Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  “Enough,” he said again.

  His words penetrated, and I stepped back. I stood, catching my breath, while I slowly climbed back down from wherever the fighting rage had taken me. As the elation died, it left me empty, with a sick feeling in my gut.

  A deep flush of shame flooded my cheeks. Bad enough to lose the contest, without compounding my failure with treachery.

  I turned away. My trainer was one of those watching. I expected a beating at the least for my actions. I started walking.

  I hadn’t taken two steps before Agamemnon grabbed my arm and spun me round to face him. I had expected fury, but instead his eyes were full of understanding. “You are a warrior, little cat. I’ve known few men fight like that, and no woman. Then, at the end, you still wouldn’t give up! Do you know how hard that is to teach a warrior? You are magnificent!”

  He had hold of my right arm. I gawped at him, sweating, flushed and shamed while he grinned at me. Then, turning to the audience, he slowly forced my arm up into a winner’s salute. I tried to pull away but had no strength left in the arm. It waivered and quivered, but Agamemnon held it up in its defiant salute.

  To my surprise the audience exploded into applause. I had no idea why. Somehow I had passed through that rage-filled mist and emerged in another country where no logic or reason applied any more.

  Eventually he let my arm fall. I was so tired, I would have tottered if he hadn’t held me up. The audience dispersed. There was no likelihood of further excitement.

  At some point we were alone, back on the wall of the training grounds again.

  I kept my head bent in apparent fascination at the lacing on my boots. I couldn’t have looked at him if my life depended on it.

  He sat with me in silence for a long time. I felt my shame, my exhaustion and the dangerous blood rage ebb. The sun was starting its descent, and it was the slight chill that stirred me. I turned to look at Agamemnon. He caught my gaze and grinned wryly back at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said at last.

  “No,” he said. “You weren’t in error. We prepare for battle every day. All Greeks do so, and Spartans more than most. Very few are really ready when the time comes.”

  “But I forgot myself,” I said. “I got lost, then found I had attacked you. I didn’t mean to.”

  “That’s the way it is,” he said. “Do you think all battles are like the jaunt we took to rescue your sister? No. The one thing you’ve proved is that you are warrior through and through. When pushed to your limits, you weren’t able to quit. I’ve known staunch men who could never be that brave and steadfast.”

  Suddenly I had the most terrible urge to cry. We got beaten for that in the barracks, so I ducked my head even lower and turned away from him. I don’t think he was deceived, because he slid an arm around my shoulders. Eventually I subdued the tears and was able to relax into his embrace.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon. Twilight is just a moment of time between light and dark, so his face was almost a shadow.

  “Do you know why I need to win my kingdom back, Nestra?”

  I shook my head. It was either obvious, or he referred to some imperative I didn’t know.

  “If I win, I will need a queen. To have that queen, I need a wife. To have a wife, I need someone I respect. But more than anything else, she must hold the keys to my heart. Do you understand?”

  It was common sense. He would need a queen. I nodded wearily. No doubt, if he had a kingdom there would be girls in plenty queuing up for the privilege.

  “If I win. If I am successful in winning back my throne, I want you as my wife, Nestra.”

  I froze. I was like a girl on my first hunting lesson: stay still, freeze into position like a tree, don’t let even a breath disturb the integrity of the shape you let the prey see.

  “Nestra? Nestra? Are you still with me?” His breath was warm against my forehead. “Will you let me ask your father for your hand?” I imagined, rather than felt, his lips moving over my hair.

  “I won’t ask until I return as King of Mycenae. But if I do, then I will be seeking your hand. There is no other woman alive I love or trust as I do you.”

  “Are you sure?” The idiocy blurted from my lips before I could contain it.

  He pulled me closer. “Oh yes, Nestra, I am very, very sure. When the days of my life are told, the gods will make it clear that Menelaus and I came to Sparta for no reason other than to win my bride.”

  I gave a hiccup of amusement. No doubt minstrels would make a similar tale: probably gods would be involved, all to make sure an awkward girl, and a man seeking refuge got together. Leda’s talk of the usefulness of a liaison between Sparta and Mycenae, of trade, of allies, flashed through my mind. Agamemnon was a clever man. I already knew that. Knew he must have considered all these factors before his proposal, however romantic it was.

  Well, I had considered them as well. He was a man I desired with all my being, and I had learned today I was a more complex creature than I had imagined. Agamemnon was someone I knew and wanted, so I wouldn’t be doomed to the exile my mother had foretold. If this liaison came with advantages for all parties, then so much the better.

  “I suppose you’d better talk to my father,” I said turning towards him.

  As a first kiss it wasn’t bad. There were some adjustments to be made because our noses bunted in the middle of the attempt, but once I understood the angles involved, I was able to tilt my head and allow my lips to open to his in a very satisfactory manner.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  THE WAR TO RECLAIM MYCENAE WAS not what I had expected. I had been taught that battle-line supremacy depends on the strength of the phalanx and the courage of the warrior. I had imagined a campaign of spears, swords, death, courage and at the end, noble grief and loss. So deep is our respect for the heroic ideal, Spartan women tell their sons to come back carrying their shields, or borne upon them.

  It took me some while to understand the words the messengers brought back, so foreign was this new way of thinking. This was a different type of war.

  Scouts were sent to Mycenae to understand and assess the level of support for Thyestes and Aegisthus. Inevitably, there were noble houses who had been disadvantaged when Atreus had been usurped, and loss of wealth, land and status had caused resentments that had lasted years.

  These prospective allies identified, Agamemnon’s agents went in to make contact and sell the advantages of alliance with the true heir to the throne of Atreus. I don’t believe these agents were subtle. Once the heir had been agreed on, any attempt to back away from totally committed support for Agamemnon was met with derision. Sitting on the fence was not an option. A failure to support Agamemnon could result in an unfortunate breach in security resulting in files of families and individual names falling into Thyestes’ hands. This imperative spread, by some subtle process, into the general population.

  Then a smear campaign launched through every tavern and brothel in the kingdom spread scandals about Thyestes and his son, and lauded the ‘true’ ruler, Agamemnon. The marketplaces, the gymnasiums, the temples and festivals were all opportunities for Agamemnon’s agents to spread the word, and the words were foul: impiety and sacrilege were the least of the accusations. No wonder, went the gossip, Mycenae had been having a bad time with its weather, trade and the harvests. Thyestes and his son had angered the gods.

  When Thyestes became aware of the scandals being circulated, it was too late for him to respond. Any attempt to counter such rumours sounded like weakness.

  By the time Agamemnon’s forces, augmented by Sparta’s might, invaded Achea, the population was grateful to return to a simpler form of politics. The invasion was nearly bloodless apart from the assault on the palace itself. I believe Agamemnon would have felt cheated if he hadn’t had to battle some actual foes.

  The palace guards tried their best, but there was little they could do against the combined strength of Sparta a
nd the Mycenean troops who had defected. There were few casualties as Agamemnon took Atreus’s throne as his own. Thyestes’ body was found in the palace, surrounded by those troops who had remained loyal. Aegisthus had fled.

  * * *

  When news of the successful rout of Thyestes arrived, I was ecstatic. I celebrated with my sisters in the mess, and then again with my parents. Naturally, there were more women than men present at the celebrations as our warriors were still away with Agamemnon.

  I grappled with the form the invasion had taken. I had envisaged a bloody campaign, with all the glory of heroic deeds and honourable combat. As itinerant messengers revealed aspects of the campaign, I felt less clear about Agamemnon’s methods. This was success, but it wasn’t the Spartan way. We understand and even applaud trickery and deceit. It is part of our warriors’ training to live off the land and steal what is needed, punishment for such theft only occurring if caught. The war in Mycenae was, I supposed, an extension of the concept, but the campaign seemed less clean, less honourable and less manly than the war stories told by minstrels.

  Where was the challenge of single combat? The drama of two heroes valiantly defending their kingdoms armed with their fighting skills and the favour of the gods?

  I said as much to Leda. “It’s not what I imagined being a warrior was all about.”

  She smiled at me. “It’s called politics, Nestra. Men like to carry on about their warrior code but the truth is usually much more complex. We need the minstrels to burnish the tale and turn it into the heroic sagas we like to listen to.”

  I realised I was being a simple girl. Agamemnon had known what was best for the campaign, so I kept my thoughts to myself and tried to grow into a sophisticated woman who would understand this way of doing things. I wanted to make Agamemnon proud of the girl he would make his wife.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  I WAITED FOR A YEAR. FROM THE north we heard news that Agamemnon, having subdued his own capital, was now marching on neighbouring kingdoms, aggressively extending his territory. My father’s Spartan troops were with him throughout his campaign.

  I had passed my final school exams with distinction and was now a free and independent citizen of Sparta and ready for marriage. I had little to do but enjoy myself. I trained in the mornings to keep up my fitness and visited or picnicked with friends, most of whom were now promised in marriage. The next few months would be busy with wedding celebrations.

  One day I caught my father watching me in a speculative way and imagined he was planning my future. I went willingly when he summoned me, assuming Agamemnon had finally asked for my hand.

  Tyndareus was pacing up and down the hall in front of where Leda sat quiet and composed in her chair. Sun filtered through the window and turned her hair to gold. My father’s shadow prowled the sunlit areas on the floor. He turned as I entered.

  “You asked for me, Father.”

  “Yes, come in, Nestra.” He stopped both his pacing and his speaking, as if he didn’t quite know how to continue. He glanced at my mother before continuing. “I have received an offer of marriage for you.”

  I could hardly restrain my smile and was wondering how to phrase my willing acceptance when he continued, “It comes from Tantalus, King of Pisa, in the western Peloponnese.”

  “Who?” I blurted, too startled to phrase my question more elegantly.

  “King Tantalus,” said my mother drily. “He rules Pisa, as your father has just said.”

  I glanced at her. Her voice was flat, but her eyes sympathetic.

  I stared at my parents in horror. “I’ve never heard of him. Why would he want to marry me?”

  “He has heard that you are beautiful, dutiful and a pearl among women,” said Tyndareus, apparently quoting something he had been told. “His messenger arrived this morning. He offers you his heart, his hand and his kingdom.”

  “But I don’t know him. I don’t want to marry a stranger, someone I’ve never met.” I felt all my certainties and plans for the future fall away in a slide of terror. I knew daughters could, indeed, be forced to marry men they didn’t know or love. Secure in the promises Agamemnon had made, I hadn’t considered that possibility for myself.

  “I don’t know much about the man either,” admitted my father. He looked at Leda. “I want to find out more about this suitor. We need to know what he offers, what sort of man he is and whether he would be a good match for our daughter.”

  Leda smiled at him. “I know you will choose wisely,” she said. Then she looked at me. “You can trust your father, Nestra. He will not let you go to a bad or unloving husband.”

  “No,” agreed Tyndareus. “Such arrangements and negotiations are not achieved in a couple of days. There is a lot involved in choosing the husband for a Spartan princess. There are alliances that can be brokered and need to be considered. There are so many benefits your marriage can achieve for your country,” he said. I could see him firing up with enthusiasm.

  “I will meet with the messenger again tomorrow to learn more about this proposal and about the king who sends it. It’s the first offer, Nestra, and needs to be looked at carefully. I wanted you to know the process has started.”

  He looked again at his wife, as if seeking agreement. “I have decided to send messengers out to the kingdoms to announce that Sparta has a princess available to be wooed and won. The Gymnopaedia starts in a full moon’s time. Guests will be invited to attend and present their case for your hand, and the successful suitor will be announced at the end of the games. We could receive other offers, better maybe, or some worse. I will consider carefully for you.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to be impertinent, then decided I had nothing to lose by speaking the truth. “Agamemnon told me he would offer for me. He told me that before he went off to Mycenae.”

  “Agamemnon?” Tyndareus paused for thought. “Well, that could be a good match, I suppose. I like the boy, although I would have thought that for you it would be like marrying a brother.” He must have seen something in my face. “No? We have many political interests in common, of course, and our troops have campaigned together in the war with Mycenae over the last few months. Yes, we could consider an offer from Agamemnon.”

  Leda shifted in her seat but said nothing.

  “But he hasn’t asked me for your hand, Nestra. It’s possible he has changed his mind. He’s been gone a year. Don’t set your heart on someone you may not win, my girl.”

  He looked at my downcast face and added, “But the messengers will be going to Mycenae as well as to the other kingdoms. If Agamemnon is truly interested, now is the time for him to declare himself.”

  With that I had no choice but to smile politely and leave my parents to their planning. I wondered if Leda had engineered this approach from Tantalus. I couldn’t fathom how she could have done so, but I knew she didn’t favour Agamemnon.

  I was so panicked I felt sick. I rushed back to the quiet of my room and struggled for calm. The future I had considered a certainty was at risk. I weighed up my options for some time.

  They came down to only two choices. I could send a courier to Agamemnon asking him to redeem the pledge he had given me, or I could accept whichever king or princeling my parents chose from the pool of suitors.

  Neither appealed. Was I to beg Agamemnon to honour his promise? I thought not. He’d had a year or more to send word to Tyndareus. If I counted so little in his plans, then maybe I was better off without him. There might, after all, be some adventure in securing a new lover.

  At this point I found myself in tears. I was trying to use the logic imprinted by our schooling, but it was failing me badly. I had thought Agamemnon cherished me; I thought he loved me, wanted me.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t put Sparta’s needs above my own. I thought marriage to Agamemnon would satisfy all the requirements. With the exception of Leda, and possibly of the slave Clymene, who didn’t count, I thought we would all be happ
y.

  Now there was the strong probability that, within a month, I would be a stranger’s bride and end up in some wretched, distant kingdom, with no hope of ever seeing my home again. I felt, with some stringency, the way Leda’s life had panned out. She had never been back to the place she had, in her childhood, called home. I wondered if she missed it, if there was some part of her that felt forever an alien in Sparta.

  Eventually I collapsed face first onto my bed and remained there, refusing comfort or contact for some hours.

  Later, my maids, silly as they were, decided the only way to break my self-imposed isolation was to ask my family to intervene. I was, I suppose, fortunate they approached Helen. If they had tackled my mother, then maybe our futures would have been different.

  * * *

  Helen arrived an hour later with her maid Aethra in tow, the latter carrying a flagon of chilled wine. I had never managed to feel comfortable around her or Phisiades, but I understood they served Helen well. As I had predicted, they were safe and comfortable in Leda’s household and appeared to have adapted to their fate.

  Helen listened to what Tyndareus had said. She gave a grin when I mentioned my agreement with Agamemnon. “What if two sisters married two brothers?” she murmured.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  “Nothing,” giggled Helen, “just an idle thought, of no importance. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I thought perhaps I should send a message to Agamemnon, reminding him of his words.”

  “By Aphrodite, no,” said my sister. “If he doesn’t want you as his wife then pestering him isn’t going to change his mind, and you’ll only look foolish. You mustn’t put yourself in that position.” She grinned at me. “Men have to desire us. We have to be chaste and chased.”

  I rolled my eyes. The wretched girl was only fourteen. Still, as Agamemnon had predicted, Helen was turning into a very beautiful woman and developing a range of skills to cope with the admiration she received. For all my four-year seniority, there were times when Helen appeared the more experienced.