Helen of Troy

by Margaret George

  “Wait until you see the walls of Troy!” he said. “They are smooth and three times as high as this—this childish defense here!” He waved dismissively at the rounded stones. “No handhold or toehold on the walls of Troy!”

  Now we had found the road and were rushing alongside the Eurotas, which was also rushing, swollen from the melting snow in the mountains. I could see white foam upon its surface.

  How different this was from my leisurely walk with Gelanor. Then we had trudged along the path, stopping to eat and drink and rest whenever we wished.

  Gelanor! What would he think when this news reached him? was my horrified thought. Then the next quickly followed: It is Gelanor they will send to track us down. And he will find us. But will he find us in time?

  “Hurry!” I urged Paris.

  On the flat ground, we made the horses gallop. The chariots flew behind them, sometimes leaving the ground. Overhead the moon swam in and out of clouds. When it emerged, the landscape lay clear before us like a finely carved scene. When it disappeared, our surroundings became a dream—indistinct, fading, changing.

  With the horses, we reached the sea well before dawn. Had we been on foot, we would still have been a long way off. The sea, the rocks—the cave of Aphrodite, where all this had started. Was it even still there? Had it existed at all? I craned my neck to try to see it, but it was lost in the shadows amongst the rocks upon the shore. And perhaps I should never gaze upon it again. The first time it was magic; any other time it might be just another cave, empty and dank.

  “The ship awaits.” Aeneas pointed to a large vessel anchored nearby.

  A small boat came to transport us to the larger one. My foot left the sands of my homeland as I stepped into it, dripping water. I watched the trailing drops, falling with finality.

  I boarded the Trojan ship. My first ship, the first time I had ever left land. I had nothing to compare it to, but it seemed a fair one. All the men lined up on deck to salute Paris and Aeneas, and the captain bowed. “My princes, only tell me where to steer us, and there we shall go.”

  “Cast off from here,” said Paris. “We must leave these shores as quickly as possible.”

  “It is dangerous to sail before we have full light,” said the captain.

  “But we must get away!” said Paris.

  “There is a small island a piece out,” said the captain. “It is called Cranae. We could anchor there, out of sight, and set sail in daylight for farther ports.”

  “Then do so!” said Paris. “Do so!”

  We negotiated the heaving seas around the island of Cranae; even I, as unknowledgeable as I was about the sea, saw that a small island near the shallows of shore had more turbulent waters around it than farther out in the sea. It took great skill for the captain to bring the ship in on the far side of the island, on a shore not visible from land.

  “They cannot glimpse us here,” he said. “Any search party will think we have sailed far away.”

  I looked at the eastern sky, still dark. “We will rest here ashore,” I said. Indeed, I was exhausted. We had not slept at all.

  In the dim light the island was sheltering and hushed. It was covered in tall trees, trees that swayed in the stiff breeze. Here and there were clearings, for fishermen must come here sometimes, but no one lived here.

  “Build a shelter,” I said to Paris.

  “We have tents on board,” he said.

  “Have one sent,” I said.

  I stood, waiting, while it was brought from the ship. Paris insisted on dismissing the men and setting it up himself. “I know well enough how to do this,” he said. “I’ve built many a shelter in my day.”

  “More than your princely brothers at Troy, I’ll wager,” I said. I thought of pampered royal sons, unable to loft themselves from a couch.

  He gave me a quizzical look, but continued setting up a makeshift tent.

  Eventually he stood before it and ushered me inside.

  “My queen, your quarters are ready,” he said.

  I crawled in through the tiny opening. Inside, it was dark, even though the skies outside had started to lighten. He had unrolled blankets and even made pillows for us out of linen bags stuffed with clothes.

  “Is this what you use at Troy?” I asked.

  He laughed. “No. You must have heard that Troy is known for its luxuries. No, this is the proper fitting for a vagabond, a pirate.” He patted the blanket. “Are you not tired of being a queen? Sample what it is to be a run-away, having to live in the fields.”

  I sank down on the blanket. I was so tired, this rough blanket on hard ground was as welcome as swans’ down. I was so exhausted I could not think, could not turn over in my mind the momentousness of what I had just done.

  I rolled over on my back. Paris was looking at me, propped up on one arm. Outside, I heard the crashing roar of the waves against the nearby rocks.

  “On a small island the noise of the waves is ever-constant,” said Paris. “Wherever we go, we may not escape it.”

  “They provide a welcome chorus,” I said. And indeed they did. The resounding repetition of wave crashes was like a drumbeat, a drumbeat that drowned out all thought. The loud waves, the hissing, long withdrawals, pounded in my head. I looked at Paris, but even his face wavered before me.

  I am here, I thought. Here with Paris. We have left Sparta behind. Everything is gone—everything but us. I reached out and encircled his neck with my arm, drew his face down to mine.

  Paris. I kissed his lips, those lips I had watched forming words as he teased Hermione, parried insults from Mother. I had seen them lingeringly caress the rim of my wine goblet. I had watched them as they moved, wanting to feel them against mine, having only tasted them that once, briefly. They were everything I had desired, drawing me further into his world, himself. I pressed him to me. I felt his strong young body against mine and I laughed aloud.

  “What?” he asked.

  My head fell back against the blanket. “Oh, I cannot decide what I wish to do with you,” I said, stroking his cheek. “I want to touch you, I want to revere you, I do not know what I wish!”

  “Do not revere me,” he said, his breath close to me. “It is too distant. It is what I should be doing to you, but I wish instead to touch you.” He lay down beside me and encircled me with his arms.

  At that, all thought of revering and worshiping went out of my head. The touch of flesh on flesh set all else in motion. I shivered with the actual touch of him. In the wonder of it, I did not even stop to marvel at it, at this thing I had never felt before, had prayed for, had begged for, had longed for. It was here, here, and so resounding that it overwhelmed me. I laughed again.

  “What is it? Why are you laughing?” Paris murmured. He was afraid I was laughing at him.

  “Only at the joy of the gods,” I said. “Only at the joy of the gods. They bless me at last!”

  Laughter-loving Aphrodite . . . yes, they called her that. She smiled on lovers, but she also knew, in her wisdom, they must laugh.

  “Make me your wife,” I said, pulling him toward me. Oh, let him! Let me be a wife at last!

  Around us the waves grew louder, making it difficult to talk. I had to put my mouth directly up against his ear for him to hear my words. We were in our own citadel, our own fortified city, encircled by waves and rocks and the cries of water dashing against them.

  All that had been denied was now, suddenly, granted me: Aphrodite was a generous goddess. I ached, I throbbed, I pulsed with desire for Paris. The slightest hesitation, the slightest barrier between us was insufferable, I must tear it away. I must have him, I must have him in the extreme, nothing else mattered. And the glory of it was worth the loss of a kingdom, the loss of all.

  Afterward we clung together, bound in whatever awaited us. What was done could not be undone. But who could think of undoing that magnificence?

  I lay looking at the tent ceiling in the darkness. This is what people speak of. Oh, my deepest thanks, Aphrodite, fo
r granting it to me. I know now that to die without tasting this is truly not to have lived. In this, and this only, have we lived: to feel all, to dare all, to try all.

  XXV

  All the remaining night the stars wheeled around us as we drowsed and woke and embraced over and over again, until there was no telling the waking from the sleeping or our rest from our lovemaking. I could glimpse the sky through the openings in the rude tent Paris had set up for us, the draped cloaks sagging and revealing the heavens. Enveloping my ears was the constant sound of the sea. All my senses had been touched by newness: my eyes with the unknown vista of Cranae and of Paris, unclothed; my nostrils with the scent of the special wildflowers of this island, and the smell of Paris’s skin with my face pressed against him; my hands, the touch of his body, so slender and warm, so different from Menelaus’s; my tongue, the taste of his neck when I kissed it; my ears, the murmur of Paris’s voice, slow and sleepy, barely discernible above the noise of the waves.

  The night lasted seemingly forever, much longer than an ordinary night. I knew that the gods could make days or nights longer if they chose, and perhaps that was Aphrodite’s wedding gift to us.

  Gradually the stars faded and the sky turned gray. In the growing light I could see my dearest one sleeping, could study his every feature. I thanked Aphrodite for giving me this opportunity, for I had never had the chance to truly look at him, or rather, to look my fill. Our time together in Sparta had been passed in the company of others, others to whom I could never betray myself, so I never let my eyes linger on him.

  I felt no shame, no remorse, nothing but a wild excitement and happiness; a happiness beyond happiness, a fine ecstasy. I was free. I had seized the gift dangled before me, I had passed the test of courage, the test of whether I truly wanted this prize. Now my life would begin.

  I forced myself to stand up and, throwing on a cloak, I left the tent, left the warmth and protection of it. Outside, the wind was ripping through the pines and blowing dust along the path. Dark clouds scudded across the sky. I stood on tiptoe and looked out to sea. On the other side of the island I could have seen Gytheum, but already I did not want to see it. I did not want to look for the movement of men on the shore, searching for me. I wanted to look out across the open water, to the horizon as far as I could see.

  But when the sun rose, emerging from the waters and turning them into a glittering golden pathway, shapes swam out of the mists. And far away on the horizon I could see an island floating. That must be Cythera. Gelanor had told me about it when I had sighted it from Gytheum. Suddenly I wanted very badly to get there, as he had told me I could not. I wanted to do all the things that I had been told I could not.

  “Would you leave me so soon?” Paris was standing behind me, and he clasped me to him from the back. I felt his strong arms encircle me. For a moment, as I watched them twining, I thought of the sacred snake. I bent my head over and kissed his forearms.

  “Never,” I said. “I will never leave you.”

  “Nor I, you,” he said. “Nor I, you.”

  “Awake, I see!” Aeneas’s voice interrupted us. “That’s good, we need to get under way.” He walked up to us. I could see him searching our faces, intensely curious as to how our hours had gone: those hours which would cost everyone so dear. Out of habit I banished the expression from my face so it could not be read. “We need to be far away before the hue and cry is raised. They are probably just now waking up and missing us.”

  I pictured Mother opening her eyes, yawning, and turning over; Father swinging himself out of bed; Hermione still dreaming. Hermione. I would not think of her now!

  As we boarded the ship, I caught sight of the figurehead and laughed: it was Eros. “How came that to be carved?” I asked.

  Aeneas glanced at it. “Paris commissioned it,” he said.

  We cast off. The men raised the square sail and we ran before the southwest wind, blowing us toward Cythera. To speed us along, the rowers fell to as well. We were heading for the open sea.

  “We’ll have to spend the night on the high seas,” said the captain. “We have no choice; there is no anchorage between here and Cythera. Pray to Poseidon that we don’t reach the tricky currents while we are still in the dark.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Paris.

  “Cythera is a dangerous passage,” he said. “Lots of shifting currents and hidden rocks. Those are the natural perils. Then there are pirates, but they tend to stick closer to shore. There’s a saying: round Malea and forget your home. We must pass to the west of the Malea promontory to reach Cythera.”

  Paris hugged me. “My dearest, you wanted adventure,” he said. “And we shall have it.” He steered me toward the railing. “If only we could make love on the high seas. Now, that would be a challenge, with all the bucking and rolling. Like making love on horseback, I should imagine.”

  “What? Have you?”

  He laughed. “No, but it would be a very Trojan thing to do.”

  “Why?”

  Now he turned and looked carefully into my face. “You really don’t know, do you? Did they not let you learn anything? What about that palace wizard, that man who knew so many things? Didn’t he teach you things?”

  His accusation, true as it was, hurt: hurt because it was true. “Gelanor taught me many things, but only the things that I had occasion to ask him. He was not my tutor.”

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to accuse or belittle. It’s just that—well, Troy is famous for its horses. My brother Hector is known as ‘Breaker of Horses.’ So of course, in Troy, there are many feats of horsemanship. Probably somewhere there is someone renowned for his ability to make love on a galloping horse.”

  I laughed. “Then I suppose the ship will be good practice for us. We can dazzle everyone with our prowess when we reach Troy.” Aphrodite had made me ready to hide away with Paris again, and it had only been a short while since we had held one another. The goddess made me like a devouring fire. I was concerned that we have privacy on the ship; I whispered my request to Paris.

  For an instant he looked embarrassed, as his eyes swept around the ship with its large crew. It was a man’s domain, a place where there would be little privacy and no niceties. “I was only joking about the practice for the horses. I—I think we must wait until we reach shore. There is no way that we can have more than a small place to rest, and no possibility of shielding ourselves from all these eyes.” He gestured toward the rowers at their oars. He pinched my shoulder. “Helen,” he murmured, “you will just have to control yourself. We must wait.”

  “Wait. All I have done, all my whole life, is wait,” I said.

  He laughed, to show he was teasing. “Let us hope this passage will be quick, then. Waiting is a most exquisite form of torture.”

  The waters grew rougher as we left Cranae behind; the island, with its clumps of trees, grew fainter in our wake. The winds began to buffet us and the rowers had to strain as the ship listed. As we made our way out into the open water, all the land seemed equidistant, faint images on the horizon to the left, right, and ahead of us. Gulls followed us, wheeling and diving, crying loudly, their calls snatched away by the winds.

  “Lower the sail,” the captain ordered at sunset. “We need to slow ourselves in darkness, and besides that, we do not want to pass anywhere near Malea at night. We must be fully alert and able to see when we make that run.”

  Shivering, I sank down in a protected place near the rear of the ship. Paris brought me food; the ship was well provisioned, as such provisions go, but they were cold and meant to be eaten as quickly and unceremoniously as possible, washed down with wine. I took a long drink, laid my head back against the side of the ship, and started laughing. To think I had imagined this voyage as a place of private indulgence. How naïve I was! How sheltered I had been—not even to know what a voyage would be like. How much I had to learn!

  Paris brought a blanket for me to wrap myself in and use as a pillow. He was treating me as I treated
Hermione. But here he was the elder; he was right, in some ways he had lived longer than I, if experience constituted longevity.

  “Close your eyes,” he said, kissing my eyelids. “I will keep watch. Of course, I don’t think there will be any pirates, not in the dark, but I won’t sleep.” Poor Paris—his voice betrayed how tired he was. Neither of us had had true sleep that night on Cranae.

  I squeezed his hand and tried to relax on the swaying, rolling ship. I felt as though I were suspended in a hammock, being rocked by a giant hand. I tried not to think of the depths of cold water under me. It did not help that the captain had said, “Only three fingers’ width of wood separates us from the sea.”

  Sheer exhaustion forced me into a kind of sleep, as though my head were being pushed down into the realms of dreams. I cannot recall any of them, and for that I am thankful. Had there been omens, I could not have borne it. I did not want any omens. I was mortally tired of them. They had ruled me from my birth—nay, before it. Now I left the omens behind, as I had left Sparta.

  Let me live each day as just a day, I thought. Let me see neither more nor less than just what is contained in that day.

  Paris still held my hand. This was sufficient for me, all I would need.

  * * *

  Dawn rose. I was stiff and cold; my hands felt numb. Lying beside me and under the blanket was Paris.

  “I thought you were going to stay awake all night,” I whispered, touching his ear with my lips.

  “I did,” he said. “I only lay down when it began to get light. The seas were clear.” He sat up, shaking his head. “Only one more day to go.”

  Until we arrived at Cythera. And then . . . but now I was not to think in those terms. I was to think only of the day’s voyage to Cythera. And once on Cythera, to think only of that day there, and then . . .

  “Here comes the dangerous part,” said the captain, striding toward us. “We’re in the worst part of the currents, the ones that sweep through the channel, and we’re approaching Malea. Look there. You can see Cape Malea away on our left, and Cythera straight ahead.”