Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1)

by Janell Rhiannon

  Through the door Aethra called out, “My lady it is approaching the midday meal.”

  Helen walked to the door and unlatched the iron bar. “And you let me lay about for so long? Where is the king?”

  Aethra, followed by a gaggle of giggling young women, tumbled through the opening. “We were instructed by the king to let you sleep.” Her maids quickly went about pulling gowns from cupboards, jewels from boxes, and ribbons from baskets. “It would be rude to keep the Prince of Troy waiting much longer.”

  “You speak as if the king were absent from the palace. Where is my husband?”

  “The king has gone, my Lady.”

  Helen dropped the golden circlet from her hands onto the table where it clanged against the marble. “Gone? What do you mean? Gone?”

  Aethra shook out a dark red gown. “He has sailed for Crete, my lady. As soon as the sun rose. The winds favored.”

  Helen took the scarlet gown from Aethra’s hands. “Crete? For the love of Zeus why Crete? Why was I not informed?”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady, but his wish was not to burden you.”

  “Speak plainly, Aethra. What are you talking about?”

  The enslaved queen mother of Athens took the dress back from the queen’s hands. “A ship arrived before the dawn carrying a messenger. Catreus is dead, my lady. Will you be wearing the red gown?”

  “Yes. It is fine.” The maids pulled the night shift over Helen’s head. “His mother’s father. He was long in years but not ill.”

  “My lady, he was killed by his son’s own hand. A tragedy really. Althaemenes ran him through with his own spear. Mistakenly, of course.”

  Helen gasped. “Why would Althaemenes kill his own father? Surely he knows the gods punish such heinous actions most severely. Mistakenly? What riddle are you telling?”

  “When Catreus arrived in Rhodes, he was not recognized by anyone. His visage altered by his travels, or perhaps the gods. Who can say? And so, Althaemenes killed him before his identity was revealed. Red is a good choice for you, my lady.”

  The queen paused looking at her captive maid. “How is it you know so much of the comings and goings of the palace?” Helen wondered if the old crone knew about her tryst with Paris in the stable last night.

  Aethra smiled. “I am a keen observer. It is my duty to keep my Queen informed, is it not?”

  Helen grimaced. “Yes, the red will be fine for today. I best not keep our guest waiting any longer.” The queen swept from the room, the long train of her silken gown trailing behind her in a crimson cloud.

  PARIS PACED THE stone floor in the main hall. The memory of Helen’s kisses haunted him. “What have I agreed to?”

  “My Lord Paris.”

  The Trojan prince turned. “Helen. My Queen.” His heart pounded.

  “Apologies for keeping you waiting. It was not my intention to be inhospitable.”

  “Your hospitality...” Paris lost his thoughts under her intense gaze.

  Helen extended her hand. “Come. I believe I have something to offer you.” Paris took her hand in his and she curled her fingers between his, whisking him quickly from the hall and the eyes of servants into a darkened corridor. “Kiss me,” she demanded.

  Paris obeyed despite the dishonor of the act. Take her, she is yours... “Your husband, the king...”

  “He has left for Crete. The gods open a way for us to be together.”

  Paris kissed her passionately, his blood pumping furiously through his veins. “Aphrodite makes the way for us.” He plunged a hand between her breasts. “I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman.”

  Helen returned his lust with equal measure. She smashed her body against his. “I would have you now. Here.”

  “Someone may see us,” Paris protested.

  “And if they do? Who will stop us?”

  “You take risks, my lady.” His raging blood pushed his cock to standing.

  Helen lifted her gown and wrapped a leg around him. “Now.” They made love quickly, not as they had the night before. His thirst of her demanded more.

  The prince rested his forehead against hers. “How will I live without you? You are the very breath of me.”

  “We will not be parted, my love. I will show you the way.”

  “It goes against the laws of men and gods for me to take you. Yet, a great pain binds me when I think of leaving your side. Aphrodite is bewitching me with your love.”

  “Then she has doomed us both. Or blessed us. Come.” Helen led them down a series of stone walled corridors. She stopped at a set of large double doors framed on either side by torches. “The guards will be away for some time. We must hurry.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Helen laughed. “Into the treasury, of course.” She pushed open the doors. Darkness filled the space before them. The queen pulled a torch from its sconce, holding it high into the void. Slowly the glitter of gold and jewels came into view. “The riches of Sparta,” Helen said.

  Paris stood speechless at the sight of such wealth. What he beheld could rival the vaults of Troy. “How has Menelaus—”

  “My husband is well rewarded by his brother in Crete for his service. Crete, you know, is the wealthiest kingdom on the seas.”

  “I had heard rumor of Sparta’s wealth. I have never believed it. Until now that is. Always considered the talk to be based on legend or lies.”

  “It is as real as the air you are breathing.”

  Paris ran his hands through his hair. He shook his head as if to shake the reality before him free from sight. “It is real enough.” He turned to Helen. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Helen, how does this bring you to Troy?”

  “We will take half the treasury and offer it to your father. He will take it as reparation for the capture of his sister...that and my presence in Troy as your captive bride should satisfy.”

  Paris was astonished by her plan yet equally impressed with her scheme. “It may work. If Priam is agreeable.”

  “How could he not be? You will have brought half the gold of Sparta and its queen and placed them at his feet. All without bloodshed.”

  The Trojan prince considered the plan from every possible angle. “I will do as you have said. It is a daring move, especially if it can be made so...if I am ever to be seen as worthy among my brothers in my father’s eyes.”

  Helen reached for Paris’ hand. She kissed each knuckle and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I would have no other man, save you.”

  A sharp thought pierced his mind’s veil. “My wife...”

  The queen placed a slender finger over his lips. “We need not speak of her now. We belong to each other. That is all we must know. All we must cling to.”

  Paris stared into the enormous chamber. Gold coins filled clay jars to overflowing. Jewels spilled from boxes on to table tops and onto the ground. Discs of silver were stacked here and there.

  “What if Priam refuses?”

  “He will not refuse Paris. He cannot refuse such a gift. His honor will demand nothing less than full acceptance.”

  “How will we move such treasure?” Paris asked.

  “Send as many of your men as you deem truly loyal to you. I will send my personal guards as well. They will move the dowry portion of this as it belongs to me. Where ever I go, my gold goes. And I choose to go with you.”

  Paris nodded agreement.

  “There is no time to waste. We must leave before Menelaus returns or gets word of what we have done. We must make it safely back to Troy before he has a chance to catch us.”

  HELEN HELD HER daughter in her arms, stroking her soft cheek as she slept. All her life she’d never dreamt the dreams of young girls, dreams of marriage and bearing children. She’d yearned for freedom and, in honest quiet moments with herself, she dreamed of love. She’d always been under guard or the watchful eyes of her brothers and father. Then, she was given to the Menelaus, an older ruddy faced man with a barrel chest and legs like oak tre
es. All the women spoke of how the act of sharing your sacred cross with a husband, if done with proper enthusiasm, was enough to bring even the wildest dog to heal and a pleasure rivaling a hot bath. Bedding with her husband gave no such pleasure. He always smelled of leather and wine, and moved awkwardly when he heaved his body on hers and he sweat too much. The act with him only disgusted her. But, her contrived willingness to accommodate her husband’s voracious appetite for her gave him enough cause to grant her more freedom and he’d gradually relaxed his guard for her. She’d found other men to share her body with, bringing momentary pleasure, yet the desire to run free remained. She’d thought motherhood would perhaps fill the void growing deep within her, but that had been wrong as well.

  Motherhood surprised her. She loved Hermione in her way. Now, on the precipice of leaving the babe behind, her heart softened for the girl. Helen loved her mother, although Leda was always a distant and cold figure more concerned with propriety and duty than in joyful expressions of love. And that had become the dream she chased more than anything else. The freedom to be and to love and have that love returned in equal passionate measure. As she peered down into her daughter’s tiny face, she thought that perhaps, one day, this child could hold such affection for her. But her emptiness cried out now. It would not wait to be satisfied. What if Menelaus dictated horrors for Hermione that would steal the love she waited for the child to return? The way her father had stolen Clytemnestra’s joy and distanced mother from daughter came to mind. She would be old and disappointed. And lonely.

  Guilt pricked her heart, because she knew it was wrong forsaking her husband and abandoning her child for Paris like this. How could she ever explain that the promise of love Paris offered her cried louder against the present remorse? How would she explain that the Spartan crown had made her lonelier, or that marriage to Menelaus slowly suffocated her? There was not a single person in her world that could begin to understand the turmoil she lived with on a daily basis. Women were not supposed to want anything that their husbands didn’t already want for them. Life was supposed to be complete.

  “I am sorry little one that I could not be the mother you will need me to be,” Helen spoke softly. “I will always be longing for something more than what I can possess if I remain in Sparta.” The child kicked her feet at the blanket. “You are a princess of Sparta, little Hermione. I can leave you that at least.” The queen kissed her daughter for the final time and laid her down in her cradle. She glanced one last time at Hermione as she passed through the door, heart torn but determined, and left to meet Paris and an uncertain future.

  HELEN VOMITED A mouthful of foamy bile into a bowl beside her bed. Winds howled. The ship pitched violently. Paris entered the small aft-chamber soaking wet catching Helen heaving her empty stomach contents again into the bedside bowl.

  “We are being carried off course by the winds of Aeolus,” Paris announced.

  Helen wiped her mouth with the edge of her gown. “Will we make land before I die?” Her throat ached.

  “Where is Aethra? Why is she not here to help you?”

  “I sent her away. I did not wish her to see me laid so low. I believe she delights in these small inconveniences I have to bear.”

  “Someone must empty your chamber pot.”

  Helen heaved once again. “My head spins. The entire world is spinning.” She laid her head down on the damp pillow. “I wish I would die.”

  “I am afraid, my love, that you will not die.” Paris sat next to her. “In time, you will be up and no longer sickened by the rolling sea.”

  Helen groaned. “How does one ever get accustomed to the constant motion? Impossible.”

  Paris brushed a golden strand of her hair from her pale face. “The storm makes it worse. If the gods allow, we will either make land or be on our way across the Aegean for Troy.”

  “The gods will allow nothing for us. We have taken our fates into our own hands and they will punish us for that.”

  “Aphrodite deemed it so. We cannot be reproved for obeying her.”

  “The other gods must not agree with her. Look at us. See how low we have been taken? Not even Aeolus will help us.”

  “Land!” a voice rang out above them. “Land!”

  The prince kissed Helen on the forehead. “Answered prayer. I will send someone to empty this bowl.” Paris left the cramped quarters and the queen to her unfortunate misery.

  “WHERE HAVE WE made land?” Paris asked the master helmsman.

  “The gods help us, but we’ve landed at the Salt-Pans of Egypt.”

  Paris’ lips fell to a thin line. “Egypt.” He’d dealt with Egyptian traders before. They were a difficult lot. Rigid. Trading relations were steady and stable, but there was certainly no great affection between Trojans and Egyptians.

  “A hard people, these Egyptians. I’ve heard tales,” said the helmsman.

  “As have I.” Paris gripped the rail of the ship and studied the sky. “Dark clouds. The wind is steady at our side. The storm is not yet over.”

  “Aye, my Lord. In this we agree.”

  “Keep the men aboard. With any fortune, we will be able to set sail before contact is made. Send someone to see to my Lady Helen. Her chamber bowl needs emptying.”

  “Aye, my lord. I’ll see it done.”

  UNDER THE GRAY light of the moon, a small band of sailors, having swum the cold distance between the Greek ship and the Nile Delta’s shore, followed the faint glowing light in the distance.

  Polon, the short fat one spoke, “Do you think they’ll spare us?”

  “Shut your fucking trap, Polon. Anything is better than serving that conniving bastard, Paris. Prince or no,” Linos said.

  They trudged across wet sand, their feet sinking with each step. Their progress sounded like a giant beast slurping its path along the shore. As they grew closer to the light, the structure rose clearly into view. The towering columns and palisade marked it as a temple to a powerful god. An enormous hammered bronze bowl held a perpetual fire in homage to the divine, lighting what appeared to be a hundred steps to the entrance.

  “Do you think it’s a temple to Apollo? Or Zeus?” Phokas, the tall lanky slave blurted out, as they stood dumbfounded by the scale of the building.

  Linos shook his head. “We’re in Egypt you dumb fucks. They’ve their own gods to contend with.”

  Phokas sneered at Linos. “What kind of high born are you pretending to be? You’re as low as the rest of us.”

  Linos rubbed the back of his head and spat back, “I may be low born by my mother, but my father was lord of the house. He made certain I was taught to read and that’s more than you can say, Phokas. You scrawny bastard. More than the lot of you can claim.”

  Phokas answered the taunt by slinging an insult. “You’re still a bastard slave like the rest of us. Deciphering scratch makes you no expert in a foreign land. You’ve no more idea what this place is than we do.”

  “Why have you come along? Linos already told you to shut that gaping hole in your face,” Straton said.

  Polon hooked his fingers into his belt hidden partially by his rounded belly. “The only way to know anything at all is to climb the steps and see for ourselves.” The men all nodded agreement and ascended the massive incline to the top.

  As they crossed the threshold of the temple, a tall dark man greeted them in Egyptian. His robes were colorful and swept the floor as he walked. His face and head were shorn of hair and his eyes thickly lined with kohl. He paused in their path waiting for a response.

  Straton spoke, “We are from Troy.”

  The priest nodded. “Your disheveled appearance obscures your place of origin.”

  Straton was taken aback by his ability to slip so easily into their native tongue. “You know our language?”

  “I am gifted with the knowledge of many tongues of many people. We are Egyptians. We are the center of the world.”

  Phokas asked the obvious question, “Which god lives in this temple? Wi
ll we be granted sanctuary if we ask?”

  The priest nodded his head slowly, understanding dawning on him. “You are runaway slaves. Not shipwrecked sailors.”

  Straton narrowed his eyes at Phokas. “You idiot.”

  “Peace, captain of slaves. You have nothing to fear here in the temple of the great Osiris.”

  “Is there sanctuary then? For the likes of us?” Phokas asked.

  “If your reasoning is sound Osiris may grant you safety from your Master.” The tall priest gestured with a long arm and a tapering finger for the retched group to enter. One by one they eyed each other, silently agreeing to take their chances with the foreign god.

  Once inside, the Trojan slaves walked in awe behind the priest, deeper into the forest of golden columns.

  Polon spoke, “I swear by all the gods I know, I’ve not seen anything like this in my life entire.”

  “The pillars touch the sky,” Linos said.

  “Aye. We’ve nothing to compare in Troy.”

  Over his shoulder the priest said, “Many traders from your realm believe only the gods themselves could construct such a magnificent structure.” He stopped before a door so large they couldn’t see the top of the lintel. “Wait in this ante-chamber. You will be heard.”

  The slaves entered as the door pulled opened from the inside. Having no where to sit, they remained standing.

  “Are you sure we’ve done the right thing?” Linos asked aloud.

  “We’ll soon find out,” Straton said, as a different priest entered the chamber to greet them.

  “Greetings, I am Thonis, Warden of the Delta. I will hear the transgressions of your Master. If your protest is just, your wish to remain with us will be granted. Your safety guaranteed.”

  Straton spoke first, “We are from the kingdom of Troy, in the service of Prince Paris.”

  “Go on,” Thonis instructed.

  “What he has done will surely bring the wrath of the gods on us.”