Helen of Sparta

by Amalia Carosella

  “I am.”

  “I wonder that you think she cannot defend herself, after everything she seems to have accomplished in my absence.” Tyndareus studied me as he spoke, but the anger he had betrayed in Leda’s presence was gone. “If Pollux will stand beside you, there must be some good reason for your behavior. Unless your brother has lost the wits he had when I left?”

  I smiled. “No, Papa. Pollux is still Pollux.”

  “And yet, he could not seem to keep you out of trouble altogether.” Tyndareus picked grapes from a dish of fruit. “I should have realized that yesterday was not the end of this, but it never occurred to me that you might take things this far, Helen, and to find Pollux has a hand in it makes it all the more alarming.” He held my gaze, and there was no humor in his expression. His brown eyes were hard and sharp. “My patience wears thin. I will have the truth of it now before this goes on any longer.”

  I swallowed against the tightness in my throat and stared at the bulls. The gray animal stood for Zeus, lord of the sky, and the white for Poseidon, god of the sea and the earth. Before the swan, Sparta had worshipped Poseidon the Earth-Shaker above all others, but the priests had felt Zeus’s appearances warranted a change. Alcyoneus said it did not make any difference. No matter whom we worshipped first, the other gods would take exception. That was the way of things among the Olympians. His own gods, he had assured me, were much more reasonable, but I doubted it.

  “Pollux had no part in my actions, Papa. He did not know I planned to dye my hair, nor did he help me to conceal that I was no longer a girl.”

  “But he knows why you did it.”

  “Yes,” Pollux said. “And had she asked me for my help, she would have had it.”

  “What of Castor and Clytemnestra?”

  “They had nothing to do with any of it,” I said.

  I took a deep breath to steady myself, and felt Pollux step closer. I was shaking just thinking about what I must say, feeling my freedom slip away with every breath, but I made myself look at Tyndareus.

  “It is the nightmares, Papa. I thought they would stop when you left with Menelaus and Agamemnon, but they have not.”

  “You remember them.” Tyndareus watched me closely. “Or have you always? No, never mind that. I know well enough why you might hide that truth. Tell me, now.”

  “After I am married and made queen, a man will come from another land. A prince, I think, but a stranger to us. He will feast at my husband’s table, live with us as a guest, and accept our gifts. But he will betray us and steal me away with him.” I could feel the pressure behind my eyes again, and the dream lapped at the edges of my vision.

  So often, I saw the stranger, on the deck of the ship, holding his hand out to me, golden-brown eyes flashing with power I could not understand. Did I go with him willingly? It seemed impossible that I could be so faithless, to Sparta or my husband. I saw the golden city, walls rising into the heavens, as beautiful as any Olympus. Then the fires, all of it turning to blood and cinder. Ajax of Locris in the temple, grunting as he raped the woman above me before finding me beneath the altar, his surprise turning to lust. And Agamemnon, too, rutting like a boar. Menelaus, calling my name as if he would battle me to the death. And perhaps he would. Agamemnon had said he intended to kill me.

  “There will be a great war, Papa, and it will be fought over me.”

  In the end, I told him everything I could. Tyndareus sat in silence, listening as I spoke.

  “You said you are married in the dream,” Tyndareus prompted.

  I pressed my lips together and looked away.

  “It’s Menelaus,” Pollux said softly. “And he knows. I did not mean to tell him, but I did.”

  Tyndareus sighed, staring out the window. “Then there is no reason to exclude him now. Have him brought to me, Pollux. We can use his counsel, and if need be, we will call upon Agamemnon as well.”

  “Not Agamemnon,” I said. But I knew that at some point we must, since he would lead the looting of the golden city. Agamemnon would never allow such an insult to Menelaus to go without reprisal, seeing any slight against his brother as one to himself. “I cannot look at him without seeing the dream.”

  “You have nothing to fear, Helen. We are warned. Forearmed. The gods are giving us the knowledge we need to prevent this.” Tyndareus smiled at me. “You will be safe, I promise you.”

  I wanted to believe him, and so I nodded. But before Pollux left, I caught my brother by the arm. “I did not tell Menelaus about his brother. I would not pain him further without need.”

  “He will not hear it from me,” Pollux promised, and I knew he meant it.

  When we were alone, I crossed the room to my father, taking his hand and dropping to my knees before him. “Please, do not let me marry him. If I am not married to Menelaus, I cannot be stolen from him!”

  “Helen.” He stroked what was left of my hair and raised me to my feet, holding my hands in his. “We need not fear a man we know will come. When he arrives, you have only to point him out to Menelaus, and this stranger can be killed. His threat to you will be extinguished with his life. If Menelaus knows what may come, it will make him all the more determined to protect you. You could not be in safer hands than his.”

  “But what if it is exactly this that poisons his love for me? It is too much to ask of him, too great a burden to ask any man to bear.”

  “Menelaus will choose his own fate. I will not deny him that right. But he will still be a valuable ally. We may need the resources of Mycenae.” Tyndareus squeezed my hands and let me go. “Trust in the gods, Helen. They smile upon you.”

  I wanted to scream, but Pollux had returned. My father promised Menelaus the right to make his own future, but at what cost to mine? I already knew what Menelaus would choose. My nails dug into the skin of my palms.

  Tyndareus went at once to Menelaus, clasping his arm and drawing him to his side. He greeted him as a son.

  Pollux smiled reassurance, but I could not return it. I would keep trying. Tyndareus could not marry me off without hearing the suit of the other men who might want me, or else invite war. And Leda had been right. There would be greater men than Menelaus coming to win my hand.

  Perhaps I could persuade my father that one of them would be the better match, or if he did not listen to me, I would give these other men the encouragement to convince him for themselves.

  Anyone but Menelaus.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Theseus was largely untouched by the jostling of men while he waited. Feasting with a hero-king, a son of Poseidon, and offering due honors was one thing; rubbing elbows with him in a crowd was another. He wondered if Helen noticed the same in her own life. Perhaps she and her brother were still too young to realize what it meant to be a demigod. Or perhaps Helen’s beauty was too tempting to those who might otherwise have kept a greater distance.

  Judging by the number of men who had made this journey just for the chance to see her face, Theseus was beginning to think the latter more likely. He almost felt sorry for her.

  “Isn’t this supposed to be a celebration of Helen’s birth? She looks miserable,” Pirithous said. “If this keeps on, the only competition you’ll have for her hand is me.”

  Theseus smiled, not looking away from the dais where Helen sat on a litter with her sister. They had strung Helen with so much gold, even Apollo might have mistaken her for the sun, and then they had set her out for everyone to see before the gates of the palace walls. The polished oak of the gate, bare wood stained crimson and carved with olive trees and vultures, made an imposing backdrop.

  “If she truly is a daughter of Zeus, then she’s your half sister, Pirithous. Don’t you think you’re better off breeding a little bit farther from your own blood?”

  Pirithous snorted. “If we refused to marry our own family, we’d be left only with mortals to choose from.”
/>   “A fate worse than death, I’m sure,” Theseus said.

  Helen closed her eyes, the polite smile fading from her expression as she turned her face toward the sun. He had not really doubted, but there was Zeus, in her cheekbones, and the shape of her eyebrows. Her father’s looks were softened and much more delicate, but there was no mistaking her parentage. She was as beautiful as any goddess.

  A year ago, word had spread all across Achaea that Helen had ruined her beauty, but he saw no evidence of any lasting stain in her golden hair, and since then he had heard only of her loveliness, so widely acclaimed, he would not have believed it to be true if he had not looked upon her with his own eyes. There was not a single well-born man in all of Achaea who would miss this opportunity to see her, even if Tyndareus refused to hear any offers of marriage.

  Any man, if so moved, could climb the dais, under the watchful eyes of no less than a dozen guards in addition to her brothers, and offer Helen his good wishes for her birthday along with a gift. A sizable pile of gold trinkets and guest-gifts behind Pollux told Theseus at least four dozen men had felt so compelled, and the line had only grown since his arrival, snaking most of the way down the main road to the city wall. Palace bakers had begun offering stuffed breads to those unwilling to risk losing their place.

  Tyndareus couldn’t possibly think Helen could speak to all of these men before the evening feast. Even if he had limited the number to only those with the fortune and bloodline to make a suitable husband, there would have been too many. What could Tyndareus be hoping to accomplish?

  “Pollux looks just like his father,” Pirithous said.

  “All Zeus’s children seem to share a certain resemblance,” Theseus agreed. “Though I’ve never seen any child of his with hair the color of wheat and honey.”

  “Can you not tear your eyes away from the woman for one moment?” Pirithous laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m not sure why you bother. If she does like you, it can only end poorly.”

  He brushed Pirithous’s hand away, not quite able to stop himself from glaring. “You go too far.”

  “Perhaps so.” Pirithous’s smile faded, all the humor leaving his expression. Theseus tried to ignore the concern that replaced it. Pirithous had been the one to persuade him that he ought to come to begin with. Athens had been without a queen for too long. “So be it, then. If you’re so determined to win her, I will not interfere with my own attentions.”

  “You’re not the kind of man she’d be interested in.” Theseus forced himself to smile. “Nor do I think Tyndareus would trust his kingdom to a king who resorts to thieving cattle from his neighbors for sport.”

  “After hearing so much about your heroic self, you were bound to be tested by your neighbors sooner or later. I simply chose to be first.”

  “You’re a scoundrel and a pirate, Pirithous, and every king south of Macedon knows it. Tyndareus is unlikely to be an exception.”

  Pirithous chuckled. “But he would trust Sparta to you, when your hands are already full with Athens? If Mycenae threatened this city, you’d have no way to defend it. Sparta has no practical port, Theseus, and all Agamemnon need do is hold the Isthmus road to keep you from marching to its rescue. Neither one of us would make an ideal match for Helen, regardless of our bloodline.”

  She was laughing with Pollux now, her face alight. His heart caught at the sight, and he swore. Helen was better off with another husband, one the gods favored, but perhaps as a favored daughter of Zeus herself, she wouldn’t be brought to ruin because of his ill luck. Evidently, the loss of two wives had taught his heart nothing about the dangers of marriage, or else Aphrodite and Artemis were taking fresh interest in punishing him for the sins of his past. He shook his head. He’d paid and paid again. Not everything had to be fated for agony.

  He waved one of his servants over. “Two skins of the watered wine we brought, and a basket of Attic cheeses with some fruit. See if you can get fresh bread from the palace, too.”

  The servant bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  The line had advanced, but it would still be some time before he climbed the dais himself—time enough to get what he needed.

  Helen adjusted one of the golden cuffs on her arm and then motioned for the next man to be allowed on the dais. Clytemnestra looked on with clear disdain, leaning back to speak to her brother, Castor. Her sister might have been beautiful in any other company, but beside Helen, her dark hair and olive skin looked plain. Helen glowed next to her, with her fair skin and honeyed hair. And when she smiled, truly smiled, the mood of the entire crowd lifted.

  “Do you really think the gods are going to give you Helen?” Pirithous asked.

  Theseus shook his head. “I’ve never claimed to know the will of the gods, but I hope Aphrodite will smile upon me, if only this one time.”

  “The next man, please,” Helen called from the open litter, her voice lilting and lovely.

  Theseus took the steps two at a time, leaving his servant with the wine and the basket of food below. Red linen had been draped over the top of the litter to shield the young women from the sun, and they sat among a dozen cushions of red, yellow, and blue cloth, which set off the gold cuffs on Helen’s arms and the headdress of electrum framing her face. Helen was dressed in a long gown of pure white, the loose cut of the fabric covering her from neck to ankle, and girdled close at the waist, holding a thickly fringed, flounced overskirt in place. Every movement Helen made caused the small gold and silver trinkets among the pale yellow fringes to jingle and flash in the sun. Theseus could only imagine what the crowd would have become if she had worn something more traditional and left her breasts bared. She would never need to expose herself to capture the attention and adoration of men.

  He bowed low and did not allow himself to look anywhere but at her face.

  “It is a great honor to meet the daughter of Zeus at last.” He kissed her hand before straightening. “I am Theseus, king of Athens, Hero of Attica, and son of Poseidon.”

  Her eyes widened, and her gaze faltered for a moment, sweeping over him. Even to her young eyes, he would not look old. The gods gave many gifts with their ichor; retaining one’s youth for longer than purely mortal men and women was the least of it.

  “Noble King Theseus, we are honored by your presence.”

  He smiled, then half turned, waving for one of his servants to join him. A guard tried to stop him, but Helen leaned over to look, raising her eyebrows. A good sign, he thought.

  “Let him come,” she said.

  “An early gift for the princesses.” Theseus inclined his head politely to Helen, and then to her sister. Clytemnestra sat forward, her expression filled with naked surprise. No other man to climb the dais had addressed her so.

  He took a wineskin from the servant’s shoulder and let Pollux see that it was sealed before he opened it and raised it to his lips. He took a long drink before offering it to Helen. Pollux scowled but did not stop him.

  Helen accepted the wine, her green eyes lighting with the fire of emeralds, though he could not tell if it was with amusement or pleasure.

  “I thought you might like some refreshment after baking in the sun all day. Wine from Athens.” He repeated the performance with the second wineskin and passed it to Clytemnestra. She accepted it without any hesitation. Dismissing the servant, he set the basket between the two women on the litter. “You’ll find Attic cheeses and fruit inside, enough to share with your brothers, and bread as well.”

  Helen smiled. “You are very kind, King Theseus. We thank you for your attentions.”

  “Lovely young women like you should not starve on the dais while the common men stuff themselves and look their fill.” He bowed to Clytemnestra, another gesture no other man had made. It would be hard for her, he thought, living always in Helen’s shadow and being ignored today, when it was her birthday, too. “An honor to meet you as well,
Princess. May the gods grant you joy in the coming year.”

  “Thank you.” Clytemnestra smiled, but without Helen’s warmth. “We look forward to seeing you at the feast.”

  “I would not miss it.” He turned back to Helen. Her eyes were such a unique color, the depth of green like nothing he had ever seen before. “It is my wish to see more of you, if you would do me the honor.”

  Helen inclined her head, the electrum blazing as it caught the sunlight. It was not quite an acceptance, but nor was it a refusal. He doubted that she would have much control over whom she was able to spend time with over the course of the celebration. It was clear by this display that Tyndareus and Leda meant to attract as many suitors as possible, all hoping to claim a seat beside her for a meal. Theseus had already counted at least a dozen other kings and the same number of princes, from Macedon—even farther north than Pirithous’s people lived—to the southern island of Crete. But what preference she might show, he hoped to have won in this moment.

  “Until tonight, then.” He bowed again.

  When he left the dais, he felt Helen’s gaze follow him.

  Theseus went to the temples while the men still stood in line to give Helen their good wishes for her birthday. He could not watch them fawn over her any longer once he had seen her fed and offered her wine. Each imposition, each ogling eye, made him more and more irritable on her behalf. And he had other respects to pay.

  The temple to Poseidon was modestly sized compared to what he had built in Athens, but the stone buildings had been designed in the same style as the palace. Tall columns stood in the entrance, painted with cresting waves and leaping fish from their bases to the roof and leaving the temple open to the sun on one side. Inside, the walls were covered floor to ceiling with horses of every color, stamping, rearing, and charging. Nostrils flared as they tossed their heads, their manes flying in the wind.

  Offerings of hard bread, goat cheese and milk, figs, pomegranates, and wine covered the altar. Theseus knelt before his father, setting a golden trident the length of his arm before the rough clay form of the god, and bowing his head.