“Quick work, Titus. I knew we could count on you,” Pollux said.
“My lord.” Titus bowed his head in deference. “I take my leave. I await your word outside.” Titus again slipped from sight.
Academus stood of average height—the portrait of a wise man with his thinning hair and graying beard. “What do you want of me?” he asked the brothers.
“We wish the return of our sister. Nothing more,” said Pollux.
“You have been told she is not within the polis.”
“We have,” Pollux said, as he walked around the table separating himself from Academus. “But we have been informed that you may know the truth of the matter. The truth that lies beneath the surface of these lies you tell.”
Castor pointed out reason to comply. “You will have heard Menestheus has been appointed king...by us. Your fucking Athenian Council by damned.”
“I had heard such news,” Academus acknowledged. “But, I did not know if it held weight.”
Castor sighed. “We only wish to see our sister rightfully returned to us.”
The master of whispers said, “We have been told Helen wishes to be free of Spartan control. Even though she is young. Theseus is rescuer, not thief.”
Pollux pounded a weighty fist on the table causing random items to bounce and clang together. “She has been taken against her will by Zeus! You would do well to hand her over or give her up. We will annihilate every polis in this fucking region to the fucking ground until we discover her. Is your secret worth all that?”
Castor added, “To us, our sister is worth all the blood we must spill. And righteously so.”
Academus looked from one brother to the other. Their eyes held the hard truth. They would not give up. “You will return to Sparta if you have your sister?”
“We will,” the brothers spoke in unison.
Academus spoke, “I love Athens more than I love the king who absents the throne. Helen is being held by the queen mother in the north. Aphidnae.”
Pollux smiled mischievously, “That was not so bad, was it? Titus!” The messenger reappeared. “We ride to Aphidnae in the north. We break camp at first light. Prepare the men.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
CASTOR SUMMONED REAH to his bed. “Why did you give up Academus to us?”
“You bring destruction to my home. I would have you stop before Athens passes into legend or worse, darkness,”
“You love Athens that much?”
“I do.”
“There is more. You hold back something of importance. Speak.”
“I have a husband.”
“Ah. I see your dilemma. You hope to be returned to him, do you not?”
Reah nodded. “If Academus’ information proves useful, my lord.”
“Since you have been moved to help us, as much as yourself, I may grant what you desire. Providing your personal offering is given with...enthusiasm.”
“My lord?” Reah asked, shifting her feet nervously, heat flaming her cheeks at the implication. “What offering do you require?”
“I will not bed alone,” Castor said, as he smiled. “Come. I know how to please a woman.”
ERIKA SCREAMED AS she ran through the main courtyard, “They are coming! They are coming!”
Aethra stood up from her loom and grabbed her servant by the shoulders and shook her. “Who is here?!” she demanded. “Who?”
Erika pointed a shaking finger at Helen. “Her. They are coming for her! Why would King Theseus bring her here?!”
The queen mother raised her eyebrow. “That girl?”
“Erika shouted for the entire house to hear, “She is the lost princess of Sparta! Helen! She is Helen!” The household came to a standstill. All eyes landed on Aethra waiting for her to unleash a verbal tirade or land blows on the frantic woman. But she did neither.
The silver laughter of youth filled the silence. Helen found humor in their panic. “I warned you, bitch, that my brothers would not rest until they found me.”
Aethra spat at Helen. “You have been only trouble since my son brought you here. Curses follow your beauty. You will chase peace, but it will always elude you.”
“Spartans have no need of peace, old woman,” Helen replied.
“A day will come when you will regret such words,” the queen mother warned. “As for now, we will greet these brothers of yours. Hand you over without argument from me.”
POLLUX AND CASTOR held their troops at the entrance of Aphidnae and continued with a small contingent of men to the house of Aethra. The streets were deserted of life, filled with an eerie stillness broken only by the occasional barking dog or crying child. When a random stranger entered their path, Pollux took advantage of the accident.
“You there!” Pollux shouted.
The old man startled and missed his step. He turned to find the Spartan brothers pressing toward him. He picked himself up and broke into a run, but age betrayed him. He was no match for them. Castor pulled his horse up in front of the man. “There will be no escape for you friend.”
The old man’s voice shook as he said, “You are no friend to this polis, any more than you were to Athens.” He shoved his balled up fist at the young princes. “You will be cursed for what you have done to innocents.”
Pollux laughed sarcastically. “We have nothing to fear. Our retribution was brought about by Theseus’ treachery. Lay your threats at his feet. Athens’ punishment was just.”
“Have you come to do the same to us?”
“Not if Helen is returned before Apollo’s light fades to darkness.”
Castor spoke up, “Where is the queen mother’s residence? We were told it sits in the south.”
The old man nodded agreement. “That is so.”
“You know of this house?” Castor inquired.
“All the polis knows of Aethra’s household.”
“Lead us there,” Pollux demanded.
The old man considered the jar in his hands and put it down. “Come, then.” He led them down several streets, all deserted and eerily quiet. They walked on with the sun blazing heat overhead. Finally, the man stopped before an unassuming house. “Here.” He pointed at the door.
“For your services, we thank you,” Castor tossed a silver coin at the man’s feet.
“I’ll take no silver,” he spat, as he walked back the way they’d come.
Castor motioned a guard to announce their presence. The guard pounded the wooden door with a heavy fist. After a brief wait, the door cracked open and the brothers pushed their way through mounted on their fully dressed war horses. The beasts hooves clattered loudly on the stone. A few servants scattered.
“Helen!” Pollux yelled. “Helen!”
An elegant older woman appeared. She walked without haste toward the uninvited guests. “I am Aethra, Queen Mother. Matron of Aphidnae.”
“Where is our sister, Helen? We know you hold her against her will,” Castor said.
“She is within and well cared for.”
“How can you speak to her welfare? She is held as captive, stolen from her family.”
Aethra continued with pleasantries. “Refreshments after such a long journey? The day is hot.”
“You extend hospitality as if you have done no injury to us. I would no more drink water in your household than I would piss in my own cup. Bring Helen at once.”
Aethra nodded. “Bring the girl.”
Castor and Pollux dismounted. After a brief wait, Helen burst in to the courtyard running straight for her brothers. “I knew you would come! I knew it!” She threw her arms around one then the other.
Pollux picked her up. “Little sister! Apologies it took this long. You are well?” He smiled.
“I am,” she said. “No thanks to this old hag.”
“I see. What satisfaction do you require?”
“I would have her for my slave,” Helen smiled, as she eyed the Queen Mother over her brother’s shoulder.
“Done,” Pollux said. “Bi
nd the woman,” he commanded.
Three soldiers came forward and made for Aethra who screamed. “You cannot take me! You cannot!”
“The way your son could not take our sister? Let Theseus retrieve you if he ever returns,” Castor said.
“But my house!” Aethra resisted the soldiers.
Pollux strode to face her. He grabbed her roughly by the arms. “You no longer have a house. You are no longer queen of anything. You will serve our sister as she commands and if you do not...I will beat you myself. You are fortunate I do not beat you now.” He shoved her and she lost footing, stumbling back, falling hard to the ground.
Helen stood over the woman, smiling like a lioness over her kill. “Let us see how you fare in Sparta.”
TYNDAREUS SHOOK HIS head in disbelief. “Theseus has long been my friend. I did not believe him capable of such treachery. Had it not fallen from my own sons’ lips, I would not believe it still.”
“What is to be done then, Father?” Castor asked.
“She must wed. We cannot take further risk that some other guest may slip away with her. To us, she is simply Helen. But to the world beyond us, she holds some mystery. It will only worsen as she blossoms to womanhood.”
“Agreed,” Castor nodded.
“One question remains. Who will you invite to marry one such as Helen? She is sharp tongued. Strong willed. Not the picture of a docile wife,” Pollux said.
Castor agreed. “Oh, she will require a firm hand. A very firm hand.”
Tyndareus paced the floor. “There are but two men with will enough to subdue your wildcat sister—Prince Odysseus of Ithaka or Menelaus, brother to Agamemnon.”
“Both fine choices. But how to convince them,” Castor mused.
Pollux shrugged his shoulders. “I would be more worried war may come to us if her husband is chosen without opportunity for all eligible suitors to seek her hand. Helen is surely the most prized princess in all of Greece.”
“You speak truth, my son. But, if all potential suitors descended on this house, our hospitality might be spread thin. Best to control the situation. Control the outcome.”
“Yes, send word out that when Helen reaches womanhood, a feast will be held and the best husband will be chosen from among the guests. Hold a contest of arms, if you will,” Castor said.
“That is an excellent suggestion. Likely many gifts will flow into Sparta and our treasury,” his brother agreed.
“A contest would prove entertaining, yet perhaps not yielding the best man for Helen. What if Odysseus or Menelaus did not win?” the king mused.
“That is a dilemma,” Castor said.
“We have discerned by example what Helen’s presence can do to a man. Imagine a hundred...has there truly been no word from Theseus?” Tyndareus asked.
Pollux shook his head. “None. I did hear whispers but all too preposterous to be the truth.”
“Speak. What have you heard?”
“He has taken the road to Hades to steal away Persephone. He and Pirithous. They have been taken prisoner by the god himself. Forced to forget this life among mortals.”
Castor chuckled. “His balls must rival Zeus. If ever I faced Hades, I would hope to forget the experience as well. Father, what of Helen? Let Theseus rot wherever he may be.”
Pollux said, “Fix the events so your choices have advantage. Odysseus excels with a bow. I wager none can beat him in such a challenge. Menelaus, well, perhaps a contest of ass licking?”
Castor laughed heartily at the idea. “A contest he would win with no doubt.”
The king interjected the seriousness of the situation. “My thoughts dwell on Helen’s security. On Sparta’s security. We must align ourselves carefully. Plan the competitions carefully. Odysseus comes from afar. He has earned a fair reputation for strategy. But I fear he will refuse Helen because he will not risk the safety of Ithaka to rivals. He is capable of handling your sister, but I think the man too practical.”
“Menelaus then?” Castor asked.
Tyndareus continued aloud, “He is a boastful man. Not as hard as his brother, your brother-in-law. I think he will risk the match, as he has no kingdom of his own to worry about,” Tyndareus said.
Pollux narrowed his eyes at this. “If she takes a man without a kingdom of his own, where do you propose they take up residence?”
Tyndareus began pacing under the burning scrutiny of his son’s eyes. “Think of Sparta. How much would you sacrifice for her?”
“You mean both of us quite literally?” Pollux asked. He looked to Castor for support.
“Helen will only be safe if she remains in Sparta. A Spartan princess...and one day its queen.”
Pollux roared, “There it is! Usurped by that fucking red-headed vagabond Mycenaean ass licker!”
Meaning dawned on Castor as well. “What of my brother and I? Where shall we go? Do you suppose Menelaus will tolerate his rivals beneath his nose?”
“You will have to abdicate publicly. Take an oath before the polis supporting Helen’s husband,” Tyndareus said. “You both must think of Sparta before yourselves.”
“If you believe this the wisest course, then we will support you in all things,” Castor said, looking to his brother. “As always.”
Pollux shoved a chair across the room. “Fuck Mycenae!” And he stormed out of the hall.
Tyndareus slumped in his chair. “It is for the best,” he said quietly. “For Sparta.”
“He will come around, Father. As will I. It is a bitter potion you asked us to swallow...even for Sparta’s sake...the matter yet chokes.”
“Your honesty is appreciated my son. But, the time is not yet upon us. We have years perhaps? I must plan this wisely. Chose Menelaus without appearing to choose Menelaus.”
“Best start with Agamemnon.”
“Yes. Yes, start with the king of Mycenae. I will send word of my intent. He will keep the secret for fear of losing a kingdom for his brother.”
ACHILLES LOOKED OUT across the churning blue ocean at his feet and beyond to the horizon. The birth of Neoptolemus had pleased him, yet the thought that his fate would end on this island gnawed at his gut. His spirit yearned for the clash of sword on sword, shield against shield. He couldn’t believe that his purpose was nothing more than to sit upon a throne and decide which crops to plant, which orchards to trim, or which vines would yield the best wine. “This cannot be all,” he said to the sea. The tide washed up at his feet, and then pulled back, sucking the sand out from under him as he stood lost in thought. “I have always had an affinity for the sea,” he spoke into the breeze. “My fate must be out there not here on the rocks and sand of Skyros.”
The sun blazed overhead. And then he heard the sign—an eagle’s screech from high above. He shielded his eyes from Apollo’s light and spotted the bird, a mere speck against the blinding blue. Again the eagle screeched. Satisfied, Achilles turned from the beach to head back to the palace. As he walked, he stripped the woman’s clothes from his back. He tired of the disguise. He was impatient to take the first steps from his prison into the world of war he knew, now, would find him.
ACHILLES MADE HIS way to the chamber he shared with Deidamia. He heard his son crying before he reached the door and pushed it quietly open. He smiled at his wife cooing and comforting their son.
“Shaaaahhhh, Neoptolemus. Shaaah,” she whispered, holding her breast to the baby’s searching mouth. He latched on and suckled hungrily, placing his little hands on either side of his mother’s swollen breasts.
Achilles laughed startling his wife, but not the child. “He has much the same mind as I do.”
“Shah! Husband you are of singular mind,” Deidamia chided.
Achilles brushed her long dark tresses from her shoulder and kissed her neck. “Do you make complaint?”
Deidamia sighed and smiled. “I will never make complaint of your hands upon me.”
He reached his hand to cup one of his wife’s heavy breasts. “I should hope not.”
<
br /> She slapped his hand away. “Your son requires my attention.”
Achilles withdrew his hand. “After then.”
“As you command, husband.”
Sing Muse, sing of the Warrior King
the rocky hills of Ithaka he loved
and the woman he loved
above all else
...always her
Sing Muse, how golden helmed Athena
lit the way to war
and darkened on return
Sing Muse, sing of the Warrior King
through flaming death and
gnashing teeth and
sirens’ calls
how he desired her
...always her
PATROKLES STARED AT his hands in disbelief. Blood ran in thin streams of spider webs through his strong fingers and stained his skin. “What have I done? What have I done?” Las lay lifeless on his back with Patrokles’ dagger plunged to the hilt and angling oddly from his chest. “I only meant to defend...” He looked to the stunned face looking back at him. “It was a mistake. An unfortunate slip of my blade.” No words would bring Las back to life, for surely his soul was winging its way to the Underworld as Patrokles knelt in stunned disbelief.
Demius pulled Patrokles to his feet, avoiding the bloody mess of his hands. “You should flee this place, Pax. No one here will believe you acted in self-defense. They will put you on trial. Find you guilty of murder. His family founded this pitiful port. You will find no friends here. None to vouch for you.”
Patrokles stood and wiped his hands absentmindedly on his tunic. “I should return to Phthia.”
“Wherefore? Head to Sparta. If you win that beauty’s hand, this—” He indicated with a flourish of his hand, “Will be a trifle long forgotten. If you leave now, you can make it to Sparta, and then back to Phthia if the worst should come. Stand here much longer and surely you will be discovered. You face betrays your shock and guilt.”
Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) Page 25
