Agamemnon was being particularly considerate since the events of the afternoon. We had gone to bed, of course, to seal our reconciliation, and I had told him we were to have a child. As I had predicted, he was delighted.
“I can’t promise you a son,” I said cautiously, although I hoped for one.
“If it’s a boy, he will be tough and strong like his father,” he said. “If it’s a girl, then she’ll be beautiful and brave like her mother. Either way, it will be wonderful.”
I smiled at him.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
I WATCHED AGAMEMNON CRADLE OUR FIRSTBORN IN his arms.
“She is so beautiful,” he said. His face was soft as he looked at his daughter.
“Iphigenia,” he said, trying out the name, “I declare you the most beautiful creature born in Mycenae this year.”
I laughed at him gently, moved by an unexpected tenderness. Some might have felt regret their firstborn wasn’t a son, but Agamemnon’s delight was transparent. I lay back in the bed enjoying the sight of my family. My husband sat beside me cooing at the baby.
Leda leant over and looked at the child. “She looks just like you did, Nestra. She’s got your mouth.”
“How can anyone see who a newborn baby looks like?” Agamemnon enquired. “She just looks like a baby to me.”
“Oh, if you look carefully, you can tell,” replied Leda, bending and kissing the little head.
Leda had arrived two weeks before for the lying in. I appreciated having her with me. She brought news of the family: Helen and Pollux were in their last year of schooling and preparing for exams; Castor was out on the border, sorting out boundary squabbles with neighbouring Tegea; Tyndareus had been very ill over the autumn but was recovering.
“Father is all right now, though, isn’t he?” I asked, concerned. I couldn’t remember my father ever being seriously ill.
“Fine,” she reassured me. “He doesn’t look after himself of course, so if he gets sick it tends to be serious.”
I looked at my mother, realising my parents were getting older. She was standing by the window, and the clear morning light showed her fair hair had paled, the colour softened by grey. The hands holding the shawl for Iphigenia were still elegant but showed their age in the raised veins on their backs. Leda was a beautiful woman and always would be; her bone structure ensured she would be lovely whatever her age. But there were new lines on her face, and the quality of her skin had changed.
It was two years since I had left Sparta. I wondered what Helen looked like now.
“She’s stunning,” said Leda. “I don’t like to talk about it in case I make some god jealous, but she’s exceptionally beautiful. She causes disruption simply by walking into a roomful of men. Your father is worried, of course. He has to find her husband. He already has offers, but she isn’t yet eighteen.”
I frowned a little. “Do you mean she’s provocative?” I found the thought disturbing. I knew she wasn’t a child any more, but it was hard to imagine my little sister as a temptress.
“No, not at all,” replied Leda. “As far as I can see, she doesn’t flirt or encourage men in any way, but there’s something about her that draws all eyes to her. Even women watch her avidly.”
I smiled. “Father will cope. He’d better do what he did for me. Invite them all to come and visit, then make a choice.”
Leda sniffed. “There are likely to be so many suitors, it’ll bankrupt us trying to feed them, not to mention all the guest gifts we have to find. Actually, I think your father is more concerned that the competitors might come to blows.”
“Let me know when the bidding starts,” I asked. “We’ll come and visit so I can see who my little sister will marry.”
* * *
A little over a year later I sat in the hall beside Helen and looked out over the assembled guests. The sight was unnerving. The hall was packed with enthusiastic suitors, all vying for Helen’s attention.
I shifted in the uncomfortable chair and looked at my sister. “Zeus,” I muttered. “How is Father going to choose from this lot?”
Helen shrugged. “How does anyone choose?”
I watched fat little Diomedes eyeing up Helen’s breasts and felt sick. “Isn’t it a bit disconcerting?” I asked. “All these men slavering over you? It’s positively indecent.” I could almost feel the lust present in the room as the men eyed my sister.
She laughed out loud. “Now I know you’re getting old, Nestra. It’s exciting. Think of the power it gives me. I could ask them for anything, and they would do it for me.”
I looked at her.
“I’ll prove it,” she said.
“I’m thirsty,” she called over to Diomedes. “Please could you get me some wine?”
He rushed away to serve her.
I glowered beside Helen.
“This isn’t worthy of you or of any Spartan woman,” I scolded. “What happens when your power wanes? There’s bound to be a price to pay. You’re humiliating them. They’re not even behaving like men anymore.”
Diomedes returned with a glass of cold wine.
I felt nauseated as Helen thanked him with a warm smile.
She shrugged. “The future is the future. At the moment I’m learning things about myself, and about men, that I didn’t know before. Let it be, Nestra.”
“It may be fine now, but having to compete as one of this rabble must be terrifying for any man, and one of them is going to be your husband. You’d better hope he’s not the jealous sort otherwise you’re likely to be shut away in the women’s quarter of some provincial palace and never be allowed to see the light of day again.”
Helen smiled with youthful certainty. “No man is ever going to mistreat me, Nestra. I wouldn’t let him.”
I winced. Three months after the birth of Iphigenia, Agamemnon had struck me again. This time we had been supporting different contestants in the games. His player lost, I had laughed and he backhanded me. This time I came back fighting and snarled and spat at him in my rage. He was again apologetic and contrite, and his present was a golden bracelet. If his behaviour continued, I would end up with a significant collection of jewellery.
There had been another couple of episodes subsequently; all followed a similar pattern. I came to realise that Agamemnon never abused me when someone whose opinion he valued could see him. He didn’t value slaves so had felt free to kick me in front of Io on one occasion.
It would have made more sense to me if he had been punishing me for something I had done. If I had dropped the helmet on that memorable first occasion, I could perhaps have understood and forgiven him. Instead, it was his frustration at whatever troubled him that was the spur. He deflected stress by making something hurt in his place. All too often, the something was me, although I’d also watched him saw at a horse’s mouth. Not, I think, to hurt the horse, so much as his knowledge that I was watching, and the wanton cruelty upset me.
I looked at Helen’s confident face and sighed. “So how do you explain what happened to Aethra and Phisiades?” I asked. “I imagine Aethra said the same things you are saying now.”
Helen shrugged. “It’s not the same situation.”
I let it go. Maybe Helen’s life would be easier than mine. I hoped she’d find a better man than I had.
I never got a final tally of how many suitors there were, but it must have been well over thirty, and of course each candidate had brought a retinue. I remembered Leda’s sour words about the cost of feeding this crowd and smiled. The servants would be busy. Castor and Pollux were responsible for entertaining the visitors and took them hunting into our hills most days. On another occasion they set up games in the old training grounds and had the men compete at javelin and discus throwing. Those who didn’t attend spent the day making appointments with Tyndareus or trying to waylay Helen.
I spent any time I could spare in the nursery with Iphigenia. It was strange seeing my own daught
er in the home I had grown up in. She had taken to Tyndareus who had become a very proud grandfather. I realised how nice it was that we were close enough for these occasional visits and wondered again what Leda’s family had been like.
To my surprise, Odysseus was one of the suitors. I remembered him from my own wooing and stopped to speak with him.
“Lady Clytemnestra,” he replied to my greeting. “How is the Queen of Mycenae?”
“Well, thank you. Are you competing for Helen’s hand?”
He smiled. “I came here upon another matter. I hope to win your father’s support for a venture I have in mind.”
I was surprised. “He’s likely to be busy for a while with the matter of Helen’s wedding. You may have misjudged your time.”
“I don’t think so,” he answered. An amused grin spread across his face. “I believe I may have judged the time and circumstances perfectly. Do you think Tyndareus is finding this competition stressful?”
“Very,” I said ruefully. “I think he’s worried about what’s going to happen when he announces the winner. All Hades could break loose among the losers.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said cheerfully. “I might give him a hand.”
It was an odd conversation. I watched him walk away and wondered if I’d missed something. I had the feeling Odysseus was more intelligent than me, and if he were planning something, the outcome would be interesting.
That evening, in the great hall, Tyndareus stood to welcome everyone to the meal. “I have an announcement to our guests,” he began. “You are all here to compete for the hand of my daughter Helen, princess of Sparta. I have given much thought, not just to who wins her, but to the problem that will arise when I make that choice. In this hall we have some of the finest warriors of Greece. Fine Ajax, noble Diomedes, Odysseus, Menelaus, Idomeneus … You are so many I cannot name you all, and you are our most notable fighters. It worries me that I will offend so many when I choose who will wed my daughter and this will be the source of quarrels between us all. I do not want my daughter to be the cause of bloodshed or a war. I do not know how to resolve this.”
There was a stir from the body of the hall as Odysseus stood. “I can solve this problem for you, Tyndareus,” he said confidently.
I turned to look at him. He had said something like that earlier in the day.
“How are you going to achieve this?” asked my father.
I could read scepticism in his face.
Odysseus smiled. “I propose a trade, good Tyndareus. I need your help. If I give you the solution to your problem, will you give me your support when I court Penelope, the daughter of Icarius?”
There was a murmur round the hall.
Beside me I heard Helen chuckle. “Excellently done, Odysseus,” she murmured.
Tyndareus smiled. “If you can give me a solution I agree with, Odysseus, I will most certainly help you when you apply to Icarius. What is more, I think every man in this hall will support you, if it means one less suitor for Helen.”
There was a laugh from them all, and some cheers.
“Give us the benefit of your wisdom,” said my father.
“The solution is simple,” said Odysseus. “All suitors, indeed all men here, will swear a pact, a most solemn, binding oath, to defend the husband of Helen against anyone who tries to quarrel with him or take Helen from him. This oath stands not just for today, or for the time of the journey as we return to our lands. It stands for all time. There will be no retaliation against whoever is chosen as Helen’s husband, and if any man should seek to steal Helen from him, then we are all bound to aid her husband to get her back. Tomorrow, we will go to the temple and sacrifice to the gods and get them to witness our oath as a sign of this pact’s importance.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the hall as each man considered the plan. I turned it over in my mind and could see no flaw in its elegant simplicity.
My father must have reached the same conclusion. He reached over, grabbed Odysseus by the shoulder and pumped his hand up and down. “I’ve always admired your subtle brain, Odysseus, but I think this time you’ve surpassed yourself. I believe this may be our solution. Do the rest of you agree?”
There was discussion of about the precise wording of the oath, but general agreement that Odysseus had found a way out of a tricky situation. I imagine Tyndareus hadn’t been the only one worried about the possibility of endless quarrels and feuds. After a lot of arguing, a final draft was agreed on. The situation was unprecedented, and traditional rivals had just agreed to a truce. I saw a few suitors look sideways, assessing each other’s reactions.
“One further thing, Tyndareus.”
My father turned to Odysseus. “Yes?”
“To ensure no man claims you have wronged him in this, I have one more suggestion. Your daughter Helen must make the choice herself, here, now and before us in this hall. After all,” Odysseus smiled, “that was the privilege you allowed Clytemnestra.”
I turned to Helen to see how she was reacting. She had given me no indication of a preference. I even wondered whether she had spoken to all the contenders. She was smiling slightly.
Tyndareus looked across at her. “Is that your will, Helen?” he asked. “You don’t have to agree to this if you don’t want to, or if you are not certain.” He had always loved his children, and his tone was gentle in his concern for her.
Helen stood. She was composed as she stepped beside Father. “I agree to this.” Her poise gave the statement the formality of an oracle. “This choice will be mine, and mine alone.”
Tyndareus studied her for a minute. I saw him glance across at Leda, but if she responded I couldn’t tell.
“So be it,” he said as Helen returned to her seat.
The oath was agreed, and the suitors stood to take it. A couple had sent proxies, each of whom swore on his master’s behalf. All agreed to the terms, bound by honour, for life.
Finally Tyndareus turned to Helen again. “Daughter. Speak your mind. Which man is your choice?”
She rose and stepped forward. I was proud of Helen. She looked every inch a princess of Sparta as she stood there in front of them all. There was a short pause as she gathered herself to speak and a rustling of clothing as every man in the hall leaned forward to hear her.
“I choose Menelaus to be my husband,” she said clearly. “That is my freely given choice.”
After a moment’s silence the mass of suitors erupted. I saw the wisdom then of Odysseus’s oath, for there would surely have been blood spilled otherwise. There were some who stepped forward to congratulate a stunned Menelaus, but many were scowling. It had cost them a good deal of money to enter the contest for Helen – money spent on their appearance, presents and retainers to present themselves appropriately as suitable candidates. No doubt some of the more impoverished kingdoms could ill afford the investment.
Helen returned quietly to her seat.
I turned to her. “Menelaus? You chose my husband’s brother?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice.
She smiled. “I’ve always been fond of him, from the time we were children. I thought you knew that. I’ve had a crush on him since I was eight.” She bent her head and pleated the fabric of her skirt of a few moments. She looked up again at me and gave a small grin. “Besides, it strengthens the position of Sparta, of Mycenae and all Laconia if we are united, and it means I don’t have to travel to some far-off, alien land. Imagine if I’d married Idomeneus. I’d have had to go to Crete. I wouldn’t even be on the same landmass as the rest of you.” She rolled her eyes at me.
I cast around for something to say. “But you’ll have red-haired children,” I said for no obvious reason.
Helen gave an inelegant snort, and suddenly we were both giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.
I looked up to see Menelaus bearing down on us.
“Oh, Menelaus,” I said, trying to collect myself. “Congratulations. I w
ish you and my sister every happiness.”
He nodded at me then reached out to Helen who was drying her eyes.
“Thank you, Helen,” he said softly. He was smiling down at her. I watched Helen blush beneath his gaze as he pulled her to her feet. For the first time she looked shy. “You’ve made me a very happy man,” he said.
I heard Leda, who had come up beside me, give a sentimental sigh.
“Congratulations to you both,” she said.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Fifteen Years Later
IPHIGENIA SAT ON THE BALUSTRADE PLAYING her flute. Helen’s daughter Hermione sat in front of her, watching her every move. I saw Iphigenia stop, explain the sequence to the younger girl and hand her the flute. Hermione frowned in concentration as she tried the piece. I smiled at the two heads, one dark, one golden, bent over the instrument. I rather thought Hermione had a crush on her older cousin. She had been shadowing Iphigenia all week.
Electra and Orestes squabbled on the mosaic floor at their feet, oblivious to the trills of music going on above their heads.
“You’re such a baby,” said Electra disparagingly as Orestes burst into tears.
I picked him up and shushed him. “You were a baby once, Electra, and it wasn’t that long ago,” I scolded. “Don’t be mean to him. Give me that ball.” She pulled a mulish face but handed it over. “It’s not fair to tease him.”
Happily distracted, Orestes stopped his wailing and I put him back on the ground where he sucked enthusiastically on the rag ball.
“We all have to try and get on with each other.” – which platitude all four children chose to ignore.
“That was effective,” drawled Helen, watching me from where she sat in the shade.
“Well, you’ve got to try,” I retorted.
Helen and her family were visiting. Menelaus and Agamemnon were running joint training exercises with their warriors in the hills, while Helen and I caught up on family news and her child played on the terrace with mine. We saw each other rarely enough, and we had a lot of gossip to catch up on.
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