Helen of Sparta

by Amalia Carosella

  “I am honored, my lady.”

  Athena pressed her lips together, her eyes flashing. “I did not come to listen to you give homage. Had I wanted that, I could have heard it from the comfort of Olympus.”

  He had to stop himself from stepping back, and for a dizzying moment he wondered if this was how men felt when they met him for the first time. “Forgive me, my lady, but what is it you’ve come for?”

  “To help you, Theseus. As far as I’m able. Neither one of us, I think, wishes to see Athens in ruins over a woman, but you seem to be committed, and if I do not help you, no one will. Certainly not Aphrodite, jealous as she is. And Hera has never had any love for Zeus’s misbegotten children.”

  “Helen has done nothing to deserve their enmity.” He looked away and swallowed the rest of his words. It was not his place to judge the gods. “I would give them any offerings they desire. If they will not help Helen, would they not at least offer me their blessing? Help me, instead?”

  Athena sighed, turning his face back to hers with a cool hand on his cheek. “It would be easier if it were only a question of incense and the blood of bulls, Cousin, but it will never be so. Not with Helen.”

  He stared at the goddess, turning her words over in his mind. She was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her, but to look away would have been an insult. “Then what?”

  She shook her head, her silver eyes filled with sympathy. “Nothing, Theseus. There is nothing you can do, and certainly nothing that Helen will, poisoned against us as she has been. If Leda had only kept her spite to herself—but no. It is too much to expect of any mortal woman, or immortal for that matter.”

  Her lips thinned again as she searched his face, though he did not know what she looked for. She held his head still, and her fingers curled around his ear, her nails biting into his flesh.

  “Swear to me that you will not forget where your loyalties lie, no matter what Helen might say. Swear you will not turn from us, and I will give you my aid, even if they will not.”

  “I swear it.” But he frowned at the crease in her pale brow, as if she listened for the lie in his words. “My lady, how could I turn from you? No matter what else comes, I am my father’s son. I cannot turn from my family, even if they do not love me as well as I might wish.”

  She barked a sharp laugh, and her hold on him eased. He freed himself carefully, watching her face for any sign that she might take offense.

  “Not half as well as you deserved.”

  Athena stepped back and turned away, seeming to stare at the altar before them. Her dark hair fell past her waist in a thick braid, woven with strands of gold and silver. The gown she wore moved like silk, and he imagined it would be nearly translucent in sunlight.

  “I am sorry for that,” Athena said after a moment. “It was cruel of my sisters to make you suffer so, in love. Especially what happened with Phaedra and Hippolytus.”

  He flinched at the sound of his son’s name, his jaw clenching. Hippolytus. Poor Hippolytus. Hippolytus, who had paid in blood for sins he had not committed. He almost wished Phaedra had been successful in her seduction of his son and that Hippolytus had happily gone to his stepmother’s bed. If he had, perhaps his son would still live.

  “I beg you not to speak of it, my lady.”

  Athena bowed her head. “Yet you risk it all again for Helen.”

  His stomach turned to ice. “Do I?”

  “Theseus.” Her pale face seemed even whiter than before, the warm glow of her skin dampened with grief. “It breaks my heart to pain you further when all you ask of us, all you have begged for these last years, has been peace. Love her, if you must. It is too late for us to stop you, for no god can undo what another power has done. Marry her, if you will. I will see you safely to Athens. But there will be a price that must be paid, and I can do nothing to stop it.”

  He shook his head, stumbling back a step. The ocean roared in his ears, the surf pounding against a cliff. He had paid with his own blood, with the blood of his son, with the lives of his wives twice over. He had given up Ariadne, whom he loved, to Dionysus when it was asked of him. He had paid with his own sweat, serving them in everything he had done. And now they would ask for more? They asked him to pay, when he acted at Helen’s request to save the world.

  “Is it this war from her dreams?”

  She looked at him with pity, silver eyes liquid with regret. “The price is not mine to name, but Zeus’s.”

  He shook his head again and nearly fell against the altar. The cup of wine spilled, washing him in red. He stared at it in horror.

  “It’s the only way,” she said softly.

  “Zeus would punish her for this? For coming to me for help, for wishing to save the lives of her people and stop a war?” The wine dripped from his fingers, and he closed his hands into fists, trying not to feel it as blood. How much blood would Zeus ask for in exchange? And for what? The chance of happiness for his daughter? A future where she need not fear war or abuse? “You would let him!”

  “I will give you my help, as I have promised, but I cannot change Zeus’s mind.” She shook her head. “If you cannot resign yourself to the cost, perhaps you should not marry her.”

  Athena disappeared in the space of a breath, and he stood alone in the temple, her words ringing in his ears more loudly than the ocean of his fury.

  Wine-stained and trembling, he fell to his knees.

  All he could do was pray.

  CHAPTER TEN

  At the banquet the next day, Pirithous rose from his place when he saw me and under the guise of courtesy, helped me to my seat beside him. I had spent the rest of my night in one of the spare rooms, waiting until Clymene came in search of me before returning to my own bed. I did not know when Menelaus had left it, but I was glad he had gone.

  I bit my lip to keep a hiss of pain from escaping as I moved. I could feel my mother’s eyes following me and swallowed against a swell of panic. If Leda realized what had happened . . .

  I refused to consider the possibility. Clymene had promised me she would burn the linens, and I had made her swear not to speak a word of it. Leda would never know. I would not let her force me into a marriage to Menelaus simply because he had barged in through my window.

  “Easy, now,” Pirithous murmured. “Smile, or you will not fool anyone.”

  I forced a laugh, adjusting the scarf at my neck to be certain it covered the marks Menelaus had left on me. “Are you so skilled in the art of deceit, then, King Pirithous?”

  Pirithous filled my cup with wine. The first bitter taste told me he had added more than water. His eyes met mine over the rim of my cup, and he smiled as if nothing had passed between us before now.

  “Ariston sends his regards,” he said.

  “You’ll give him my thanks?”

  “Of course.” He waited until I had set down the cup, and filled it again to the brim. I tried to protest but he only laughed. “By order of your physician. Drink up and enjoy it. I promise the potion is not better without the wine.”

  Whatever he had put in my drink worked quickly on my empty stomach. I must not have hid my relief any better than my discomfort, because Pirithous passed me bread and meat from his own plate a moment later. He did not have to tell me to eat. My stomach sloshed with too much drink.

  By this part of the day, even those who had drunk until dawn were awake, and there were few empty places at the tables. Servants wove through the guests with jugs of water and mixed wine, filling cups until they had none left of either, then returning to the kraters for more. Platters of bread emptied faster than they could be replaced, and when I saw Leda rise, leaving in the direction of the kitchen, I did not envy the slaves working there when she arrived.

  Pirithous seemed to prefer discussion of sword work and spear throws with Pollux to conversation with me. Even so, he was far more attentive than Agamemnon, a
nd I did not have the energy for the farce of conversation we would have shared, regardless. More than anything, I wished for my bed or at least the reassurance of Theseus beside me. The seat meant for him remained empty, and as much as I tried not to notice, I could not help but glance up every so often.

  When the roasted boar had been cleared away, I touched Pirithous’s arm.

  “I do not see King Theseus,” I said, my voice low.

  Pirithous covered my hand with his, squeezing it lightly, but his gaze traveled over the others in the hall.

  “He is anything but faithless, Princess, if that is what worries you. Theseus cannot seem to go two days at a time without bending a knee to his father.” He released my hand and poured me more wine. “Not that it has ever done him much good in matters like these.”

  “Like these?” I asked.

  He searched my face, the humor drained from his expression. Then he turned toward my brother, clapping Pollux on the shoulder with all the appearance of a man who has had just one too many drinks.

  “Tell me, Brother,” Pirithous said, “what do the Spartans say of Theseus, our great Attican hero?”

  Pollux laughed. “Much the same as the Atticans, I’m sure. Is it true that he went willingly to Crete as tribute, in the place of another youth?”

  “Against good King Aegeus’s wishes, he did indeed, to free Athens of the blood debt. They say that Minos made him dance with the bulls, but Theseus charmed them so they would never gore him. And why not, when he is Poseidon’s son? Minos was so furious, he threw him into the Labyrinth against the Minotaur. Do you know what Theseus used to kill the beast?”

  “Aegeus’s sword, of course,” Pollux said. “We all know that.”

  Pirithous grinned and shook his head, as a man does who wants only the excuse to tell a secret.

  “Then how?” Pollux asked.

  “A length of string.” Pirithous slid a finger across his neck. “So strong and thin, it slit the beast’s throat when Theseus tried to strangle it. He keeps it still, dyed crimson from the Minotaur’s blood. It’s the only token he has of Ariadne, since he was forced to abandon her at Naxos to the gods.”

  “Did he love her?” I asked.

  Pirithous met my gaze, and though he smiled, lines of sadness fanned around his eyes. “It was years before the grief of her loss left his heart. Of course, she was a goddess to the Cretans, Minos’s daughter or not, and heroes like Theseus are born to serve the gods, not to wed them. She used him to secure her freedom from the power of the Labyrinth. Once that was done, she had no more use for his love. She chose Dionysus instead.”

  I picked at some bread, but my stomach felt sour. “You make her sound a terrible creature to abuse him so.”

  Pirithous shrugged. “That’s the hero’s fate. Used and abused by the gods for whatever they see fit.”

  “Do you not count yourself as a hero, King Pirithous?”

  He laughed. “Princess, I am no Heracles, even if I am a son of Zeus. After witnessing what misfortune it has brought Theseus to serve the gods, only a fool would not choose otherwise.”

  “But Ariadne helped him.”

  “Yes, she helped him.” Pirithous took a drink of wine. “And then she and Dionysus broke his heart, and took King Aegeus’s life in payment. Better for him if he had not gone to Crete at all.”

  “And what of his people?”

  “The people of Athens would have kept their king awhile longer. The cost of freedom was very high for Theseus, but of course he did not realize the price when he left, and he was young enough then that he did not know better.” Pirithous poured himself more wine. “You and Theseus are not so different from each other, you know. He serves his people first, himself second, and the gods above all.”

  “You give me more credit than I deserve,” I mumbled.

  I stared at my wine before taking a long drink. The bitterness of the potion had left it, but Pirithous did not seem as though he would ever let my cup fall empty. I did not know how much Theseus had told him, or how much he had guessed, but the numbness that came with too much drink did not come quickly enough.

  The conversation between my brothers and Pirithous stopped abruptly, and I looked up. Theseus stood at the far end of the hall, his expression set into a king’s mask. He seemed to search the room until his eyes found mine. I looked away at once, hoping Menelaus hadn’t noticed.

  Pirithous rose to his feet. “Excuse me, Princess.”

  I murmured something appropriate and watched him walk away, unsurprised when his path led him to Theseus. For someone who had been praying, Theseus looked as if he had been through a war.

  Pollux slid over to my side, taking Pirithous’s seat. He stole the pomegranate from my plate. “String, of all things. I never would have believed it.”

  I glanced at my brother and frowned. “Perhaps you still shouldn’t. Clymene says King Pirithous gossips like an old slave in the kitchens.”

  Pollux peeled the fruit, dropping thick pieces of rind on my plate as he worked to free the jeweled seeds inside. “King Theseus asked Tyndareus for your hand, you know.”

  The wine turned to stone in my stomach. “And what did Tyndareus say?”

  “Theseus would make a good match, but Menelaus understands more fully the risks involved. Father thinks he will protect you more fiercely.”

  “None of you understands,” I said. “We should not be risking any of this! Menelaus does not care if this war comes, nor for the men who might die fighting it, as long as he wins me.”

  Pollux sighed. “They are only dreams, Helen. You worry overmuch.”

  “You and Father and Menelaus do not worry enough.”

  He rolled his eyes and slid back to his seat, taking my pomegranate with him. Pirithous sat down beside me again, his gaze following Theseus as he took a seat of honor beside Leda. I had not seen her return, but there was no longer any lack of bread on the tables.

  “Theseus must speak with you,” Pirithous murmured in my ear, so low I barely heard it.

  “I am watched.”

  Pirithous twitched a shoulder. “Tonight, then. At the evening banquet.”

  “Are you sure it’s wise with so many who might hear?”

  “I am sure it is necessary.”

  “But Menelaus—”

  “He will not find your window unguarded.” Pirithous pushed my cup closer. “Drink. You’ll be made safe tonight, no matter what comes.”

  I planned to accompany Tyndareus to Zeus’s shrine before the evening meal, for an excuse to stretch my legs. I was so thick with wine that I nearly fell when I got to my feet, but Pirithous steadied me, and it seemed natural that Pollux should invite him to come with us as Zeus’s son.

  “Won’t suspicion fall on you, if you stay so near?” I asked him while we walked together up the hill.

  Tyndareus and Pollux had outpaced us some time ago, though they were not out of sight. Even with the wine, I still moved stiffly, but the sun poured over us, warming my muscles, and I enjoyed the exercise if not the scenery. The stampede of men, after yesterday’s sacrifice, had trampled the grass and poppies into dust on either side of the path. Not even the goats would find sustenance from what was left.

  “I count upon it,” Pirithous said. “And better me than Theseus, as I will be innocent of the crime, in spite of my reputation.”

  “Theseus will be innocent, too,” I reminded him. “I’ve asked to go.”

  “Do you really think Menelaus will see it that way?”

  I stumbled on the path, for a moment feeling Menelaus’s body pressed against mine, crushing me beneath him. Pirithous steadied me, his hands gentle.

  “Menelaus is a fool if he doesn’t realize it,” I snapped, jerking away from his touch, but it only made me trip again. Pirithous’s eyes lit, his lips curving, until he saw my face.

  “Then he
would only behave true to his form. He has already proven himself a fool to pursue you this way. I wonder if you would be so determined to be free of him if he had not.”

  “I’m determined only to free Achaea’s sons from the war that will come.” I glared up at him. “Whether Menelaus had pursued me or not, a marriage to him is still part of that future.”

  “What of love?” Pirithous asked. “Have you not given it any consideration?”

  My face flushed. “As heir of Sparta, I do not have the luxury of marrying for love. My husband will be king.”

  “And is that all you think of Theseus? That he will make a good king for your people?”

  I bit my lip, and Pirithous half smiled.

  “Is it his power, then, that attracts you?”

  I shook my head. “It will help to keep me safe, but if it were only power that mattered, I’d have looked no farther than Mycenae.”

  “Then what, Helen?”

  “He treats me with kindness, as more than just a trophy.” I frowned. My mind was still sluggish from wine and the potion, and I struggled for the words. “And I think—I hope—he respects me. Enough to offer me the right and freedom to choose my own fate. For that alone, I could love him.”

  Pirithous laughed. “I thought you did not have the luxury of marrying for love.”

  “Theseus is a good king, well loved by his people and his friends. He will do everything within his power to save his people from the devastation of war. To save Achaea itself. With or without love, he is the right choice.”

  “And what of Menelaus? Did he never have your love?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, whether he did or not,” I said. “He would see Sparta burn as long as he had what he wanted from it. I would not willingly make such a man into a king of my people.”

  Pirithous nodded but said nothing. We had reached the shrine, and he offered me his arm at the steps. With his help, I did not stumble. Tyndareus and Pollux had already slaughtered the victims, and I had only to lay my offerings of gold and silver on the altar before Zeus’s stone face. Had it not been for the wine Pirithous had encouraged me to drink, I likely could not have bowed at all. What I managed was barely respectable.