Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  I smiled at my little family. I was proud of them. Iphigenia was growing beautiful, and Agamemnon would soon need to find her a husband. Girls married earlier here in Mycenae than we did in Sparta, and at fifteen she was considered old enough. I hoped I could keep her a little longer. I had loved her from the moment they laid her in my arms. She was my firstborn, and we were very close, quite unlike the prickly nature of my dealings with Leda.

  Electra, ten years younger than her sister, had a very different temperament. She and I scratched each other at every turn. I dreaded to think what she would be like at fourteen. I sighed, wondering if we were too similar. We clashed at every opportunity. It sometimes seemed she opposed everything I said. She was her daddy’s girl, and Agamemnon could do no wrong in her eyes. She followed him round whenever she could, which was unfortunate as he had little time for her. Nor, now she was older, for Iphigenia.

  Agamemnon had lost interest in his children when he found he had to share my attentions with them. From the moment I had held Iphigenia in my arms, they had become the most important thing in my life. On them I poured the unconditional love I had once reserved for my husband. His blows and tantrums had changed that, although we still had a workable marriage. I reasoned that Agamemnon, as my husband and my equal, could look after himself, as I did. My children, entirely dependent on me, were entitled to first place in my priorities.

  Orestes, my baby, had been born two years earlier. Finally, after all those years of marriage, I had given Mycenae a male heir. Orestes was an easy-going, laughing little boy. As the youngest, he simply adapted to everyone around him. I was discovering that little boys are different to little girls, and he had me wound round his little finger.

  Agamemnon adored him. “My little warrior,” he would exclaim as he picked him up and cuddled him. Orestes would squeal with delight as his father lifted him above his head and tossed him in his arms.

  I returned to Helen and sat beside her. “We’ve got an attractive brood between us,” I remarked. Helen’s daughter Hermione was a little replica of her mother, her blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight.

  “How the years go by,” said Helen. She sounded dejected.

  I looked at her. “That sounded rather morbid,” I commented.

  “Mm,” she hesitated. “Do you sometimes worry that our lives may be over?”

  I had a sudden presentiment. “You’re not sick or something, are you? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  Helen shook her head. “No, nothing like that but … Don’t you sometimes feel life is passing us by and we don’t have a great deal to show for it?”

  I laughed. “Well, you may have a point, but I’m usually too busy to let it worry me.”

  * * *

  Ever since my first efforts at governing Mycenae in Agamemnon’s absence, I had retained an interest in such civil duties. Spending a morning doing nothing was a rare luxury for me. Agamemnon’s interests as a ruler revolved entirely around annual tax take figures, trade surpluses and protecting or extending Mycenae’s borders. Or, as I came to term them, the three P’s – Profit, Plunder and Power.

  As a girl I had watched my father hold weekly courts where cases could be debated in front of him. He had passed judgment in disputes, administered justice to the guilty and kept a firm finger on the pulse of Sparta’s domestic life. It appalled me that Agamemnon would not do the same for Mycenae. When I asked him about it he shrugged. He had functionaries whose job it was to manage anything that didn’t interest him.

  I had been suspicious of these uncontrolled officers, reasoning that without proper supervision they were natural targets for corruption and cupidity. Once, in the early days of my watch, I had happened upon an ugly scene: A townsman complaining he had received short measure from a trader, a charge the trader was denying vehemently. A crowd gathered, and in short order, the military police arrived to drag the plaintiff away and administer summary justice.

  I was about to turn away when, almost on instinct, I stepped forward, and said, “Let the trader show us his weights. Let the captain here hold them up so everyone can see. That way the trader proves his honesty to us all.”

  The crowd, who were enjoying the excitement, cheered the suggestion.

  I called a seller from a different stall to bring his weights so that comparison could be made. The weights were put on the scales, one by one, and it was clear our trader’s weights were lighter. I picked one up to examine it and saw the core of each disk had been drilled away. “I think the plaintiff is in the right,” I declared. “Release him immediately, and take up this dishonest wretch in his place.”

  The captain had no choice but to arrest the protesting trader.

  “I paid for protection,” the wretched man was shrieking at the captain as they hustled him off. “You have no right to arrest me, I paid.” The captain silenced him with a blow, but I’d heard the trader, and the captain knew it.

  After that I made sure I oversaw justice in Mycenae. I took my place in the hall each week to hear arguments and administer fairness, and I made sure I was impartial. It didn’t hurt to keep appointed officials on their toes, and I taught dishonest ones to fear me. I let Agamemnon’s functionaries do their jobs, but they never knew when I would choose to turn up to check on them or run an audit of their work.

  It was very much the work Leda had taught me in managing a household but on a larger scale.

  I drifted back to the present and Helen’s misery. “I suppose you could claim we have nothing to show for our lives – well, apart from our children, and that we are both queens in our lands. I can see how empty your life must be.” I allowed the sarcasm to be overt, although I was concerned. It wasn’t like Helen to be gloomy.

  “I just feel a bit pointless, as if the most exciting part of my life is over and there’s nothing left but to grow old and die,” she said. “I’m barely in my thirties, and I feel like an old crone.”

  I resisted saying the obviously consoling things – that she was beautiful, had a lovely daughter and a loving husband. “You’ve probably got too much time on your hands,” I said. “We weren’t reared to be passive. You need to find a cause you can be passionate about.”

  A long silence filled the gap between us as I mulled over her words.

  “Ignore me,” she said at last. “I’m just being maudlin. It’s probably the time of the month,” she shrugged.

  “Is everything all right between you and Menelaus?” I asked.

  She hesitated, then shrugged again. “As well as any marriage after all these years. We rub along together, but it’s not like you and Agamemnon.”

  I stared at her. “You aren’t suggesting that my marriage is wonderful, surely?”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  I gave a little laugh. “Where do I begin? In our early years he used to hit me if something distressed him. Not, you understand, to punish me for something I had done wrong, but simply as a way of relieving his own frustration.”

  Helen’s eyes opened in wide horror. “I never knew. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Partly because I was ashamed, and partly because I always hoped it was a one-off and he would stop. Anyway, he hasn’t hit me in years. Now he throws tantrums instead. Again, the purpose is to cause me distress, but at least it’s not physical. Well, not to me any more. He smashed a rather nice marble statue of Athena last time he was in a rage. Then he was upset it was broken and had another tantrum because he couldn’t get all the pieces to stick back together. It was funny in a rather sad way.”

  “What about the children? Do they know?”

  “Iphigenia has seen him in action and, I suspect, now feels contempt for him. As of course do I; or at least for that part of his personality. He looks so strong, strutting around in his armour as our war leader, but inside he’s really a weak man. He genuinely wants everyone to be happy, but if things don’t go the way he plans, he doesn’t take control of the situation and manage it thr
ough to the result he wants; he just goes to pieces and takes it out on me.”

  Helen put her hand on mine. “That’s terrible. I always thought you two got on.”

  “The odd thing is, we do. He could be a great man if he didn’t allow himself to behave like a spoilt child.”

  “Why don’t you leave him?”

  “Because there is a lot about him I still like,” I said slowly. “He’s the father of my children and has rights over them. If I left, I would lose the children, and I could never do that; it would cause them terrible distress. Anyway, I’ve always thought it best for everyone if I just carry on. Agamemnon and I are fond of each other in our own way, and as you said, after all these years, what do we expect?”

  Helen sighed. “To think I thought I had problems.”

  “Not real problems,” I hastened to reassure her. “I suppose every marriage is different.”

  We sat in companionable silence for a while, both following our own thoughts.

  “The worst thing is I can’t really complain that Menelaus does anything wrong. He is still the man I married. Everybody’s friend and drinking companion, popular in the mess, always cheerful.”

  “So what’s the problem?” I asked.

  Helen turned to me. “I feel he’s never grown up. People describe him as youthful for his age, but the truth is he’s still a boy in everything he does. Sometimes I feel I want an adult, not a child.” She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think he’s terribly intelligent.”

  I choked back a laugh. I had never thought Menelaus intelligent, but he had always been well meaning. I looked at my sister thoughtfully. “There isn’t someone else, is there? You’ve never spoken like this before.”

  “I suppose we’ve both admitted things today that we’ve never told each other,” she said. “No, there isn’t anyone else.” She gave a sad little laugh.

  “I live in Sparta, remember? Wall-to-wall warriors with no ambition beyond the next boar hunt or raid. I’ve considered them to see if there was anyone there I fancied, but no. Not a one.”

  I was relieved. “Maybe this is just a phase that will pass. Perhaps Menelaus will grow up. He must be nearing forty.”

  Helen nodded but said nothing. We returned to watching the children.

  “To tell you the truth,” said Helen eventually, “Sparta has been having a rough time. You asked if I was sick. I’m not, but we’ve had plague over the last year, and it seems unstoppable. One of the reasons Menelaus wanted to visit and talk to Agamemnon was to see whether he had any suggestions. The healers are at their wits’ end. There’s an uneasy mood amongst the people that we’ve offended the gods, although how, I don’t know.”

  “Well, if Agamemnon has no suggestions, I imagine he’ll ask Calchas,” I said. “If anyone can interpret the signs, it will be him. He’s famous for it.”

  Calchas had managed too retain his influence on my husband. I disliked the man and still avoided him whenever possible, but I had come to realise his importance to Agamemnon and the people of Mycenae. In the early days of my marriage I had tried to win him over but failed. I smiled at him when we passed in the street but was rebuffed or ignored; I met him once at a feast and sought to engage him in conversation. He had ignored me until I persisted. Then I read scorn in his eyes and was forced to listen once again while he intoned the grim prophecy that I would be Agamemnon’s doom. The guests around me were entranced, and several enjoyed my public embarrassment. From then on I left the priest alone if I encountered him in the town, and he continued to ignore me. We were both wary of each other’s influence over Agamemnon, and I was unwilling to push the issue to open warfare and force Agamemnon to take sides. There was universal faith in Mycenae that Calchas spoke with the words of the gods and that he would warn us of any danger. Frankly, it said little for the good taste of the gods if they used such a revolting man as their mouthpiece.

  I thought he was a fake, that most of his famous prophecies were invented for his own purposes, and that he was a mean-spirited individual.

  When the men returned from their manoeuvres it was obvious our husbands had spoken together. At dinner Agamemnon announced Calchas would interpret the omens on the following morning, and Menelaus would be guided by the words of the seer.

  Accordingly, bright and early the next morning we all stood in the temple to watch Calchas scry. After Agamemnon had dispatched a sheep in sacrifice, Calchas withdrew into the inner sanctum to riffle through the dead sheep’s intestines, interpret what he saw there and consult with the gods. He was away for some time, and I was becoming impatient. Iphigenia stood by my side, but I had left the younger children with Io and Chryseis. I knew they would be well cared for, but I hated leaving them too long, and I didn’t trust Electra not to find some new mischief.

  At last the seer returned.

  “The gods have spoken,” he cried.

  Obediently the nobles and warriors quieted down to listen.

  “There is disagreement among the gods, and their quarrels and fighting are causing pain among their worshippers. The oracle is clear; Menelaus must go to Troy. He must observe propitiatory rites at the graves of Lycus and Chimaereus, sons of Prometheus, who are buried there. Only by doing so can he lift the plague from the land of Sparta.”

  “Troy?” murmured Helen beside me. “Where’s Troy?”

  I didn’t know, but I had heard of it.

  “Somewhere out in the eastern sea, I believe. Agamemnon is always complaining that the Trojans ruin our trade. It’s a fabulously wealthy place, and he maintains that they control the trade routes, so all we get are their leavings.”

  “Sounds exciting,” said Helen. “I wonder whether Menelaus will let me go with him. I’d love to travel. I’ll ask him.”

  Apparently the answer was no. The next day, Helen, Hermione and the Spartans hastily packed up to return home to prepare for Menelaus’s mission.

  “Bastard,” commented Helen as she hugged me goodbye. “He could at least have said yes. Ah well, back to being a dutiful wife. Next time it’s your turn to come and visit us.”

  I hugged her back. “Give my love to our parents.”

  We waved them away from the palace, then I climbed to the top level of the palace so I could watch them in the distance. I saw sunlight flash on one of the chariot’s panels as they rounded the bend and went out of sight.

  It was the last glimpse I would ever have of my sister.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  “THE JOINT EXERCISES WITH MENELAUS'S MEN were useful,” Agamemnon said to me the next evening, “but the truth is, our warriors need a decent war to shake them up and motivate them again. They’re bored. We need a good, hard skirmish to sharpen them up, otherwise they’ll run off and cause trouble in the town.”

  Agamemnon had managed to subdue most of the surrounding kingdoms, either by directly annexing them, or by treaties and trade deals with their terrified rulers. No sensible neighbour was going to take on the might of Mycenae.

  I told Agamemnon so. “They call you the ‘Great King’; no one’s going to challenge that.”

  Agamemnon sighed. “A generation ago we mounted a campaign against Crete and conquered them. That’s what we need now. It’s too quiet for warriors. They won’t win glory sitting in barracks polishing their armour.”

  I sniggered. “Send your warriors home to plough their paddocks and grow crops. We can live in the Elysium fields.”

  Agamemnon snorted. “I’d be dishonouring the gods if I were that feeble a king. We need challenges so the men can strive to be heroes. At the moment all they aim for is who can piss highest up the wall in the latrine.”

  I laughed at that. Sometimes it amazed me that, after the vicissitudes of our married life, the two of us could still enjoy each other’s company and share our thoughts so easily.

  He smiled at me and held my gaze. Married couples have ways of inviting intimacy without need of words. We ended up in the large be
d. We still pleased each other well enough. Everything about this man was familiar, his scent, taste, touch and his moves. Afterwards we slept.

  Chryseis had asked, many years ago, whether I understood Agamemnon. I remembered my surprise when I couldn’t answer the question. Surely a woman should understand her husband? But I didn’t. I had never plumbed the depths of his complexity. He was loving, affectionate, loyal, intelligent and honourable. He was also vicious, unkind, unpredictable, childish and stupid. He was a visionary, a charismatic man full of ideas that could change the world. He never listened to what people tried to tell him and lived in a world where what he imagined was more real to him than reality. I had married two different men and never knew which of them I would wake up with in the morning.

  * * *

  We received word from Sparta that Menelaus had departed on his pilgrimage to Troy.

  “Do you think Calchas really received a message from the gods?” I asked Agamemnon.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Who can say? But Calchas can seem uncanny. I’ve watched him as he divines, and it’s as if something otherworldly takes hold of him. He’s made some very effective prophecies.”

  “He’s made a few mistakes as well,” I said. “Remember what he said about me when I first arrived in Mycenae? He got that wrong.”

  Agamemnon shrugged. “No man can be right all the time. I suppose even Calchas must be allowed a few errors.”

  “Hm. Well, let’s hope he’s right this time.” I was thinking about Helen and her frustration at not going away with her husband.

  “There’s another reason I’m glad Menelaus is going to Troy,” said Agamemnon. “I want him to have a look around at what is going on there. A trader came to me the other day with excuses for not being able to supply the tin and copper we need. Tells me he sold his entire shipment to Troy so had nothing for the rest of his customers. I’m hearing this story over and over again and across a wide range of commodities that we need.”