The War At Troy

by Lindsay Clarke

  But Paris was thinking quickly. ‘How can I choose one of them without upsetting the others? Wouldn’t it be simplest to divide the apple into three?’

  ‘I’m afraid that none of the goddesses is prepared to compromise. It’s gone too far for that. They want a decision.’

  ‘Then I’m going to need your advice.’

  Hermes held up his hands as though backing away. ‘If I don’t stay quite neutral my immortal life won’t be worth living.’

  ‘But I’m only human,’ Paris protested, ‘I’m bound to get it wrong.’

  ‘Sooner or later every mortal has to make choices,’ Hermes said. ‘This is your time. It’s always a lonely moment but there’s nothing to be done about that. If you’re wise you’ll assent to it. You never know, with three goddesses all eager for your good opinion, it might work out to your advantage.’

  He tilted his head. ‘Are you ready? Shall I summon them?’

  As alarmed by the prospect ahead of him as he was strangely excited by it, Paris nodded. Hermes began to turn away, and then halted. ‘One thing I will say. There’s more at stake here than a golden apple.’ Then he raised his staff and shook it so that the white ribbons flailed through the air.

  Paris gasped as the three goddesses instantly appeared before him.

  At the centre stood Hera, wearing her vine-wreathed crown from which dangled golden clusters of grapes. A shimmering, net-like robe embroidered with seeds and stars hung well on her shapely figure. She was, Paris saw at once, awesomely beautiful and entirely at ease in that relaxed kind of grace that knows its own power and has no need to make a show of it. With the poise of her regal authority, she acknowledged the wonder in his gaze.

  To Hera’s right, the more athletic Athena wore a light suit of finely crafted armour that was moulded to enhance her lissom form and the taut sinews of her slender limbs. In one hand she gripped a bronze-tipped spear, and in the other her aegis -- the goatskin-covered shield on which a gorgon’s head was depicted. It threw into contrast both the clear brilliance of her eyes and the grave, unclouded beauty of the face which studied Paris shrewdly now.

  Aphrodite stood to Hera’s left, leaning on one hip slightly to throw her form into relief beneath her simple, gauzy dress. She held her arms across her chest, with the palms of her hands pressed together and the tips of her fingers at her mouth. Violets were pinned in her hair and gilded flowers dangled from her ears. She tilted her head slightly to smile at Paris, then lowered her arms and watched the youth catch his breath as he took in the intricately-worked girdle that began as a necklace at her slender throat and curved down to separate and support the contours of her breasts.

  Thinking she might have been too formal, Hera said, ‘I see that Hermes didn’t deceive us when he promised the most handsome mortal as our judge.’

  Paris glanced away, gesturing towards his cattle. ‘He’s brought you a herdsman. One who’s bound to make mistakes.’ Still awestruck, he drew himself up to confront the goddesses. ‘If I agree to make this judgement there have to be conditions.’

  ‘Name them,’ said Athena.

  Paris took a deeper breath. ‘All three of you have to forgive me in advance. Also I want an undertaking that none of you will harm me if the verdict goes against you.’

  ‘That seems reasonable enough,’ said Hera. Athena nodded. Aphrodite smiled and added, ‘Very sensible too.’

  ‘Then if you’re all agreed to his terms,’ said Hermes, ‘we can proceed.’ He looked back at Paris. ‘Would you prefer to judge the contenders together or to examine each of them alone?’ Paris, who was having some difficulty keeping his eyes off Aphrodite’s girdle, was about to reply, when Athena observed his air of distraction.

  ‘I really must insist that Aphrodite takes off her kestos,’ she said. ‘We all know it makes men go weak at the knees.’

  At once Aphrodite protested that her kestos was as much part of her own presentation as the heavenly crown was for Hera or Athena’s armour was for her. When both the other goddesses dismissed her claim as preposterous, it seemed that the quarrel must break out again. Hermes was about to intervene but Paris, who had just begun to sense the power he might hold, lifted an imperious hand. ‘I think its best if I see them one at a time,’ he said. ‘That way we should avoid arguments.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘However, I don’t see how we can avoid the suspicion of unfair advantage unless all the goddesses remove their jewellery and clothing.’

  ‘You’re the judge,’ Hermes gravely replied. ‘It’s for you to set the rules.’

  ‘Then let it be so.’

  Hermes coughed. ‘I believe you heard what Paris said. Would you kindly disrobe?’ Turning discreetly away from the goddesses, he asked Paris in which order he would care to see the three contenders.

  Paris thought for a moment. ‘As Queen of Olympus, Divine Hera should take precedence. Then perhaps the Lady Athena, and lastly, Aphrodite.’

  ‘Good luck then.’ Hermes smiled.

  And vanished.

  Left in a state of agitation, Paris sat down. A moment later he was thinking, Father Zeus forgive me, as he found himself quite alone, staring at the Queen of Olympus who stood before him in all her naked majesty.

  ‘You were quite wrong in what you said.’ Hera turned so that the youth could admire the sweep of her back. ‘You’re rather more than a simple herdsman. Actually your birth is royal.’ Turning again, she smiled down at his astonishment. ‘King Priam is your true father. Go to his palace in Troy and announce yourself. Tell him the gods chose to spare your life. He’ll rejoice to see you.’ Though the words astounded him, Paris experienced a jolt of recognition. Hadn’t he always guessed at some such secret? Didn’t it explain why he felt different from everybody round him? Didn’t it account for his restlessness? With mounting excitement he listened as Hera told him the story of his birth.

  ‘And there’s more,’ Hera smiled. ‘You needn’t be content with being a prince. Award me the prize today and you can be a king in your own right. I’ll make you the mightiest sovereign in Asia. Wealth, empire and glory -- all these can be yours. As Queen of Heaven and wife to Zeus, I can do this for you. You can be numbered among the wealthiest and most powerful of kings.’ Paris saw himself suddenly transported beyond the simple life of the hills into the teeming world of the cities -- the world of princes and palaces, of ministers, ambassadors and slaves, of imperial command and luxury such as even his father, the High King of Troy, did not enjoy. How much might he achieve with such power? What pleasures might such riches buy? Ambition swelled inside him. He saw himself crowned and sceptred, sitting on a jewelled throne with lesser kings obeisant before him and Oenone as queen at his side. But the dissonance between such grandeur and her simplicity unsettled him. He came to himself. He stumbled out a reply. ‘I shall always be grateful, Divine Hera -- both for revealing your beauty to me and for disclosing the secret of my birth. If I find you the fairest of the three you shall certainly have the apple. But . . .’ he looked up at the goddess and swallowed, ‘my judgement is not for sale.’

  The Queen of Olympus stared at his candid gaze for a long moment without speaking. Tight-lipped, she nodded her head, and disappeared.

  Then Athena was standing before him, her vigorous body gleaming as she turned. Everything about her appealed to his hunter’s senses, and when she faced him again, the serenity of her clear gaze fell like sunlight on his soul.

  ‘I suppose Hera has just tried to bribe you with power and wealth,’ she said. ‘That’s what matters to her. But there are more important things, you know. Things which last longer and give deeper satisfaction. If you want contentment then you’d better get wisdom, and wisdom only comes from deep self-knowledge. Without that everything else turns to dust.’ The goddess moved again to display her lithe form. The air around her strummed like a lyre with kinetic energy. ‘That’s the deep law of things, and though you may know what you are now, you still don’t know who you are.’ Athena smiled
down at him. ‘So be wise today. Make the right choice, and for the rest of your life you’ll have me beside you, both in war and peace, cultivating your wisdom, protecting you in battle, and strengthening your soul until you achieve perfect freedom and control. A mortal man can ask no more.’

  Paris nodded in silence, frowning and thoughtful. Vast new horizons were sweeping open within him. He had begun to understand that the choice to be made was not just between three modes of female beauty but between the deep, undying principles which shaped the values by which a man might live his life. Filled with a vertiginous sense of how his entire future destiny would be determined by his choice, he was trembling a little as he thanked Athena for sharing her beauty and wisdom with him. Then she was gone.

  In her place stood Aphrodite.

  For a long time the third goddess said nothing. There was, she knew, no need for words. Where Hera’s regal confidence had steadied the air around the youth, and Athena had left it vibrant with her poise, Aphrodite filled it with a fragrance that excited all his senses. If outward beauty was the issue -- he made up his mind at once -- there was no contest. Only a few minutes earlier he would have beseeched Aphrodite to take the apple and do with him as she pleased. But his life had been changed in the past hour. He was no longer just a bull-boy free to while away his life in sunlight. He was a great king’s son with a heritage to claim. He might be a man of moral and spiritual consequence. He had important things to think about.

  Yet this third goddess was so dizzyingly beautiful that he could scarcely think at all.

  ‘I know,’ Aphrodite whispered, and there was a melting sadness in the eyes she lifted towards him -- eyes of a blue such as he had previously glimpsed only at a far distance in the changing light off the sea. ‘But it’s not just about beauty any more, is it?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.

  ‘I can see what’s happened.’ She looked away. ‘The others have been offering you things. Tremendous things. Things you don’t have. Things you hadn’t even dreamed of.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I can only offer you love, which you already have, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Paris hoarsely, ‘I do.’

  But he was still considering the possibility that he might faint.

  Aphrodite gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, at least we can talk for a while.’ She sat down with her legs drawn together, her elbows resting on her knees, and her face cupped in her hands, as though conceding that any further display of her beautiful body was pointless. Her eyes, however, remained deeply troubling.

  Overwhelmed by her closeness, by the unselfconscious, naked presence of such heart-shaking beauty, Paris heard her say. ‘She’s lovely, isn’t she? The fountain nymph, I mean.’

  ‘Oenone.’ He spoke the name almost wistfully, as if the friend and lover of his youth was already beginning to vanish beyond recall.

  ‘I can see why she’s so dear to you.’ Like sunlight off a fountain, her smile flashed across at him. ‘You’re very lucky.’

  Paris nodded. And swallowed.

  ‘After all, she’s given you the first unforgettable taste of what it’s like to love and to be loved.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So she’ll always be dear to you, whatever happens.’

  There was a silence, in which he realized he was barely sipping at the air.

  After a time the goddess stirred and said, ‘The world’s so strange, isn’t it? I mean, look at you -- a simple herdsman one minute, a king’s son the next, with the whole world at your feet. And here’s me -- one of the immortals, knowing that the apple is rightfully mine yet quite unable to claim it.’ Again she sighed. ‘I wouldn’t normally be this patient, but you’ve been so good-natured about all this . . . and so honest with us! And I know that it can’t be easy for you so I don’t want you to feel badly about it. Anyway,’ she gave him another regretful smile, ‘I just want to say that it’s been a real pleasure meeting you.’

  But as soon as she began to move, Paris said, ‘No, wait . . . please.’

  The goddess tilted her head.

  ‘I mean . . . what you said about Oenone. It’s true, but . . ‘

  ‘But?’

  ‘Well, only this afternoon, before all this happened, I was wondering ... is that all there is? To love, I mean.’

  The eyes of the goddess narrowed in a puzzled frown. ‘You don’t think it’s enough?’

  Paris frowned. ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Then what? I don’t understand.’

  He tried to gather his thoughts. ‘I know what you mean. In fact, I’ve never been happier than since Oenone and I found each other. It’s just that sometimes I feel . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  He glanced up at her -- ‘that there might be more?’ -- then away again.

  ‘More?’

  Amazed by his own presumption, Paris decided to hold the goddess’s searching gaze as he said, very quietly, ‘Yes.’

  With a shrug of her smooth shoulders Aphrodite gave a little, understanding laugh. ‘Well, yes, there is, of course. There’s a great deal more. But you seemed so happy as you are. I didn’t think you’d want to know about it.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  She sat back as if in mild surprise, puckering her lips. ‘Well, it’s not really the kind of thing you can tell anyone. It has to happen to you. You have to give yourself to it -- you have to let yourself be taken.’ She thought for a moment. ‘It’s like trusting yourself to the strength of the sea . . . and sometimes it’s like giving yourself to a fire even.’

  ‘A fire?’

  ‘Oh yes. A fire so clear and intense that it burns away everything except the pure delight of its own passion. And once that happens then everything else changes. It all begins to make sense . . .’ The goddess smiled and shook her head at the inadequacy of mere words. ‘I thought you’d know rather more about it than you appear to do.’

  The words had been added gently enough but they left him ruffled. He was on the point of claiming more knowledge than he had so far revealed but when he looked up into her comprehending smile he saw that such bluster would be immediately transparent. So he glanced away.

  She said, ‘So tell me more about these feelings you’ve been having.’

  Suddenly aware how small those feelings seemed by contrast with the scale on which the goddess felt and thought, he flushed. ‘They’re hard to explain.’ But his imagination seized on what she had said a moment earlier, and his heart jumped with a simultaneous sense of admission and betrayal as he added, ‘It’s as though once an experience starts to be familiar, it wants to change . . . to become something larger and more powerful. Stranger even.’ He looked for understanding in her eyes and found it there. She said, ‘That’s the unlived life inside you wanting to come out. You should listen to it.’

  ‘I have been listening. I suppose that’s why I’m here. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder whether . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  He hesitated. Oenone’s loving smile flashed before his eyes and vanished in the bright aura of Aphrodite’s presence. ‘What you were just talking about -- do you think it could ever happen to me?’

  ‘I’d like to think so, although . . .’ She hesitated, pushed back a stray ringlet of hair, smiled, shook her head, glanced away.

  ‘Go on.’

  Aphrodite turned her searching eyes back to him. ‘Are you sure you want me to?’

  ‘Yes.’ Swallowing again, he held her gaze. ‘I’m quite sure.’

  The goddess appeared to give the matter further thought. ‘These things are always mysterious, you know. It’s the between-ness, you see. It can’t just happen with anyone. There has to be a meeting of souls. Souls that recognize each other. And when they do, there’s a sudden astonishing freedom of both the feelings and the senses there that . . . well, that they just can’t find with anybody else. It’s the most tremendous experience of all, and it doesn’t happen for everyone.’ She tilted another rueful smile at hi
m. ‘So I’m afraid it’s not only up to you.’

  Paris nodded, and looked away.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘Yes you should. I needed to know about it.’

  Quietly she said, ‘But it hasn’t happened with Oenone, has it?’ And sighed when, frowning, he shook his head.

  ‘Perhaps . . .’ he began.

  His throat felt parched as a summer gulch. He tried again. ‘Perhaps she’s not the right person. For me, I mean.’ Looking up, he added quickly, ‘Or me for her, of course.’

  ‘Well, only you can know that for yourself. But . . .’ She turned her gentle gaze on him again. ‘You don’t have a great deal of experience, do you? It must be hard for you to tell.’

  A little humiliated by her sympathy, Paris watched as she glanced away, turned back towards him, opened her mouth to speak, and then appeared to change her mind.

  ‘What were you going to say?’ he pressed.

  ‘I was just wondering whether . . . No, I really shouldn’t interfere.’

  ‘It’s not interfering. I’d really like to hear what you have to say.’ ‘It’s just that one of the advantages of being a goddess--’ she smiled up at him ‘--is that we can see deeper into time than mortals can, and sometimes we’re painfully aware of possibilities that you just don’t seem to see.’

  ‘You’re thinking of me?’

  As if making a difficult decision, Aphrodite drew in her breath. ‘The thing is, Oenone is quite the sweetest creature in these mountains, but there are women in the world beside whom she’s as simple and brown as one of my sparrows, and . . . Well, I don’t think you’ve quite woken up yet to just how attractive you are, and how much power you might have over women -- if only you gave yourself the chance to meet more of them.’

  After a moment he said, ‘You think there might be someone else for me?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’