Helen of Sparta

by Amalia Carosella

  “Menelaus takes too many liberties,” Pirithous murmured.

  “Let him. He only succeeds in driving her away.” But his hands had balled into fists at his sides. Whatever argument they’d had the previous evening, Helen had clearly not forgiven the son of Atreus.

  “Whatever it is she wants of you, Theseus, it will have something to do with him.”

  Menelaus’s expression was dark as he watched Helen, but he recovered himself and offered his company to Clytemnestra. Helen’s sister welcomed him without reservation.

  Whatever she wanted, Theseus hoped it was within his power to give.

  Theseus paced his physician’s small room, really no more than a short hall and a sleeping chamber, though the walls were painted richly with leaping fish and dolphins. Bread and watered wine sat ready on a small table, but he could not bring himself to eat while he waited.

  The sun had risen, and the morning’s entertainments had begun in the megaron. Pirithous was there, no doubt enjoying himself with whichever servant made herself available, and none the worse for his lack of sleep the night before. He claimed his stamina was a gift from Zeus; considering his other appetites, Theseus did not doubt him.

  “My lord, would you prefer to sit? Is there something I can have brought for you?” Ariston asked.

  “No, thank you.” Theseus forced himself to stop, standing before the window. He clasped his hands behind his back. Ariston was a good physician as well as an old friend, but Theseus was still his king, and a king should not show anxiety or worry. Certainly not over a young woman.

  A knock on the door cut through him, and he turned. It could not be anyone other than Helen, but the woman who slipped into the room kept her hair and face covered by a scarf. The green eyes that met his were unmistakable, and splashes of her red gown peeked out from beneath a pale blue robe.

  Ariston shut the door behind her.

  “My lady.” Theseus crossed the room to meet her and brought her hand to his lips.

  Helen squeezed his hand. “My lord. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “It would be rude of me to refuse you.” He nodded to Ariston, and the man disappeared into the bedchamber without a word. “May I offer you food or drink?”

  She shook her head, reaching up to unwrap the scarf from her face. “Thank you, but no.”

  Her golden hair fell free of the scarf, no longer encumbered by the ornaments. A single diamond rested against her throat. It was something he had found in Egypt before he had settled into the kingship of Athens, and one of his gifts to her.

  Theseus lifted the stone, rolling it between his fingers. “I thought this would suit you, when I heard of your beauty. I’m pleased I could finally offer it.”

  A blush began at the fair skin of her chest and rose all the way to her cheeks. “It is very beautiful.”

  “So beautiful, it would shame any other woman who wore it but you.” He dropped his hand and again met her eyes, which were the green of olives now. He had never seen a woman with eyes so arresting, and when she looked at him, he felt it like fire on his skin. Zeus had outdone himself. “I’m honored that you seek my counsel, Princess.”

  “I seek your help, my lord, not just your counsel.” She swallowed, all the color leaving her face. The scarf twisted into knots between her fingers.

  “To you, Princess, I am Theseus.” He took the scarf from her hands and guided her to a low bench along the wall. “Sit, please, and tell me what makes you so anxious.”

  She sat and stared at her lap, her fingers pleating the fabric of her skirt before smoothing it again. He poured her wine and pressed the cup into her hands, but she only frowned into the liquid.

  “I hope that you are as generous when you hear what I have come to say.”

  Theseus pulled a stool around to face her and seated himself close to her side. From the way her fingers barely closed around the cup, he feared she might drop it.

  “Barring a declaration of war against my city, or a curse upon my sons, I believe there is little you could say that would offend me.”

  He leaned forward, brushing a strand of her golden hair behind her shoulder. It was smooth as silk, and he knew he should not touch her, but somehow he could not quite stop himself.

  She stilled when his fingers brushed the column of her neck, and her gaze rose from the wine to his face. “Menelaus says that if you married me, you would treat me as nothing more than a whore.”

  He drew back. A hundred responses came to mind, many of which he would have spoken in his younger days, but it was not the insult that mattered now. “What do you believe?”

  Her face flushed. “I believe you are a good man and a fair king. You look on me with kind eyes and listen to me as though my words carry weight. If that is how you treat your whores, I would be lucky to be counted among them.”

  “I would treat you as a queen of Athens,” he said. “And if we were married, my city would love you. But I would give up Athens for you, if you wished it.”

  “No.” She grabbed his knee, her fingers lighting a fire that traveled up his leg. “I would join you in Athens, if you would let me. When this celebration has ended and you leave Sparta, take me with you. That is all I ask.”

  Her nails bit into his thigh, but he did not free himself from her grip, and the warmth spread to his stomach. Her eyes were wide, pleading, and her other hand held the wine cup so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

  “As my wife?”

  “If you wished it.”

  “Helen.” His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “I do not know of any man who would not wish it.”

  He could not stop himself from stroking her cheek, his fingers trailing along the soft skin of her jaw. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, and her eyelids fluttered shut, her hold softening on his leg.

  He sighed and dropped his hand, though he could still feel the texture of her skin on his fingers. “And if I were younger, if I were not responsible for the people of Athens, I would leave with you now without hesitation.”

  She turned her face away, her hand slipping from his knee. “If you do not take me, you risk an even greater war. So many Achaeans will die that even when they win it will leave our lands in ruins for generations. The kings who survive will be twisted in spirit, but most will not return from battle. Is that not worse for Athens?”

  The prophecy felt like stone in his stomach, worse now that he heard it from her lips than as a rumor shared by Pirithous.

  “How do you know?”

  “The gods have granted me visions of the future, horrible dreams of what will come.” She swallowed again and stared at the wine cup in her lap. Her face was so pale that he could see the veins beneath the skin. “If I remain here, if I marry Menelaus, it will mean blood and death and fire.”

  He rose, turning away to keep from drawing her into his arms and giving her comfort he shouldn’t. She offered him not only herself, but a reason why he should take her. The gods were cruel to present him with this, if they did not mean for him to have her. Athena, help me to think clearly now.

  He stared at the window, shuttered to keep their privacy, and rubbed his face. “And how do you know that if I take you from here, it will be avoided? How do you know it will not incite the war you fear?”

  “Because in the dream I am Menelaus’s wife.”

  He heard her stand, and the wine cup clinked softly as she set it upon the table. Her hand touched his elbow, and the warmth of her fingers spread up his arm.

  “Theseus, if I am not here, I cannot be stolen from him by this stranger who will come, and if I am not his wife, he and Agamemnon cannot start a war to reclaim me. If there was another way, another man whom I thought I could trust, I would not impose myself on you—”

  He laughed, looking down at her. “You offer yourself to me as my wife, and you think it is an imposition?”
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  She pressed her lips together. “I know what I am, Theseus. And you are wise enough to know it, too. The man who is my husband will not have an easy life. Every man in my father’s hall seeks to have me as his alone, no matter what the cost, or how much blood it spills.”

  Yes, he knew. But life as the wife of a hero would not be easy, either. Was it possible she did not know what his love had brought down upon his wives? By Zeus’s thunder, he hoped she didn’t. If they were to have a future, let it not be shadowed by death.

  “I’m flattered you think me any different,” he said.

  “Haven’t you proven it? Just now, you refused me when I offered you myself. But I will beg you, my lord, if I must. I cannot stand by and do nothing to stop so much destruction. This is my future, and if the day comes because I did not act now, the guilt will fall on me along with the blood.”

  Her eyes held the fire of emeralds, and he knew why she had chosen him. It wasn’t because he could refuse her. She did not care if he wanted her for her beauty, or for her kingdom. She only cared that he would act to save the lives of others. She would trade herself for the lives of strange men she had never met, prostitute herself for peace. At least if she were his, he could see that she went unpunished for her generosity. In Athens, she would be honored above all others. He could make her his equal.

  “I am not your lord, Helen.”

  He fingered a strand of her hair, then tucked it behind her ear. There was nothing left to do but accept the burden the gods had placed upon his shoulders. Just as he had accepted it as a youth and gone to Crete for the freedom of Athens. Perhaps now he served to free Helen, too. There were worse things to fight for.

  Father, help me now as you did then.

  “I am your servant,” Theseus said. “I will speak to your father and bargain for your hand, but even if I cannot bring you to Athens openly as my wife, I will see you made safe. You have my word.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Clytemnestra spent the evening at Theseus’s side, shooting glares at me from across the length of the table, and I forced myself not to consider the things she might be telling him. Theseus would not listen to her lies. I had to believe he was too wise for that.

  Beside me, Agamemnon put down his cup, wiping the wine from his mouth and beard with the back of his hand. He watched Clytemnestra with small, dark eyes, his mood souring more with every smile my sister gave to Theseus.

  “He’s too old for her,” I said. “She would never have him.”

  He glowered at me. “But not too old for you?”

  I broke a piece of bread from the loaf between us and tried not to show the chill that went down my spine when his eyes traced my body beneath my gown. “My marriage will be to the man who will best serve Sparta. Age brings wisdom, and I would be a fool to turn down any man who offers my people such a gift.”

  “Just because you are beautiful, you think it gives you the right to choose a king?” I tried not to flinch when his fist hit the table. “Tyndareus will see you married to the man who offers him the greatest gifts. The wealth of Mycenae will ensure that man is my brother.”

  “Is Mycenae richer than Athens?” I kept my voice light though my heart raced. “I’m surprised it has recovered so quickly from the war. You must be a very fine king, my lord.”

  “It’s a shame you do not have your sister’s manners.” He bared his teeth at me and refilled his wine cup. “What good is beauty without grace?”

  My face flushed, and I stared at the bread on my plate, biting my tongue on an even ruder reply. Nestra’s laugh rose above the sounds of conversation, but I did not let myself look up to see if Theseus smiled in return. The king of Mycenae must have been truly blinded by love for my sister if he believed her manners were an improvement over mine. If I hadn’t been so irritated by her incessant flirting, I might even have told her so. Not that she would listen.

  Agamemnon left to go carve himself more meat. Unlike Theseus, he did not offer me any of the food from his plate, and I did not ask for any. Sitting beside him was punishment enough without allowing him further excuse to insult me with his refusal. At that point in the night, I would even have been grateful for one of King Nestor’s war stories. At least he had always treated me with courtesy. I would never understand what Nestra saw in Agamemnon. It could not just be his muscle, or she would fawn over Menelaus just as much if not more so.

  I picked a pomegranate from the fruit bowl and stared at the bloodred skin. I dug my nails into the rind and breathed in the fresh scent of its fruit, hoping it might dispel my exhaustion.

  “My lady?” Clymene touched my arm. “Menelaus asks you to meet him in the courtyard.”

  I frowned. I had already refused to meet with him earlier this afternoon, and I had no desire to see him now, either. Not after the things he had said to me this morning, standing beneath my window.

  “Tell Menelaus I cannot leave my father’s guests.”

  She nodded and left. I dropped the fruit on my plate and noticed Theseus watching me. He raised his cup and I smiled. Then Nestra tugged at his arm, draping her body against him, and I had to look away.

  Neither Agamemnon nor Menelaus returned to the table. If I had been sitting with Theseus, or even my brothers, I might have found a sympathetic shoulder to lean against, but alone, there was no point in forcing myself to stay awake after I had spent the last night sleepless.

  I rose, picking my way through my father’s guests. There were fewer now, many of the poorer admirers having left that morning, and the balcony above was open to women and children again. Most of those left were princes and kings, men who believed they could win my hand by gold or athleticism. I recognized a few as good friends to Tyndareus—Ajax the Great, of course, and his half brother, Teucer, known for his skill with a bow; and Ajax the Lesser of Locris, whom I wished I did not know at all. Adrastus and Diomedes, his grandson, had come from Argos, but Diomedes was not even my own age, and Adrastus could not truly hope we might marry, no matter how exceptional he believed his heir to be. Sparta did not need a boy-king.

  Too busy looking for the men I knew at the tables, I did not notice the one who stepped in my way until he had caught my arm.

  “Surely you do not wander alone with so many guests present in the palace, my lady.”

  I pulled my arm free, looking up into a face that reminded me of Pollux. “It is early enough yet that I need not fear. No man with his wits about him would violate me in my father’s hall.”

  “Your pardon, Princess.” He bowed, offering me a charming smile. “Theseus would not forgive me if I did not see you safely to the women’s quarters.”

  “King Theseus is very attentive.”

  The man laughed. “Only to beautiful women, I assure you.”

  “And who are you to know the limitations of Theseus’s kindness?” I asked, stepping back.

  “Pirithous, king of the Lapiths, son of Zeus.” He grinned again, his gaze flicking over me, and I felt even in so swift a glance, he had taken in everything about me. “I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, but I did not wish to steal your attention from Theseus. He’s quite taken with you, but that can hardly be surprising. What man isn’t?”

  Pirithous certainly had the height of a demigod. I refused to take another step back even if it meant I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. And this was Theseus’s closest friend? His manners left something to be desired.

  “King Agamemnon does not seem to have any use for me, even as a dinner partner.”

  “King Agamemnon is a fool,” he said. “Be grateful you have not caught his eye. The way the servants speak of him, he’s nothing more than a brute.”

  I smiled. “I do not have any interest in procuring King Agamemnon’s favors.”

  “No, of course.” His eyes narrowed. “But there are many rumors about your relationship with his brother.”

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nbsp; I raised my chin. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear from servants, King Pirithous.”

  “I’ve seen enough to know it is not all talk,” he said softly. “He is determined, Helen. If he was a brother to you once, he isn’t any longer.”

  My throat tightened. Was it so obvious? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He smiled grimly. “I’m afraid if you won’t permit me to accompany you, I’ll have to follow.”

  I swallowed hard and surveyed the room. Menelaus’s seat still sat empty at the table, and the idea of an escort did not seem so unwelcome anymore. He would not be happy that I had refused him and gone to bed instead.

  “If you insist. I cannot stop you.”

  He inclined his head. “I won’t be far behind.”

  Strange, I thought, to find such comfort in the words of a stranger. When I heard his footfalls echo mine in the corridors, I did not turn, and as I slipped through the guarded and curtained doorway to the women’s quarters, I caught no sight of him at all. But he had been there, and on Theseus’s behalf, he kept me safe.

  I did not need to light the oil lamp to find the way to my dressing table, and perhaps if I kept the room dark, Menelaus would not notice I had returned to my bedchamber. I would not be able to weave tonight, if I could not sleep. Not if he watched for me. I shook my head. He’d probably found another slave to take to his bed in my place. Was it terrible that I hoped so, just this once?

  The soft sounds of movement told me Clymene had arrived before me, and I lifted my hair up off my neck. “Can you undo the clasp of my necklace?”

  The delicate wire slipped free, and I caught the diamond pendant in my hand, letting my hair drop. The stone flashed in the moonlight, and I smiled. Even darkness couldn’t dull its beauty. Clymene’s fingers moved through my hair, plucking out the silver and ivory pins and dropping them to the floor. She wasn’t usually so careless.

  “You’ll never find them again in the dark,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.