“Perhaps some dolmades, if she would be so kind.” Aethra’s stuffed grape leaves were the best I had ever tasted. Even when she used lamb.
“Wouldn’t you like some of your strawberries?” he asked.
“It isn’t nice to tease me with things I can’t have.” I frowned. “You’ll hardly let me wander around the countryside looking for them.”
“Why stray so far afield when they’re growing in the garden?”
I sat up as quickly as my body would allow, which was not very, and stared at him. He wore the smuggest smile I had ever seen on his face, and his ocean blue eyes seemed lit by the sun of his humor, even in the dim light. It had been a long time since I had seen him so pleased.
“Is it true?” I heard myself beg but could not stop it. “Tell me it is!”
He chuckled and pulled me back down, tucking my head beneath his chin. “I had to send to Troy, and the plants and seeds cost me a goodly sum in gold and copper, but I thought perhaps it would be worth the price if it brought you joy.”
“I haven’t had them in years,” I sighed, letting him soothe me. “Is there fruit on the vines? Truly?”
“I wouldn’t have mentioned it if there were not. The merchant who brought them back said they came all the way from Elam. Where on earth could you have found a taste for them?”
“Once Pollux and Castor took me hunting, and we stumbled across a plant. I went back a hundred times, but I never found another, and I have been starving for the taste ever since.”
Theseus smoothed my hair, smiling, and kissed the top of my head. “I’m glad you are pleased.”
“I could only be more pleased if you had a basket of them beside the bed at this very moment,” I said with a yawn. “Tomorrow for the morning meal, maybe?”
“First thing,” he agreed. “Rest now, my beloved. May the gods give you peaceful dreams.”
“Meryet,” I said, only half-awake. Somehow when Theseus wished me to sleep, I never had any trouble finding exhaustion. “That’s what it means. Beloved.”
He chuckled again, and then his heartbeat, steady as waves against the shore, lulled me into sleep.
True to his word, a bowl of strawberries greeted me in the morning. Theseus fed them to me, and they were as sweet and refreshing as I had remembered, with just a hint of tartness on the tongue. I groaned my contentment with every bite, and Theseus laughed, clearly satisfied with himself for devising such a gift.
After our morning meal, he took me to the sheltered garden where he had planted the berries, so I might find them to pick more on my own if I wished.
“I do not know much of their growing, nor does the gardener, but Demeter at least we have not offended, so perhaps she will smile on us in this small thing.” Theseus covered my hand on his arm with his, half frowning at the heart-shaped berries before us. “Perhaps I should make her an offering.”
“If they grow wild in the woods, I hardly think they’ll fail in the shelter of the palace.” I forced myself to smile, but the last thing Theseus needed was to sacrifice to another god. It stole too much of our time already, now that he would not let me go with him.
He laughed and kissed my cheek. “As you say, Meryet.”
One of the servants tittered and slipped inside. Theseus’s smile faded as he watched the girl go, and I wondered what gossip she would spread about the king and his queen’s fascination with strange fruits.
I heard less gossip now than I had during the months I was hidden away, but I suspected it had more to do with the company I kept than anything else. Aethra did not gossip, and though Pirithous might have, he had long returned to Thessaly and his own affairs. As for Theseus, neither he nor his sons would ever repeat what little they might hear in reference to their queen, and Acamas did not visit with me as often as he once had. If I had kept servants of my own, I had no doubt I would have heard much more. That was one more reason I was grateful Theseus had not forced any upon me.
“Do they find it odd that I love you?” I asked, for Menestheus’s fear that I had bewitched him was never far from my thoughts, and I had often wondered if they saw my affection for him with the same concern.
He shook his head, his eyes falling on another servant tending to the plants. A jerk of his chin emptied the little garden, and he walked me to a stone bench beneath a fig tree.
“Odder that I am so clearly in love with you,” he said. “It would never occur to them that a woman would not love their king and hero, but there will always be talk about any man who shows too much devotion to his wife.”
We sat together, and I chewed my lip to keep from asking imprudent questions too specifically. “I was under the impression that the king of Athens did not hide his feelings in these matters.”
He grimaced in spite of my careful phrasing, and the shadow of Phaedra and Hippolytus darkened his eyes. In truth, it was never far away, even all these years later, and I had seen it in his face more than once before now.
“I saw no reason to before, and now I do not think I could hide my love for you if I wished it.” He forced a smile for my benefit. “Athens has seen its share of foreign queens before mine, but when this king found himself too much in love, it never ended well. It makes the people nervous, but the only reassurance I can give them is by continuing to love you without incident.”
“Is there something I might do?” I did not like the way his forehead had furrowed while he spoke. Why had he not mentioned this before now if it weighed upon him so heavily? “Some way I might reassure your people that your love is not misplaced?”
He squeezed my hand. “It is not so great a concern that you must do anything you do not wish to, and the only help you might offer is to put yourself on display and take up spending your days with the wives of others. But if you are happy as you are, I will not ask it of you.”
“The queen’s megaron.” My stomach churned at the thought. The more time I spent with Theseus, the harder it was to remember I played the part of an Egyptian. But a queen had an obligation to serve, and if it would help him in any small way, I owed him as much. “That would help, wouldn’t it? They would not think me a sorceress if I spent my days more in their company. They would see I could not have bewitched you, after all.”
“Who has said such a thing to you?” he asked.
I pressed my lips together, chiding myself for mentioning it at all. It had been months ago, and Menestheus had kept his distance since, even if he watched me more closely than I would have liked.
“You cannot expect me to believe you imagined so specific an accusation,” he said when I did not answer. “If it was one of the palace women, I will have her dismissed at once. They have no right to speak so to their queen, and I have made my feelings clear on the matter.”
I shook my head to stop him before he went on at any greater length. That he’d had to speak to them at all made my heart ache, and heavy with child as I was, I did not want even to consider that he had gone to them lately for any reason.
“I had not realized the palace women found me so troublesome, though I suppose I should have known they might,” I said stiffly. I would not ask him if he had availed himself of the pleasures they offered after we had been married. I did not want to know. “By all accounts you made good use of their favors before you brought me to Athens, as was your right. It is only natural they might find reason for jealousy when I replaced them. But as it happens, I did not hear it from any of your women. Indeed, it has always been my preference to avoid their company altogether, and I confess I hoped you shared it.”
“I do,” he said at once, his voice low and rough with emotion. His fingers tightened around mine, and my eyes closed, my relief so strong, I trembled. “I would not have you believe for a moment that I have been unfaithful to you in body or spirit. But if it was not one of the women, then I would know who spoke so disrespectfully of their queen. Of my wife!”
“I have no desire to tell tales,” I said softly. “It was months ago, and there is no purpose in punishing a man simply because he shows concern for his king, and I am certain that is all it was.” Perhaps that was all it had ever been. Menestheus’s protectiveness of Theseus, of his king, made more sense the more I thought of it. He only wanted to be sure Theseus was not bewitched, and I could not fault him for it.
Theseus studied my face for a long moment, but queens wore their own masks at times, and mine was set in place. At last, he kissed my palm. “Today is for your pleasure, my love. Not for affairs of court. We will not think of it any further.
“Come,” he said, drawing me up. “I’ll pick you more strawberries.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
My lord!”
Theseus looked up from the altar in time to see the woman throw herself gasping at his feet. The further along Helen’s pregnancy, the more time he had spent in prayer, begging for some sign from Hera or Zeus that all would be well, and it was not uncommon for attendants to come in search of him. He helped her up, noting absently that she was one of Aethra’s servants.
“Catch your breath,” he told her, removing them both from the temple and seating her on the stone steps outside. Though his heart raced in his chest, it would not do to show his own fear. He was a hero and a king, and he was bound to behave as such. “Now speak.”
“The queen goes into labor! My lady Aethra says that you should come at once.”
His stomach twisted, and he set his jaw. “She is in her rooms?”
“In yours, my lord. The pains came upon her while she stood weaving.”
Without another word he turned and left her, holding his pace to less than a run by force of will alone. Theseus was certain Aethra would have had Ariston called just as swiftly as she had sent word to him, but it did not make him less anxious to see to Helen himself.
He shoved the door open, and Aethra glanced up at him from the bed only briefly before turning her attention back to Helen.
“Clear the room!” he commanded.
The women who buzzed about without real purpose fled past him. Ariston did not remove himself from the bedside opposite Aethra, and his mother had ignored him altogether. Theseus shut the door on the faces of the rest of the curious who lingered outside, absently noting Menestheus among them, and crossed the room.
“Breathe, my dear. Deep breaths. Let your body do its work.” His mother held Helen’s hand and smoothed damp hair back from her white face.
Helen sobbed, choking on a scream, and Theseus went to her side, taking Aethra’s place. Helen’s fingers closed on his so hard, his bones pressed together.
“Helen.” He stroked her face, and she opened her eyes, turning toward his touch. “Is there anything I can do?”
She gritted her teeth on a cry as another spasm took hold, and her grip became even fiercer.
“Please,” she gasped. “Just stay with me.”
“Not even the gods could pry me from your side,” he promised, ignoring Aethra’s scowl.
She looked so pale. How long had she been in labor before he had been called? He glanced up at Ariston. The man’s face looked gray, his mouth a thin line of stress.
“Why did you not send for me sooner?” Theseus asked his mother.
“The moment I knew, I sent a slave,” Aethra said, her eyes on Helen’s face. “I have not the time to reassure you, Theseus, and your fretting does no one any favors. If you stay, bite your tongue.”
“Drink this.” Ariston nodded to Theseus to help Helen sit up. The physician held a cup to her lips. She pressed them together stubbornly. “It’s only water.”
She drank, then sighed and lay back against the cushions and blankets piled behind her. Theseus smoothed her hair as Aethra had done, and her body relaxed.
“It might help her to walk,” Aethra said, not even glancing at Ariston for his opinion. “One of you on each side to support her, if Theseus will ease her from the bed.”
Helen groaned, but she let him help her up, leaning heavily against him. Ariston stood ready on her other side, but she did not reach for the physician.
“I am a whale,” she complained, then gasped and almost doubled over but for his hold on her body. She cried out, clinging to him, her nails digging into his arm.
“Let it pass.” Aethra pressed her hand against Helen’s rounded stomach. “Just breathe.”
Helen breathed through gritted teeth, her jaw tight, but another sob escaped, rending his heart, and her nails bit deeper, drawing blood.
“Are you certain this is better?” Theseus asked, watching her face. All the color had drained from it, and she moaned another cry before the moment passed and her body stopped shuddering.
“Easier for the baby, to be sure,” Ariston answered. “For as long as she can stand it. But her pains are coming more quickly than I would have expected for her first birth—”
Aethra’s glare stopped him abruptly. Helen did not seem to notice, but Theseus’s chest tightened. Surely if there was nothing wrong, Aethra would not silence him.
“She’s doing just fine for her first birth. And, Eleithyia and Artemis bless her, all the more fortunate if it comes quickly,” Aethra said, though he did not think it was for his benefit. “Now, walk, my dear. Slowly. For as long as you feel able.”
Helen walked, alternating between easy movement and agonized labor, sometimes so bad it took both himself and Ariston to keep her upright. But she refused to return to the bed, and Aethra and Ariston insisted that keeping her on her feet for as long as possible would help the baby to come faster. By the time Helen could no longer stand for stumbling, even Theseus was exhausted, and when the next pain struck her, Helen barely had the strength to cry.
It did not seem to Theseus as though the baby had traveled at all.
He met Aethra’s pinched eyes while he helped Helen into the bed, for it was clear she was not ready for the birthing stool. His mother shook her head just slightly, her lips pursed. Theseus’s stomach turned to ice, but he said nothing. Nor did he have the time to consider the implications before Helen was caught by another long spasm. He gripped her hand; Helen did not return the pressure.
As the night wore on, Aethra dozed, leaning against the bedpost, and Ariston sat slumped at the table, staring at the hearth. Helen slept fitfully between her pains, and though Aethra had food and drink brought, none of them had any appetite for it, Helen least of all.
Lying beside Helen, who had curled up on her side, Theseus cradled her body and rubbed the spasms from her back when they came. At least it gave him something to do, however meager, for he could not sleep, afraid he might wake to find Helen’s spirit gone.
Morning came, then midday with still no progress, and Helen growing weaker and weaker with every pain. Artemis, spare her. Let her live.
“I am young,” she said, so softly that he barely heard her. “You need not worry. Zeus would not birth so frail a daughter.”
He hushed her, stroking her hair. “Conserve your strength.”
“But you worry,” she said, her voice breaking. “Poseidon will keep his word, Theseus. He must.”
“Shh.” He kissed her head. “Rest, now.”
Her breathing halted, and his heart stilled, his body stiff with fear, waiting for her chest to rise again.
A ragged sigh escaped her lips, and she drifted back to sleep.
It did not last, and she woke moaning as her body shook once more. Helen bent double over her stomach, wrapping her arms over the bulge, and cried out as though she had been kicked.
Aethra jerked awake, coming to her side again. She pressed her hands against Helen’s stomach.
“We must get her to the stool. It will be now, or not at all.”
It was difficult to manage while she fought against the pain, and had he not been half-god, he wondered if
he would have accomplished it at all. He had never realized her strength.
Helen sobbed, clutching at her stomach, and then collapsed back against him. He steadied her, for she was far too weak to sit up on her own.
“Hold her still with the next spasm,” Aethra ordered.
Ariston rose from the table, coming to help, and at Aethra’s direction he supported Helen’s other side, to keep her from twisting away. Not a moment later the next pain washed over her. Theseus struggled to keep her still while Aethra leaned on her stomach.
Helen screamed.
“Once more, Helen, push as hard as you can,” Aethra said. “Do you hear me?”
Helen shook her head violently, sobbing and gulping.
“Please, Helen,” he said.
Her body shuddered, and she cried out. Aethra leaned again and the cry turned into another scream of agony. It cut off as suddenly as it had come, and Aethra sighed. But the baby she pulled from between Helen’s thighs did not cry, even after she had cleared its throat.
One arm flailed, and a tiny foot kicked. Aethra wiped it clean while Helen lay limp against Theseus, all but slipping from the stool had he not held her. That it lived at all was a miracle, but the space between Helen’s breaths grew longer, and a chill settled in Theseus’s bones.
“My baby,” Helen whispered. “Please.”
After swaddling the child, Aethra laid it in Helen’s arms. But the baby did not seem interested in its mother.
“A girl,” Aethra said.
She did not have to tell him the child was unlikely to survive. He could see it already in the pinched face, lips cast blue, and wide milky eyes. Helen offered her breast, but the baby turned her head, slapping at Helen with a tiny fist and trying to squirm away.
“Ariston, have the wet nurse called. Helen has work to do yet before she might sleep, and I think our senses should be spared a squalling child.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Helen’s arms tightened around the baby. “I never asked for a wet nurse.”
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