my shoulders and drew me towards him. I stiffened angrily, but his hands were gently insistent, and although I stood rigid, I let him pull me against his shoulder.

  “Don’t fight with me, Nestra. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here earlier, but I thought you knew my intentions and would trust me. I am speaking with Tyndareus this morning. You and I are meant to be together. We share too much to abandon each other.”

  I’d been spoilt and flattered by the attention I had received from Tantalus and the other suitors. I wouldn’t get that flirtation or flattery from Agamemnon. We had known each other too long.

  I could feel his heart beating against me as I leant into him. Was this what I wanted? I supposed it was. I felt secure with Agamemnon, and he offered me the life I had planned. I thought about Tantalus briefly and sighed. He was such a nice man. It had been fun envisaging a different future for a few weeks. I wasn’t looking forward to watching his disappointment when Tyndareus announced my choice.

  When Agamemnon made me lift my face, I kissed him willingly enough – and then rather more than willingly. He tasted right, felt right. The tension between us diffused, and at last we smiled at each other.

  “It might be an interesting marriage, little cat, if we’re going to fight like this,” he murmured, “but at least making up is going to be fun.”

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL AFTERNOON WHEN we drove into Mycenae. The baggage train with my luggage and maids were an hour behind us on the road, but Agamemnon had wanted to press ahead. The road turned and twisted through rocky ravines beneath a mountain range.

  “I want to show you my palace,” he said. “I want you to see your new home.”

  I laughed at his enthusiasm but was silenced when we turned a corner of the road and saw the citadel ahead of us on the hill. Set in a nook in the pine-covered hills, it was a natural fortress. Huge blocks of stone formed protective walls around the town and guarded the palace on the summit. I had never seen a city so large. The walls couldn’t even contain all the dwellings and shops, and they sprawled down the hill beyond the city in an unending stretch of buildings. We seemed to be driving through built-up areas for ages before we even reached the city gate.

  We entered through the main gate and climbed the ramp that led upwards. I was aware of people watching our progress. Agamemnon waved and smiled, and many waved back.

  “See, they want to welcome my queen,” he said, waving once again.

  I smiled at him. “I hope they like me,” I said. I was apprehensive. Leda had explained in detail how critical it was to ensure the populace loved me.

  “Remember,” she’d said, “Agamemnon’s only been their king for a year. They won’t have the inbuilt loyalty to him they would have if he’d been a little prince growing up in the town. To them, he’s just their current ruler.” She’d been standing, watching the maids pack the last of my gowns. “A good and popular wife can help his situation enormously. Wave to them; stop and speak to them and, above all, let them think you care about them. That’s what makes a queen popular with the people.”

  Now without my mother there to support me, I was nervous and turned to my new husband for reassurance.

  He grinned at me. “Of course they’ll love you. You represent a new future for us all, and the promise of peace and stability after the war we had last year.”

  We had pulled to a stop outside the palace. Slaves rushed to hold the horses and assist me to alight. Agamemnon took my arm and led me up the steps to the door. As we reached it a man stepped through. He was dressed in priestly robes so I inclined my head in respect. It never pays to offend those who serve the gods.

  “Calchas,” exclaimed Agamemnon cheerfully. “How auspicious. You are the first to greet my queen. Clytemnestra, meet Calchas, who is our priest and soothsayer.”

  The man was dirty, and I got a whiff of stale sweat, urine and foul breath when he began to speak. I smiled politely, although repelled by him. I was startled by the malevolence he brought to bear on me when he returned my gaze.

  He gave a hiss of disgust, drew himself up as tall and impressive as he could and pointed at me. “I studied the omens this morning,” he said loudly. “This woman is cursed.”

  I gasped. “Well, really …” I began, but the man cut me off.

  “I have seen the signs,” he declaimed. “The gods have spoken clearly. This woman will be your destruction, Agamemnon. You should never have brought her here. She will be your ruin.”

  I heard a low murmur from the servants who surrounded us. Other onlookers were joining the group, excited by the unexpected drama playing out.

  I felt Agamemnon move uneasily beside me. “You must be mistaken, Calchas. Clytemnestra is my bride and our union blessed by the gods at our wedding in Sparta. The priests there read the omens and prophesied great happiness and success for our marriage.”

  The priest looked at me again. I’d seen my mother look at vermin with more warmth.

  “I’m never wrong. The signs never lie,” he said. “If other priests can’t divine and read the portents, that doesn’t make what I say wrong.”

  “Well, you are wrong this time,” said Agamemnon. I could hear the quick anger in his voice. “I don’t want to hear another word. She is your queen and my wife. How dare you try cause trouble and spoil her welcome to Sparta?”

  “You cannot hide from the gods,” said Calchas in mournful tones.

  I was beginning to get angry. I could feel him milking every shred of attention from the audience. This wasn’t a prophecy, it was a deliberate attempt to eliminate any influence I might have before I had even entered the palace.

  Agamemnon swore rudely just beneath his breath and gave Calchas such a foul look the priest took a step backwards.

  “Whatever you think, don’t ever try to tell me this nonsense again. Otherwise, Calchas, you will be out of a living in Mycenae. Do you understand me?”

  I looked the priest square in the eye. If he wanted a fight for Agamemnon’s attention, I would give him one.

  I turned to my husband and smiled. “I have a prophecy as well,” I said firmly and loudly. I wanted every person present to hear me. “I foresee our marriage will be celebrated in song and po
etry for hundreds of years. We will be known throughout history for our marriage. Playwrights will write dramas of our love and our family, and no priest can change that.” Then I deliberately reached up and kissed Agamemnon squarely on the lips. I heard Calchas hiss.

  The crowd cheered. I pulled back from my husband and waved to them. No pesky priest was going to spoil my entry into the palace. It was a secondary consideration that I might be behaving immodestly in front of Mycenae’s citizens.

  Agamemnon gave a strangled gasp, turned to me and took my arm. “Come, Nestra,” he said and yanked me through the enormous doors and into the palace.

  I could feel the priest’s eyes on my back as we walked away. I knew I had made an enemy already and wondered what it would mean.

  I was out of breath by the time Agamemnon stopped. Propelled by his fury, he had dragged me through the better part of the palace, through great meeting halls, up flights of stairs and past chambers and halls. He had given a garbled description of each room and feature, but I hadn’t taken it in. I knew I would never remember the route we took. Now we were on a balcony, looking over the city below. In the distance we could see across the Argolid to the Saronic Gulf.

  I stood quietly, looking at the terraces of the palace set out below us. I was out of breath and shaking. The priest’s words had disturbed me deeply. What had I done to deserve his hostility? I could think of no reason. I made a mental note to steer well clear of the man. Artemis had always been my favourite goddess, and I had no reason to doubt her protection and support. She must have a shrine somewhere in the city where I could worship.

  I wasn’t sure what to say to Agamemnon. I knew he was angered by the priest’s words, but was he also angry with me? It was blighting to be told our marriage was doomed when it was only five days old.

  At last Agamemnon turned to me. “Bugger Calchas,” he said. “Stupid fool’s probably been fasting or taken some potion best kept in the temple. He must have been staring at his divinations for too long.” He grunted and pulled me towards him. “That was no proper greeting for my queen. I am ashamed of my city. I hope you aren’t too upset?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “Do many such priests live in Mycenae?”

  Agamemnon grinned. “No, thank the gods. Although Calchas has been very useful in the past. He swung a large number of people against the usurper Thyestes prior to me retaking the throne. He’ll come round. He’s probably afraid your presence means his influence over me might decline. Once he realises you pose no threat to him, he’ll be fine.”

  I thought about that. I wasn’t as certain. “But what about his divination?” I wondered. “Do you think the gods are really trying to say something?”

  “Nonsense. I don’t think the gods are going to doom our marriage when it’s barely begun, do you? For the rest, it’s up to us.”

  Servants entered then with refreshments. I wondered how they had tracked our progress around this enormous palace. Presumably they knew shortcuts I had yet to learn.

  We sat on the terrace with a meal of olives, bread and wine. It was a beautiful palace, and the view over the plains below was magnificent. Soothed by the food and wine I began to relax and see the funny side of the incident. Poor Calchas. Was he really threatened by the presence of a young bride? I smiled to myself and stretched in the sun. Silly man, I thought.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  I HAD UNDERSTOOD AGAMEMNON WAS WEALTHY, BUT the luxury of his palace, the richness of materials, jewelry, food and comfort was a revelation. The walls of the palace were painted with fine frescoes, the floors were tiled mosaic. I had never seen art used so freely as a house decoration. I gradually came to understand that Spartans deserved their reputation for being rough, uncouth, provincial and ill-mannered. We had nothing to compare with the fineness of design and artefact that was commonplace here.

  The freedoms natural to Spartan women, though, were absent in Mycenae, and I ruffled a few feathers with my independence. I heard several mutters from shocked nobles when I dined in the great hall beside Agamemnon. On the first evening, a horrified slave had tried to steer me towards the women’s quarters.

  “My lady, it’s not proper for you to eat with the men.” I looked at the bowed head of the wretched maid.

  “I am Queen of Mycenae, and this queen dines with her husband,” I said.

  She saw I would not take her refusal. She looked miserable but eventually led me to a place beside Agamemnon, who smiled at me. Some of the men made comments just loud enough for me to hear. I heard one particularly crude remark and turned towards the speaker, making it clear I had heard. He flushed and backed off. A few moments later the man beside him, emboldened by his companion’s utterances, made an observation about Spartan harlots, which was clearly audible across the hall. I raised my chin and stared the man down, but this time Agamemnon had heard. I knew his meeting with Calchas had left him primed for a fight, and I wasn’t wrong. Agamemnon stood, pointed at the offending courtier and demanded he be removed by the attending servants.

  I watched the man go, through slitted eyes. I would remember him.

  “The wife of Agamemnon, is Queen of Mycenae,” Agamemnon declared to the suddenly silent hall. “If it is good enough for Agamemnon to have his queen beside him, then it had better be acceptable to the people who dine here on our generosity.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, before the diners discovered the need to lower their gaze and talk to their neighbour who, unexpectedly, had such fascinating anecdotes.

  The moment passed. Agamemnon’s support had ensured my status. I was grateful but confused. Leda dined with her husband on a nightly basis. It had never posed a problem in Sparta. Clearly there were new rules here I would have to learn and understand.

  I wondered briefly whether I should modify my ways in case I embarrassed my husband. Then common sense reasserted itself. I was the queen, and appropriate behaviour would be modelled on what I thought proper. Agamemnon was used to the way we did things in Sparta. I would start as I intended to continue.

  I found myself profoundly grateful for Leda’s lessons. No woman she had reared could fail to be gracious and elegant when it suited them so to be. I drew heavily on everything she had taught me. I would be more queenly than any consort Mycenae had ever had, and I would do it on my own terms.

  * * *

  Agamemnon was sprawled across our bed, his body striped with lines of sun and shade filtering through from the balcony beyond the window. He liked to join me in the early hours after noon for a time of intimacy and companionship.

  “I’ll place Myrto in charge while I’m away,” he said drowsily.

  He was planning to be away a lot, stamping his mark on the new territories he had taken. Mycenae thrived economically, his subjects were content and, at least in the capital itself, we had peace.

  I hadn’t expected this. Leda always managed Tyndareus’s affairs when he was absent, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t do the same for Agamemnon. It was one of the most basic assumptions Spartan women lived by – the obligation to keep the place going when men were away at war. I was about to reply hotly when a newfound caution made me consider my words. I sat beside him on the bed and stroked his thigh. “You know, Agamemnon, I’ve been thinking. Mycenae has only recently started to heal after a civil war.”

  He half rolled over and looked at me. “So?”

  “Well, if it were me going away with our fighting force, then I’d want to know the person left in charge at home was totally on my side.”

  “Are you accusing Myrto of something?” Agamemnon spoke sharply. “I thought you barely knew him.”

  I smiled at my husband. “No, I know nothing about Myrto. I’m sure he is a fine man. But there is only one person you can trust totally to have your best interests at heart, and that is your wife.”

  I saw Agamemnon think the argument through. “But you’re a woman,” he replied.

  Honestly
, I wondered sometimes why I didn’t kick him. He’d known me for years. What did being a woman have to do with it when I rode with him to rescue Helen? He knew I could fight as well as a man. I was about to make a caustic comment to that effect when I paused. Leda never allowed herself to quarrel with Tyndareus. It seemed I had new marital skills to learn if I wanted to achieve my purpose.

  I bit my tongue and said sweetly, “I’m glad you noticed, otherwise I’ve wasted my time this afternoon.”

  He grinned in a self-satisfied manner and lay back on the bed with his arms behind his head, his magnificent, if currently detumescent, manhood on full display.

  I suppressed a secret smile. “Spartan women, as you know, are trained to hold the fort when their men go away to fight. Let me do what I’ve been trained for. You won’t find a more loyal second-in-command.”

  He mulled it over for a while. “It might cause problems with the men,” he said doubtfully.

  “Have Myrto report to me. We can work together. He and I can talk together about problems as they come up. If necessary, he can deal with anything that needs a man to handle it. You’ve got the security of knowing I have your back at all times and a man there to enforce any discipline needed.”

  After a while Agamemnon nodded. “All right. We’ll try it. I won’t be away long anyway.”

  I held my tongue. I had achieved my purpose; now I had to prove my worth.

  Leda had never appeared to have any problems controlling affairs in my father’s absence. She had the loyal support of the citizens and any troops left at home to ensure affairs ran smoothly. She had relied on men like Adrastos to get practical work done. I realised that Myrto and I were going to have to become friends. His willing support would be crucial to my success.

  I asked my maids about him and learned he was married and his wife had given birth a week earlier to his firstborn son. At dinner that evening I made it my business to congratulate him.