“The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships,” I mused.
“Pardon? Did you think of that just now?” The senator laughed. “That is wonderful, Troy. I did not suspect you to have the heart of a poet. What an accurate title for the child.”
I chuckled. “So, Prince Paris. What’s his deal? Will he be with the King and Queen when we see them later?”
“Alas, no.” He went to take another sip but discovered his cup was empty. “He perished after sweet Helen disappeared. He suspected the Greeks had somehow managed to slip inside our walls and kidnapped her, so he took a platoon of men to the Greek encampment to ‘negotiate.’ The boy was so hot-headed. I don’t know exactly what took place during the discussion, but the result was clear. No men returned, not even our dear prince.”
“And what of Helen? Was she kidnapped?”
Dymas shrugged. “That, I haven’t the slightest clue.” Helen pointedly sat plate on the table and sat down, still irked at Dymas over their exchange minutes ago. He grinned at her before returning his attention to me. “I was hoping we would figure that out soon enough.”
The other men looked at one another, some of them whispering. I got the feeling it was beginning to dawn on them who they were dining with. I looked to Cressida. Surely, she had put the pieces together before then. I wasn’t shy about using Helen’s name when it was only the three of us. She would have to be fairly dense not to figure it out, but I couldn’t read anything on her face. She simply sat next to Dymas, listening to us talk.
The front door burst open, and I jumped to my feet, hand on sword. The first messenger Dymas sent out—the sketchy little guy—limped into the room. Blood was dripping from his nose, and his face was sporting some fresh bruises. There was a roll of parchment around his neck that Dymas grabbed as soon as the guy came within arm’s reach.
The lines in his face hardened the further his eyes traveled down the scroll. Before Dymas finished reading, the messenger croaked, “They said there will be no peace unless we let them in!”
The politician’s eyes went wide with the sudden outburst, and he spun around to slap the man in the face. “Quiet, you!”
The man whimpered and shielded his eyes after the blow was dealt.
“Leave me! And if I hear you mentioned this to anyone, I will have you tried for treason!” He looked around at the confused soldiers watching him intently. “None of you heard any of this. These are very important details for the war effort. It is to remain a secret. Am I clear?” The men all nodded, some of them resuming their activities prior to the disturbance.
I was fairly certain that Dymas was reading a message from the Greeks. His anger seemed a little unnecessary, and I was not sure what to make of it. The rest of the men did a good job of looking like they didn’t care, and I had to wonder if they came to the same conclusion I had: Dymas seemed to be playing both sides. I could not see any other reason for him to get so defensive. It made more sense the more I thought about it. Surely, there was some procedure in place that required multiple leaders to decide on how they would communicate with the enemy in times of war. As far as I could tell, Dymas had not conferred with anyone before sending his message—from a dining hall, no less. There was no way his peers would have let such sensitive information be exchanged in such an accessible place. Something shady was going on for sure.
I mulled over the conversation I’d just had with the man. He did not exactly speak highly of the Greeks, but he made it clear that he was open to the idea of diplomatic resolution, which itself was a noble goal if the terms were fair. They would never leave the Trojans alone without incentive. Dymas must have offered them something in return for peace. My thoughts kept coming back to Helen. She was the reason the war started, she had disappeared from the city, and now she was back. She was the likeliest bargaining chip as far as I could see, though my knowledge was still limited. I decided to sit on my suspicions and see how things played out.
Another man entered the building no sooner than the previous messenger had left. He was not dressed like a soldier and did not look like either of the messengers I had seen.
“Sir,” he addressed Dymas with a salute. “The Queen has instructed me to bring our guests to the palace.”
Dymas, almost falling over, exclaimed, “What?” He caught himself on the edge of the table and made an effort to regain his composer. “So soon? I did not expect Her Majesty to be prepared in such short time.” The more agitated he became, the more I saw his mask of cool nonchalance fall to the wayside. I had misjudged him on my first impression. Stress always had a way of bringing out a man’s true colors.
“Yes, sir,” the man continued. “The Queen wishes to see them as soon as possible. I will wait here until everyone is ready, but they must make haste.”
“Well . . .” The senator looked to us and waved his hand in the direction of the door. “Off we go then. Everybody ready?”
Helen strode forward, beaming from ear to ear. She almost knocked against Dymas’s arm as she trod past him, but the man refused to allow her the satisfaction of making him get out of the way. “It looks like they are in more of a hurry to have our reunion than you so arrogantly assumed.”
The five of us—me, the girls, the senator, and the squire—hurried over to the palace. Helen and I walked side-by-side, our fingers brushing against each other’s every few steps. I did not take her hand, unsure of how the royal couple would react to their late son’s lover showing such affection to another man. There would be plenty of time for physical interaction later.
The palace stood in the center of the city. The main building overlooked the town square from atop a flight of marble steps. An overhang reached forward from a vantage of at least thirty feet high above the front face, supported by four massive columns. On either side of the stair rails were several marble daises large enough to bathe in, all aglow with flames that would put many campfires to shame. Our reflections dances in the shining bronze of the entry doors which towered above us, reaching halfway to the roof.
Four guards pushed the doors open to admit us, and we entered the main hall. The walls were covered in art depicting battles and other scenes that I could only assume were from any of the thousands of stories their culture was known for: men fighting giants, battles with enormous serpents, jealous gods unleashing their wrath on helpless victims. It was enough to add to my anticipation for the fights I was likely to see in the coming days.
There was a pool in the center of the room into which a steady flow of water poured from a hole in the ceiling. A man and a woman, both likely in their late sixties, were sitting on a bench near the side of the pool closest to us. The man wore a similar garb to Dymas, but instead of a purple cloth, he wore a golden one that did not hang low enough to drape much over either arm. He was completely bald, and his face looked far more weathered than the senator’s. At his shoulder he wore an emblem that glimmered in the light of the hanging lamps. The woman wore a long sleeveless tunic much like Helen’s, but without the cuts running from the outside of her hips to the bottom of the dress. At her bosom rested a necklace whose center ornament was a ruby a little smaller than my fist. The rest of the chain sparkled with other colorful gems, all far smaller than the centerpiece. From her ears dangled earrings of sapphire and gold. Her hair was chestnut brown, confined mostly to the back of her head under the teeth of a jeweled gold hairpiece, with curls waterfalling down behind her shoulders. Her age was apparent, but she had managed to maintain many aspects of her youth, least of which being her smooth skin, which showed few signs of wrinkles aside from a couple around her eyes.
We followed the squire over to them. They silently watched us, showing no other hint of interest above vague curiosity until we were introduced.
“My Lords.” The squire bent to one knee. “Princess Helen and Senator Dymas are here for an audience, with company.” I took Dymas’s lead and bowed with one arm held in front of my waist; Cressida curtseyed.
“Rise,” said the Queen w
ith a sigh as she came to stand in front of us. “Leave us, squire.”
The squire nodded and walked to another room.
“What can we do for you, Your Majesty?” I asked, addressing them in that way felt weird on my tongue. I had only seen it done in movies and saw myself as a bit of a fraud speaking in such a way.
“Stand before me, girl,” the Queen ordered without so much as a glance in my direction.
“Yes, Queen Hecuba.” Helen walked forward and turned to greet the King, who was still sitting on the bench behind his wife. “King Priam.”
On that note, the King stood and began inspecting her, not shy about physical contact. The Queen joined him, and before long, they were both running their hands along her body—feeling her hair, lifting her arms, pinching her skin.
“She has that cinnamon smell I grew so fond of, my dear,” Priam muttered, consumed by his analysis.
“Yes, but something seems off about it. Do you smell that?” Hecuba asked, wrinkling her nose. “Almost like blood.”
“Just iron, I think.” He looked to me for the first time and said, “This is not our Helen. Who is she, then?”
“Wha-how can you tell? You know that just by the smell?” I asked. I could not believe he would jump to such a conclusion because her scent was not as exactly as he remembered.
“Do not be silly, boy,” he said, waving away the thought. “I knew this was not our Helen the moment I laid eyes on her. I simply know. I’ve been around a long time. A man of my age—in my position—is not worth the air he breathes if he is unable to discern such basic things. There will be no secret imposters traipsing about within my palace walls.”
“Well, you’re right. She is not the Helen you know.”
“Explain.”
I gave them a short summary of everything that had happened up to that point, leaving out the part where I came from the future, because I did not want to risk losing the iota of credibility I may have had.
“I see,” said the Queen. “That must have been some storm to blow you so far off course.”
“I’ll say,” The King said with a laugh. “I am not sure I believe you entirely, Troy, but every man is entitled to his secrets—as long as they do not become a problem for us. What a coincidence you share the same name as our beloved city.”
“Yes, I agree. But it is a fairly common name where I’m from.”
“Yes,” said Hecuba, “this America. I wish to hear more about your home over dinner. Your accent is most interesting to me.”
“But enough of that until we dine,” Priam said. “Helen, dear—I suppose that is what you shall be called—do you have any idea what happened to your previous iteration?”
“No, King Priam.”
“Well, none of us are quite sure ourselves, but we expect she is dead. One of our scouts found the wreckage of a Trojan ship no longer than a day’s voyage from the city not long after she disappeared. There was no evidence of who was on board—there were even no bodies to be found—but everything else about the situation indicates it was likely our Helen.”
“Ah,” Helen said. “I am sorry to hear this. I know you must feel at a loss without her.”
“We have mixed feelings on the matter,” he said, exchanging a knowing glance with his wife. “It was difficult to know whose side she was on, not to mention that her actions are indirectly the cause for our son losing his life.” I recalled what Dymas told me about Prince Paris back in the barracks. Surely, a wise man like the King knew better that to blame his son’s behavior on the young man’s girlfriend.
“But you, dear,” the Queen addressed Helen. “It is you who stands before us now, supposedly crafted and brought to life by powerful Egyptian magic beyond my comprehension. You claim to be a true daughter of Troy?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Why do you make such a claim? Why do you feel so strongly one way or another? Our ways must be foreign to you. You have never walked these shores before, having only just wandered out of your Egyptian womb, correct?”
“Yes, Your Highness, you are mostly correct. But I was made to be your Helen. I am not her, but the means by which I was crafted have given me special insight into her mind. Sometimes, I feel as if truly am her, but I also know that I am not. My desire to be a Trojan comes from the same source as my desire to embrace a full humanity—I want to be a proud person with the ability to do anything I set my mind to, just the way I know you and your people are. I despise the Greeks and their petty ways and wish to end them by your side. Do I need more reason to be one of you?”
“I can vouch for that.” Dymas laughed. “She does indeed despise our enemy.”
“Well,” Hecuba continued, “your account, although understandably naïve, rings true enough. The original Helen would never have spoken so contemptuously against Greece. We welcome you to our city, but bear this in mind: we will be watching your every move. It may be true what you say, that you came here of your own will, unbeknownst to your makers, but until we know that for sure, you will be monitored.”
“Thank you, my Lords,” Helen said, bowing. “It is an honor to finally be here. I will do everything within my power to earn your favor.”
“Your claim will be tested soon enough, girl,” Hecuba said. “For now, we shall let the people know of your return. To all others, you are the true Helen. Your presence will boost morale if nothing else.”
“Yes, my Queen.”
26
The Queen proceeded to fill my Helen in on details of the old Helen. At some point, the original Helen had acted as a spy for the Trojans. Even Dymas appeared confused with some of the information.
I heard him gasp as the Queen explained how Helen had traveled to and from Greece in secret on several occasions during the short time she was with Paris. Her mission was always to gather information and to slowly wear away at the Greeks’ opinions of Sparta, in case they were to try to retaliate on Paris for stealing their King’s wife. During her last visit, she became aware that the Greeks were leaning towards siding with Menelaus to reclaim his bride. She hurried back with the news and disappeared from the palace several days later.
The Queen expanded on what Priam had said earlier, how they found the wreckage of a ship not far from the city and figured she was either fleeing out of fear or making her way to the Greeks to talk peace. She had become known for such reckless actions, always doing things without seeking the counsel of advisors, and that unpredictable behavior wore on the royal family. The King and Queen both mourned her loss and accepted it as an unnecessary tragedy, but they had to admit that her absence made political affairs much more tolerable.
The Greeks, Hecuba said, had their own agenda. Though they took up arms in defense of the Spartan King’s marriage, they made no promises about returning her alive. Every correspondence the King and Queen received indicated the Greeks’ unwavering terms; Helen must be returned directly to them so that she could be punished for her crimes. The intentions behind her meetings in Greece had become clearer over time, and the enemy intended to make an example out of her, so everyone would see what would happen to someone who tried to tamper with Grecian political power, regardless of status.
Priam admitted that he had considered giving her up on several occasions, not out of a desperate need to surrender, but because the girl was getting to be more trouble than she was worth.
“But I would not allow such a fate to befall our new Helen,” he said. “Assuming she is without the qualities of our previous Helen. Qualities responsible for so much disdain from everyone.”
“I will work to gain your favor, Sire,” Helen responded, bowing.
“I trust that you will. Though, I must admit it is a shame that the Greeks think Helen’s disappearance to be a ruse crafted to buy our kingdom time for the war effort.” He sighed and looked off into the distance, appearing distracted by one of the battle scenes depicted on the walls. “This would be a most joyous occasion indeed if you had shown up after the enemy was off o
ur backs. I suspect that soon they shall learn of you, thinking the original Helen has come out of hiding.”
I looked over to see Dymas sweating, my suspicions all but confirmed. He had reached out to the Greeks without anyone else’s knowledge. The time to make that known was drawing close, but I needed to figure out how to approach it as his word carried far more weight than mine.
Hecuba called for dinner. Several servants carried tables filled to the brim with food and chairs from a side room and placed them in the center of the main hall, several yards from where we were gathered.
We all slowly found our seats, the King and Queen intermingling with us, seeming not to care to sit at either head of the table as I expected royalty to do. I wondered if such behavior was customary of the time and place or if this was some special occasion.
Hecuba took a seat next to me and was not shy about probing for personal details.
“So, Troy, tell me about this America you call home.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” I said, unsure of where to start. “We . . . there’s a lot of us, for starters.”
“A lot.” She laughed. “Such a relative term, ‘a lot’. We are over three hundred thousand strong in this city and the many surrounding municipalities that bow to me and my dear husband’s authority.”
It was my turn to laugh. “My country is home to something more like five million.”
Her eyes almost bulged from their sockets, but she soon masked her reaction. “You do not jest?”
“No, I’m not lying. I don’t remember the official tally, but it’s around that number. And there are many who are unaccounted for.”
“Well, I would imagine so. The effort to accurately keep track of so many subjects seems insurmountable. How is it that I have never heard of this land before?”
“We’re very far away. I’d be surprised if anyone from around here is familiar with it.”
Gears of Troy: A Scifi Fantasy Harem Page 13