Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3)

by Janell Rhiannon

  Avoiding his face, she said, “You don’t appear to have been in a battle at all. I wish that you had died at Menelaus’ hand rather than disgrace us both by quitting the fight.”

  “Don’t blame me for what the gods contrive for us. Menelaus had Athena on his side. I had Aphrodite on mine. What of it? Can we fight the gods?”

  Shaking her head, Helen said, “I don’t know. Maybe we should and end it all.”

  Paris got up from the bed to take her hand. “I know you don’t mean any of the harsh words you say. We are both trapped in Aphrodite’s will. She’s bound our stars.” He wiped Helen’s tears away with his thumb. “Don’t cry, my love. There will be another time to challenge Menelaus.”

  She looked up. “Why can’t I fight this urge?”

  “Do not.” Taking her hand, Paris led his wife to bed. “Let’s stay in bed until the dawn.” He kissed her slowly, pressing his tongue passed her teeth.

  Helen softened against his body, wrapping a leg around his hip. “Fuck me, Paris. Fuck me until I forget this day ever happened.”

  As Paris took her, tears of desperation escaped her eyes. Aphrodite owned her body and her love to Paris. There was nothing real to cling to anymore. Her body betrayed her heart and she climaxed with her husband. In her grief and disgust, she turned away from him. Rage filled her heart at what Paris’ judgment had cost her; a life in Sparta, a daughter, an honored position as queen beyond anyone’s doubt. But it was Aphrodite who had planned it all and she could not fight a goddess. It was easier to allow her hate of Paris to grow instead.

  ✽✽✽

  Hecuba and her second son broke the night’s fast alone. The queen signaled the slave to take the stuffed figs away. The smell nauseated her this morning. “These are rotten.” She sipped at her honeyed wine to calm her stomach. “I fear some illness has overtaken me.”

  “Would you like me to call a physician for you, Mother?”

  “No. It will pass.” Her womb fluttered. “Where is Helen?”

  “She refuses to leave our chamber.”

  “Little wonder why. After Menelaus.”

  Paris rested both forearms on the table, leaning over his platter. “It was not my fault. It was Aphrodite’s will.”

  Again, Hecuba’s womb fluttered.

  “Mother? Are you sure you don’t require the physician.”

  “I told you, it will pass,” she snapped. “I’m just … tired. Aphrodite, you say?” Hecuba remembered with awe and horror the day the goddess appeared when Paris wed Helen. Her commands were clear regarding Helen. “She saved you from Menelaus?”

  “I was on the ground. My head was pounding. I couldn’t get up. I was crawling like some wounded dog. The goddess sent a fog and everything went dark. When I opened my eyes, I was in my chamber. That’s where Helen found me.”

  “The goddess did you no favor. The world now believes you’re a coward.”

  Paris slammed an empty palm on the table, jostling the bowl of fruit near his elbow. “I will get the chance to save my reputation.”

  “For much of my life, I mourned you. Your absence destroyed my peace. Now, your presence brings the doom that was foretold. I can’t help but worry what will happen to Troy, to all of us, if the Greeks can’t be broken. It doesn’t matter if your reputation is one way or the other. If you don’t find a way to bring down Achilles, the army will be scattered. And the women … you know what will happen to us. Tortured and raped, praying for death.”

  “That won’t happen. Besides, Achilles doesn’t even fight.”

  “So, you lose in his absence? What is worse, I wonder. If the enemy is victorious, our fate will be a certainty.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “So have I.” Hecuba rested her palm against her lower belly. Apollo. What have you done?

  Paris pushed away from the table. “I’ll go to Hektor. He may be angry, but he needs me in the war to come.” He dismissed himself, leaving Hecuba alone at the table.

  “I’m too old for this,” she said to her bread. “Too old.” In spite of the obstacles and improbabilities, she smiled wanly. It made sense to her that Apollo would use her again. Even the gods desired offspring.

  ✽✽✽

  As Paris walked through the lower garden, Apollo’s light warmed his neck. It soothed his sour mood. Everyone he passed avoided meeting his eyes. No one greeted him, as they did before.

  Lost in thought, he nearly missed spotting Helen. He stopped mid-stride, watching as a strange man backed her against a wall, talking intimately with their foreheads pressed together. The man brought his hand up to gently brush Helen’s cheek.

  “She does not deserve you.”

  “Aphrodite.” Paris’ shoulder sagged under the immortal’s presence. His heart was desperate. “Why did you give her to me?” The goddess forced him to watch as the man leaned down to kiss Helen passionately on the lips. “She makes no effort to stop him.” Desperation snapped to jealousy.

  “She tires of my gifts.”

  “She’s an ungrateful …” his breath tore is chest and his teeth clenched, “whore.”

  The goddess laughed in his ear. “She has caused much trouble for you. Take your revenge.”

  Paris sprinted across the stones and grabbed the man by the throat. The stranger’s blue-green eyes swam with confusion. The man’s mouth contorted awkwardly, so Paris squeezed harder. It wasn’t until he felt the neck bones pop beneath his fingers that he heard Helen screaming for him to stop.

  He roared in anger. “You wish that I save your lover’s life?”

  Helen fell to her knees beside Corythus, stunned. “No. No … not like this. I was sending him home.” She looked up at Paris, horror and grief etched across every part of her face. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

  Paris sneered down at his wife. “I’ve become the man you wished me to be. Ruthless and brutal like Menelaus. A killer.”

  Gripping Corythus to her breast, she sobbed. “It’s my fault. All of it.”

  “Who was he?” Paris stood watching his wife grieve. “How many times have you been with him?”

  “This has Aphrodite’s hand on it.”

  Paris grabbed her roughly by the elbow, yanking her to her feet. Corythus’ head hit the hard ground. “You disgrace our marriage by mourning justice done? I should kill you. Who would miss you?”

  Wrenching her arm free, Helen ran to their chambers, weeping hysterically with Paris on her heels. When they reached their room, Helen collapsed on the bed.

  Paris slammed the door behind them. “Tell me who he was,” he demanded. “Tell me!”

  Helen’s face was stained with shame and sorrow. “You will hate me more, when I tell you.” Reaching under the bed, she grabbed the box with Oenone’s letter, pulled it out, and held it out to her husband.

  “What do you mean? What is this?”

  “Open it. Read it.”

  Paris’ fingers shook slightly as he unlatched the lid. Inside, he saw the papyrus. “A letter?”

  “Read it, Paris.”

  Pulling the scroll out, he unrolled it. His eyes scanned the first few lines.

  ✽✽✽

  Is it you who is reading my letter? Or has the golden-haired woman prevented it? I suffer because the gods have united against me. What did I do to deserve this punishment? Remember when I taught you to about the flowers and the forest? When you took me beneath the heavens as your wife? When you carved my name upon a tree? If only the rivers could run the opposite direction, and the days roll back to make you mine again.

  ✽✽✽

  Paris glanced up, confusion marring his handsome brow. “Oenone sent this? When?”

  “Almost a year ago.”

  ✽✽✽

  I am forsaken, yet the Forgotten Prince lives on. When I saw your ship sail into the harbor, and your arms wrapped about the golden-haired woman, my heart broke. My sad fate sealed by your choice. Do you recall when you first left for the west? You did not want to leave me,
kept calling me back for sweet kisses. You asked me if I would live in Troy, knowing I could not ever be held by stone and mortar. We wept in each other’s arms.

  Am I not worthy of a prince’s love? Is the crown of flowers bestowed on me not equal to the circlet of gold you wear? Is the golden-haired woman loyal? Faithful as I have been? She turned from her husband easily for you. Does Hektor hold her in high regard? Or your royal mother? Once a woman has been unfaithful, she will always be unfaithful.

  ✽✽✽

  Tears ran down Paris’ face. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why would you keep this from me?”

  “Jealousy, Paris.”

  “Of Oenone?”

  Helen looked away. “That she gave you a son and I could not.”

  Paris continued reading.

  ✽✽✽

  Is this the ruin Cassandra dreamt? That you told me of in our secret cave? That you would bring the doom of Troy by ship hauling the wife of another, forsaking your own? I beg you take pity on my loyal heart. I loved you before you were a prince, when the sky and fields were enough for you. Before you longed for gold and glory. I am yours, my love, since our youthful days together. Remember me, Paris. Come back to me. Take care of our son.

  ✽✽✽

  “My son? My son is here? In Troy?”

  “Yes,” Helen choked on the word.

  “Where is he? I want him brought to me at once.”

  Helen’s mouth twitched unevenly, her chin quivered. “You will have to build him a funeral pyre as a greeting.”

  Time stood still. Like the day he made love to Oenone. The woodland magic brought to Troy. It dawned on him in bits and pieces. The dimple. The eyes. The stranger kissing Helen had … Oenone’s eyes. “Wait.” Paris collapsed to his knees, holding his head in his hands. He swayed precariously. “No. Tell me that wasn’t Corythus. I beg you. Tell me.”

  Helen whispered, “I cannot.”

  “The way he was kissing you. Corythus was your lover? My … son was your lover?”

  “Yes,” the confession stuck dryly in her throat.

  Paris howled his heartache to the heavens. Rocking on his knees, he cried bitterly. “My son. My son.” His features twisted in anguish and disgust. “What have you done, Helen? What have we done?”

  Helen knelt beside Paris, her body yearning to be close to him. “We have broken everything around us. Our world is now as broken as we are.”

  Paris’ cock stiffened against his thigh. “No.” Even in his agony couldn’t resist the curse of Helen’s nearness. “What is this madness Aphrodite inflicts on us?”

  Tears melted Helen’s cheeks. “I can’t fight it.” She reached for his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss. “I hate myself,” she whispered. “I hate us.”

  “I know,” he said, pulling her to him.

  In the middle of their chamber, they stripped their clothes as their torment had stripped them of everything. Their bodies as naked as their souls.

  Paris whispered, “Fucking is all the gods have left us.”

  OLYMPUS

  EIGHTEEN, heavenly discord

  1238 BCE

  The immortals of Olympus assembled under the blinking crystal stars, sipping nectar from golden cups. The war game played out below them. Clearly, both sides had retreated to shade and respite.

  “Aphrodite plays unfairly.” Athena eyed her sister across the fine table. “Menelaus would have killed Paris if you hadn’t interfered.”

  Hera agreed. “Now, look what confusion you have wrought on both sides. Neither knows what to do.”

  Zeus held up his hand for silence. “Wife, we all know your hand in this. You defend Menelaus. Aphrodite, you favor Paris.” The gathering of gods looked nervously at one another. “Paris should have died by Menelaus’ hand, but you prevented that.”

  “But, I was cert—”

  “Enough.” Zeus sighed heavily. “Only one question remains. What should we do now? What is done is done. How shall it end?” The secret he kept for Gaia crossed his mind. “Should we inspire continued war or push for peace? Should Priam’s city stand or fall? Should Helen be returned to Menelaus?” Gaia would push for war.

  “You may end the fighting whenever you choose, husband,” Hera replied. “We all know you are capable to bend the minds of men. Why do you interfere with our pleasure in the game? What is it to you, who wins or loses?”

  “It is curious, wife, that you desire the Trojans wiped from the earth. Surely, this is not because Paris chose Aphrodite? I wonder if you would be so eager to kill them had the judgment ended differently.”

  “I have my reasons.” Hera gestured around the table. “We all do.”

  Ares looked up to his father, a scowl on his face, and said, “We all know you favor Aphrodite.”

  “Is that why you feel justified in defying me?”

  The God of War narrowed his eyes, and then diverted them from Zeus’ intense gaze.

  “Just as I thought. Either way, Hera, you will never be content with my decision. The city of Troy has always honored me.” Zeus leaned into the table, his eyes burning into Hera’s. “Know this … when the time comes, I will take a city beloved by you. And you will keep your wicked words from my ears.”

  “Do as you will. But send Athena down. Let her encourage the Trojans to break the peace.”

  Zeus leaned back into his chair. “So be it.”

  Athena stood from the table, grinning. “Are you certain, Father?”

  He waved his hand, and the goddess leapt from Olympus, falling from the sky like a shooting star burning gold to silver.

  ✽✽✽

  TROJAN BATTLEFIELD

  Both sides had found shade and rest apart from one another. Trojans and Greeks alike sat unarmed under skinny trees and tall bushes, while others used their shields as shade. Murmurs of confusion about what had happened to Paris traveled lightly on the warm, dry breeze.

  Pandaros caught Athena’s eye as he sat inspecting his arrows. She smiled to herself. “Here is my man.” She was at his side in the blink of an eye.

  Leaning down to his ear, she urged softly, “Earn Hektor’s gratitude and strike Menelaus through the heart with one of these.”

  Pandaros startled as his piled arrows magically clacked together. “What mischief is this,” he nervously whispered. “Who’s there?”

  “Athena.”

  Sweat beaded across Pandaros’ forehead. “By the gods. Athena?”

  “What are you waiting for? Don’t you wish honor and glory for your house?”

  The Trojan nervously picked up an arrow and stood. He scanned the enemy scattered here and there across the field.

  “There. Do you see him?”

  “The man with his hand on a horse?”

  “Yes. Make true your aim.”

  Pandaros glanced around at the Trojans lounging about, escaping the heat. The low chatter carried in bits and pieces. A pregnant goat. A marriage proposal. A leaky roof. But mostly he heard talk of Paris and what would happen now. There was no one to stop him. Grabbing his bow, he quietly nocked an arrow. “Apollo, I mean Athena, guide my arrow.” He pulled the bowstring back and released it. A war song whistled through the air straight for Menelaus.

  Men from both sides looked up in surprise at the familiar, but unexpected whoosh.

  In an instant Menelaus’ side burned with pain as he fell sideways into a prickly bush. He’d heard the dull clang of his armor and fell back as something knocked him from his feet. Nearby men scrambled to help him to stand. A few gasped. Menelaus looked down to see an arrow sticking awkwardly from beneath his golden belt. Blood blossomed through his armor, spilling down his thighs. “Help me to some shade,” he said in disbelief.

  Agamemnon hurried to his brother’s side. “Let me see him. Get out of my way.”

  “I am fine, brother. It’s only a scratch really. My armor took the worst of it.”

  The Great King knelt beside his brother, assessing the wound for himself. “The Trojans have broke
n their word. There’s no longer a reason to wait.”

  “I agree.” Menelaus groaned. “Maybe I should see the physician.”

  “Take him safely away from here and see he’s attended to.” The sound of men drew his attention. He looked across the plain. The Trojans were on the move. “Quickly. I will not have our legacy become dust in the wind.”

  Three men carried Menelaus away as ordered.

  Agamemnon addressed his troops, “My brother was denied his honor by that scum, Paris. That Trojan coward. Now …” He paused, making eye contact with those closest him. “Now, they have broken the peace between us. We’ve been at war for so long, many of us have grown gray in the beard. We miss our homes. We miss our wives.” Nervous laughter rippled through the ranks. “We will fight these bastards and we will win. Arm yourselves for battle.”

  A cheer of ascent went up, as men strapped on their armor, slung their shields across their backs, and picked up their spears and swords. They marched in quiet determination, intent on making a final stand, the idea of home a beacon of hope.

  ✽✽✽

  The Trojans and their allies advanced line after line. Behind them a giant cloud of dust rose with the rumble of their voices. Hektor signaled for the horde to halt. Astride his horse, facing the Greeks, he recalled when he was a boy riding Ares across this very plain. Ares, you were swift and fearless, as I was. That boy had longed for war. His mother had tried to warn him that war broke more hearts than killed men, but he hadn’t understood until this very moment what she’d meant. If he should die, it was but a single passing moment of agony, but the devastation his death would cause was heavier. Death would be kinder than the life his family would be forced to face without him. “We cannot lose,” he murmured to himself.