by R. D. Brady
Clytemnestra laughed as Castor engulfed her in a hug.
The brothers stepped back, one on each side of Clytemnestra, giving Helen her first full look at her sister. Her heart ached. She looks so alone. She examined Clytemnestra’s eyes for some sign of how she felt.
Clytemnestra gave her a tentative smile, but it quickly dimmed. “You were right, Helen,” she said softly. “You were right.” She let go of her brothers and held out her arms to Helen, who ran forward and pulled her sister to her.
Clytemnestra’s shoulders shook. “I have missed you so much, sister.”
Helen said nothing; tears clogged her throat. She just held Clytemnestra tighter.
They managed to get Clytemnestra up to Helen’s room without her being seen by any of the other guests. It would not do for tales of Clytemnestra’s crying to make their way back to Agamemnon. Helen put her brothers on guard outside the door, banning anyone from entering, then curled up with her sister in bed, like they had done so many times when they were growing up.
“Tell me,” she said simply.
And Clytemnestra did. Helen’s heart broke at the loneliness in her sister’s voice as she spoke of her treatment at the hands of Agamemnon. And the longer her sister spoke, the more Helen's anger grew.
“Do not go back to him,” Helen said when her sister was done. “Stay with me.”
Clytemnestra shook her head. “I can’t. He will take the boys from me. I will never see them again. He has already threatened to do so. I cannot leave my children unprotected against him. Think of the men they would become. No. I must go back.”
“Is there anything good there? Anyone who looks out for you?”
“Menelaus does. Agamemnon does not treat me badly in front of him. It is peaceful when Menelaus is staying with us. And he is a good man. He asks after my comfort.”
Helen said a little thanks for that small kindness. “But what can I do? There must be something.”
“Be my sister. Be my friend.”
Helen clasped her hand. “Always.”
Eventually, Clytemnestra fell asleep in Helen’s room. She was obviously exhausted, and not just from the journey—her whole life seemed to be weighing her down. And Helen couldn’t help but notice the bruises around Clytemnestra’s wrists and along her arms.
Helen stayed with her as long as she dared, but she knew her absence would be noted soon. So with promises from her brothers that they would not leave Clytemnestra’s side, she made her way down the hall.
But instead of turning right, toward the staircase that would lead her outside, she turned left and headed for the library. She needed a minute alone after hearing of the misery of Clytemnestra’s life, and the library was off limits to guests. She hoped it would give her solitude.
She opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the empty room and a comfort at the familiarity of the space. Books lined all the walls and two long tabled dominated the middle of the room. Dotting the space were also busts of Spartan ancestors on pedestals.
She moved to an open window, where she could spy on the events outside without being seen. In the distance, tents had been erected for the guests. The gates were open and people were coming and going. The smells from the kitchen were mouth-watering, and there was an excitement in the air.
But all she could think about was whether or not Clytemnestra’s fate was to be hers as well. Would her future husband also try to make her a punching bag? My whole life, everything I’ve done, all my learning, all my training—and I’ve been reduced to a prize. Like Clytemnestra, I’ll be used as a tool to solidify an alliance.
Helen tightened her fists. She had been raised to view herself as the master of her own fate—as a woman who made decisions and followed them through. Now her parents had taken that from her.
Above one of the tents she could see the flag from the house of Pelion. She shuddered at the idea of being tied to their eldest son, Helarchus. The man rarely bathed, and he ate like he would never see food again. Rumor was he liked his dogs more than any humans. And only chance would determine whether or not she ended up with someone like him.
She looked over the other tents, at the flags of all the houses flying high. Among them, there was no one that she could imagine sharing her life with, her bed with.
Unbidden, an image of Achilles appeared in her mind. Crushing her fist into her hand, she shut her eyes against the image, but it didn’t help. She had not heard from him in the six months since he had been banished, nor was it likely she would ever hear from him again. She had thought that her heart would harden to him—had hoped it would—but the truth was, he would always have a place in her heart, no matter the outcome of this ridiculous competition.
She pulled on the chain around her neck, the one on which she kept her ring, hidden in the bodice of her dress. She was tempted to put the ring on her finger. She could call down a lightning strike or a ferocious rainstorm. Then she could claim the gods were against the idea of this competition.
But her mother would know. And besides, what good would it do? She could never marry Achilles, so did it really matter whom she married?
Behind her, the door to the library opened. Helen dropped the ring so it was hidden once again. She had hoped for a little longer on her own.
Agamemnon stepped into the room. His purple cape blew out behind him as he strode toward her. “Enjoying the view? All these men running around trying to impress you?”
The bruises on Clytemnestra flashed through Helen’s mind, along with a sincere dislike for the man in front of her. But Helen made sure to keep her face impassive. “My father decided on this approach, not me. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Agamemnon put out a hand to stop her. “We need to speak.”
Helen avoided his outstretched hand with a glare. “Do not touch me.”
For a moment, the real Agamemnon glared back at her, but the angry expression was quickly covered with a polite facade. “Of course. I would never dream of touching a daughter of Sparta.”
“Really? Then perhaps you could explain the bruises on my sister.”
Agamemnon shrugged. “Your sister is extremely clumsy, especially when she is pregnant. It must be all the extra weight.”
Remembering her sister’s gaunt frame, Helen rolled her hands into fists. It required an extreme act of control to keep herself from hurting this man. “What do you want?”
“To discuss your future.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “And why is that a concern of yours?”
“We are linked by marriage. Of course it’s of concern to me.”
Helen scoffed. “Right. What do you want, Agamemnon?”
“I want you to marry Menelaus.”
Helen stepped back in surprise. “Menelaus? He’s not even here, is he?”
“No. He is fulfilling an obligation in Thrace.”
Helen shook her head. “Then what are you talking about?”
“I will act in his stead.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “You are going to compete?” Agamemnon’s fighting prowess had been legendary at one point, but she had not heard of him fighting in the last few years. And judging by the look of him, he hadn’t spent much of that time training, either.
“Of course not,” he growled. “I will have Ajax the Greater fight on Menelaus’s behalf.” There were two Ajaxes, the greater and the lesser. The Greater was an incredible fighter—and a Fallen. Helen knew he would easily win any challenge placed before him.
Helen studied Agamemnon. The man’s desire for power had been stamped upon his frame from a young age. “You want my army,” she said softly, realizing his angle. “It will never be yours. Spartans belong to no man, and certainly not to you.” She started to walk past him.
Agamemnon reached out a hand. His fingers had barely touched her arm when she grabbed his wrist and twisted it ninety degrees. “I said, do not touch me,” she spat through gritted teeth. She was shaking, she wanted to hurt him so badly. She sh
oved him away before she gave in to the impulse.
Agamemnon held his wrist and glared at her. Anger came off him in waves. “Enough with the hiding behind words. You will marry Menelaus.”
Helen laughed. “You’re insane.”
“No. I am your sister’s husband,” he said softly.
Helen narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”
Agamemnon smiled. “Your sister is so fragile, isn’t she? It’s hard to believe she’s Spartan. And this pregnancy, it has been difficult. Women often die in childbirth, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was one of them.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Agamemnon met her gaze. “Try me.”
The air between them was filled with anger and promises of violence—on both sides. Helen imagined punching this awful man in the face over and over again until he was a bloody mess. Only her fear of what would happen to Clytemnestra stayed her hand.
“I’ll sweeten the pot,” said Agamemnon. “If you agree to marry Menelaus, Clytemnestra can stay here for the remainder of her pregnancy. And she will be free to visit you as often as she likes. I have my boys; I don’t need her anymore anyway.”
Helen rolled her fists.
“And if you don’t agree… well, accidents happen, don’t they?”
Helen looked into Agamemnon’s face. She knew he would kill Clytemnestra—and there would be nothing she could do about it. “Your man will still have to win,” she said. “And there is also the matter of payment.”
Agamemnon smiled. “I have brought a treasure worthy of the hand of a queen. And why not? When you marry Menelaus, that treasure will still be in the family. So, what do you say, Queen Helen?” He sneered. “Do we have a deal? Or do you prepare for a funeral along with your wedding?”
Helen sprang, and the back of her closed fist struck him across the face. He flew backward into a table.
He regained his balance and put his hand to his cheek. He glared at Helen. “How dare you.”
Helen stormed toward him, but she stopped short of striking distance, not trusting herself to stop at one punch. “That was a reminder,” she growled. “If I see one single bruise on my sister, I will come for you. By this bargain, I am guaranteeing her safety. Do you understand?”
Agamemnon straightened, keeping a wary eye on Helen. “You will regret this.”
“I will regret many things about this bargain. Striking you is not one of them.”
He narrowed his eyes. “It is agreed, then. You will marry Menelaus.”
“I will think on it. You will have my answer by the end of the day. And my sister stays here with me until I decide.”
“Fine.” Agamemnon tilted his head. “If you’ll step out of the way.”
Helen backed up and gave a mocking bow. “Of course.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know, I asked for your hand before Clytemnestra’s. Your father didn’t think our personalities would mesh. But if you had been my wife, I would have beaten that defiance out of you long ago.”
“And I would have shown you what a true Spartan woman is.”
Agamemnon smiled. “Funny, your sister said something similar that first year. She hasn’t said anything like that in quite a while.” He strode past her.
Helen watched the door close behind him. Then she kicked the pedestal next to her. It fell to the floor, and a bust of her great-grandfather smashed to pieces, but she felt no remorse for the destruction—only a desire to do more damage. She wished she could do the same to Agamemnon. But angry as she was, she knew she could not simply kill him, not without starting a war.
No, she had played it right. She had not given him an answer. Still, she knew what she was going to do. She just needed a little more time to accept her fate.
Or better yet, find a way around it.
Chapter 19
Helen’s bedroom was quiet when she stepped inside hours later. She was done with the festivities for the day. It had been near impossible to focus on the guests, not with Agamemnon’s words ringing in her head. She had let Castor and Pollux go, promising she would call them if they were needed.
Her sister still slept under the covers. Helen had just turned for the bathing room when Clytemnestra let out a cry. Helen was next to Clytemnestra in a flash. “Sh, sh,” she said. “It’s just me.”
Clytemnestra’s shoulders dropped, and she leaned back against Helen, her breathing shaky. “I’m sorry. I don’t know when I became this person—weak, scared.”
“You are not weak. Never let anyone tell you that you are.”
Clytemnestra shook her head. “No, Helen, you are wrong.” Her voice trembled. “I am weak. My time with Agamemnon has proven that over and over again.”
Helen held her tighter, not sure what to say.
“I think it’s a girl,” Clytemnestra whispered, her hand on her stomach.
“That is wonderful.”
“Yes, but I do not think Agamemnon will be pleased.” She took a stuttering breath. “How will I protect her from him?”
“I will help you. You don’t have to do it alone.”
Clytemnestra grasped Helen’s hand. “I’ve been so stupid. He fed on my jealousy, kept us apart. I never should have—”
“Sh, sh. None of that matters now. You are here. And here you will stay.”
“He will not allow it.”
“Yes, he will. I will make sure of it.”
Clytemnestra nodded wearily.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Clytemnestra’s eyes were already closing again. “No, just tired. Will you stay with me?”
“Always,” Helen said. She lowered Clytemnestra to the bed and adjusted the sheet over her. She sat next to her sister until her breathing had evened out. Then she quietly made her way over to the lounge and watched her sister sleep. She was so pale.
Agamemnon’s voice echoed in her mind. Your sister is so fragile, isn’t she? Helen had to agree. When they had been younger, they had often been mistaken for one another. Their likeness was so similar, and they were both strong and full of life. But no one would have trouble telling them apart now. Clytemnestra looked thin, pale. Broken.
As children, a split had developed between the two sisters. All because Helen would one day be queen. Helen had felt that split widen every time her father spoke with her about strategy, or introduced her to visiting dignitaries, while Clytemnestra stood silently and watched. She had felt it every time their teachers praised Helen unnecessarily for simple tasks, wanting to get in good with the future queen. Each and every incident had widened the gulf between the two sisters.
She hoped that now that gulf was gone. Clytemnestra was all that mattered. Clytemnestra, and the little girl in her womb.
But can I do Agamemnon’s bidding? Helen leaned her head back, forcing herself to ignore her hate for Agamemnon so she could look at the issue objectively. She could not marry Achilles, as much as her heart desperately wished she could. And there was no other man she was interested in. So what was stopping her?
Menelaus is not the same as his brother, whispered a voice in the back of her mind. When the two brothers had lived here, the differences between them had been obvious. There was no cruelty in Menelaus, no need to prove his manhood. He was comfortable in his skin. And more than one woman had swooned over that skin.
But can I marry him? Can I lie with him, have children with him?
She knew she would have to do so with someone. And Menelaus was a better choice than most. Her brothers respected him. Her mother as well. Truth be told, were he not the brother of Agamemnon, she could quite easily have seen his appeal.
But he is Agamemnon’s brother.
Helen sighed. If she agreed to the deal, Agamemnon would be a fixture in her life from this day forward.
Her gaze strayed to the bed. But wouldn’t he be anyway? And if she could get Menelaus on her side, she might have one more person to help protect Clytemnestra. Wasn’t that worth a try?
Helen knew th
at Agamemnon was playing her. The only reason he had allowed Clytemnestra to join him on this visit was to show Helen how much Clytemnestra had suffered—and thus manipulate Helen into doing his bidding. Helen hated it. But how could she turn her back on her sister? And the babe in her womb?
She pulled her legs into her chest, resting her chin on them. Her sister had asked for her help. She could not—she would not—turn her back on her.
Helen let out a sigh. Which means I am going to marry Menelaus.
Chapter 20
While Clytemnestra still slept, Helen left her to find Agamemnon. She wanted to tell him as soon as possible; she needed the deal done so she could focus on her sister. But she had not left Clytemnestra alone: Castor sat with her now. Helen had decided that until Agamemnon left, one of them would be with Clytemnestra at all times.
As Helen walked through the crowds, people extended her greetings and jokingly asked whom she was rooting for. Helen smiled and took it all in stride, but inside she cringed at very comment. How have I come to this?
A hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her into the shadows of an alley. Helen would have screamed, but she knew his scent, the feel of these hands, and she wasn’t frightened, though her emotions swirled madly. How—? She turned and looked up at him, her heart aching at the sight. His hair was longer and blonder. The sun had turned his skin a darker tone, which made his eyes stand out that much more.
“Achilles,” she breathed.
He stared down at her as if he wasn’t sure it was truly her. “It’s only been a few months, yet you’re even more beautiful now.”
A servant passed the alley and dropped a tray of plates. The noise shattered the spell between them. She grabbed Achilles’s hand, both loving and hating the feel of his warm skin against hers, and pulled him deeper into the alley. “What are you doing here?”
“How can you ask that? You are to be married off.”
“I know. It is my duty.”
“No. Come with me. Live with me. Leave all this behind.”
Helen stared into Achilles’s eyes, and for a moment she allowed herself to be lost in the glory of a future with the man she loved. A future that did not require duty. A future that allowed her to do as she wished, rather than what she must.