Helen Had a Sister

by Penelope Haines

  Still, I had overheard Odysseus tell my husband he wanted a quick resolution to the problem. Penelope had given him a son, and Odysseus wanted to be around to watch the lad grow up.

  “I can’t see Odysseus willingly joining your composite army,” I said to Agamemnon. “He’s very much a man who makes his own way. He’s much too confident of his own abilities to want to be part of some mass war effort.”

  Agamemnon grunted. “He’ll be there for the same reason the rest are. He knows he can’t, in honour, break his oath. He would be seen to be forsworn before both men and gods, and Odysseus is a man to whom honour matters. He’s tricky and clever, but he knows he can’t renege on his given word and keep respect.”

  The plans for the campaign had been refined, and now the army and the fleet needed to transport it, were to assemble at Aulis. I gave fervent thanks to whoever had proposed that location. I felt sorry for the good citizens of Aulis, but I didn’t want the army any nearer Mycenae.

  Agamemnon had appointed himself commander of the army. There is an old saying that wherever two Greeks gather together, you will find ten differing opinions. I wondered if Agamemnon had considered his position might be challenged. I couldn’t imagine Idomeneus of Crete, for one, bowing his head to an Achean, given the history of warfare between the nations.

  We had heard nothing from Troy about either Helen or Paris. I just had to hope that she had arrived safely, was happy and that the fates would unravel the knots she had tied us in.

  The town and our palace was suddenly a place of men. Warriors swarmed in from the surrounding countryside and kingdoms, augmenting the standing army. With them came their attendants, slaves and retinue. The town outside the citadel stretched at the seams trying to accommodate the influx. Brothels and wine shops did a roaring trade.

  I passed Myrto one morning as he climbed the steps to the palace. I’d seen little of him. His role was to keep discipline in the camp that stretched out on the plain below the citadel.

  “Good morning,” I greeted him, noticing how tired he looked. “How is it going?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m out of patience and very short on temper. Every little warrior, convinced he’s a hero, is giving himself airs and graces. Their retinues are no better, and I’m supposed to be the voice of reason. I’ve spent a watch persuading a shiftless group of Argolites that it would be in everyone’s best interests if they worked alongside the Acheans to dig latrine trenches. They all have to shit the same, but can they work together? No. Every petty skirmish and border wrong over the last three hundred years is trotted out to prove they can’t both stick a shovel in the earth and dig a ditch together. The gods spare me from these fools.”

  I grimaced in sympathy.

  “Agamemnon is going to have his hands full keeping this lot together. They could kill each other long before they ever see a Trojan. Each petty princeling has his own axe to grind. The sooner they leave our shores, the better.”

  I agreed. Life, on a purely domestic basis, was becoming frustrating.

  Every tradesman and artisan was caught up in the excitement, all their efforts devoted to the war. Every smithy was turning out weapons or sharpening blades; leatherworkers were fixing horse ware and armour. It was impossible for a housewife to get a pot riveted or a pair of sandals mended, and harried workers were quite unable to say when normal service would resume.

  The palace, usually a place of calm, was overrun. It seemed every room of my home was suddenly occupied with warriors having meetings about strategy, provisioning, political considerations and outcomes. The halls had turned into a de facto marketplace as traders competed for commissions on everything from provisioning ships to providing tents for the army.

  The poor slaves were worked off their feet running errands for all and sundry, and the kitchens groaned with the effort of producing enough food for all who dined in the palace at night.

  I kept Iphigenia well away from the public areas of the palace. Keeping control of the younger children was harder. Electra had picked up on the excitement and wanted to spend her day trailing her father; Orestes fancied himself a warrior. He had a small wooden sword with which he challenged any passing soldier. Most were happy to oblige the little boy for a few minutes, but I kept a close watch on him to see he didn’t make a nuisance of himself.

  Menelaus and Odysseus returned. I sat beside Agamemnon in the hall and listened.

  “We were well received with all the ceremony due to ambassadors. Priam and Hector were courteous,” reported Odysseus. “They allowed us to meet with Helen so we could assure ourselves she was well.”

  “Is she coming back?” I asked.

  Menelaus shook his head sadly. “The Trojans say she made a choice to come to them, and therefore she has all the privileges of a guest. They will not return her, nor force her to leave.”

  “But what did Helen say?” I asked. “Is she happy?”

  Menelaus and Odysseus looked at each other for a moment before Menelaus dropped his eyes.

  Odysseus answered, “We understood, from what Helen said, that she was content with her life in Troy, and happy with Paris. She expressed no regret, but asked Menelaus to send her love to her daughter.”

  I sat back in my chair and gave an involuntary snort of disgust. I really didn’t understand Helen at all.

  “We picked up a story doing the rounds of the marketplace. It seems Paris was given Helen as a prize by the goddess Aphrodite,” Odysseus said.

  Agamemnon gave a crack of laughter. “What nonsense is this?”

  Menelaus glared at his brother. “It’s not funny. This is my wife they’re talking about.”

  Agamemnon inclined his head apologetically. “Carry on, Odysseus.”

  “The tale is that three goddesses – Hera, Athena and Aphrodite – decided to have a beauty contest and chose Paris to be the judge. Aphrodite bribed Paris by telling him if he voted for her, she would give him the most beautiful woman in the world as his prize. Helen is reputed to be the most beautiful woman, so she became Paris’s prize.”

  “Are you serious?” I couldn’t help myself. “What a load of nonsense.”

  Odysseus cocked his head at me. “Nonsense maybe, but I see a process of rationalisation here. We no longer have the sordid tale of a runaway wife betraying her husband, which is the obvious way of looking at the problem. Instead, Helen is now a prize, bestowed by a goddess on Paris, and therefore on Troy. To hand her back would be discourteous to the goddess.”

  “Does anyone believe this?” asked Agamemnon.

  Odysseus shrugged. “I very much doubt if Hector or Priam do. I got the impression they both realised Helen was a catalyst for a war which has been brewing for a while. The people in the town though, yes, I think they believe the tale, even if only because it gives them a sense of superiority over the Greeks. It may not be strictly true, but it must be metaphorically so, or else how would Helen be in Troy? The argument becomes circular.”

  “So, it’s war,” said Agamemnon with some satisfaction.

  “Before you commit yourself to that course,” said Odysseus, “I suggest you take the time to think this through very carefully. Agamemnon, I looked at Troy’s defences and they are imposing. There is no guarantee that a Greek force could win. We would be fighting with our backs to the sea, the Scamander River on one flank, and most of all, we’re against the city of Troy, which occupies the higher ground and so has a clear advantage. If we can’t persuade the Trojans to leave their city and fight us in the open – and why would they? – we are going to be forced into a siege that could take years to resolve.”

  I saw a look of annoyance pass over Agamemnon’s face, but before he could reply Menelaus interrupted. “I don’t care about this. By Zeus, I want my erring wife back, that’s all. Can we please remember this is what the discussion is all about?”

  Agamemnon and Odysseus exchanged glances. Menelaus never was that smart.

  “The sailing seaso
n for this year is over,” remarked Odysseus. “You can’t take an army across to Troy for the next few months anyway, even if you do assemble a force in Aulis. Agamemnon, I urge you to take time and think carefully about this matter. The Trojans will have months to prepare for conflict.”

  My husband shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” He sat, drumming his fingers on his knee.

  “Thank you, Odysseus,” I said. “I am grateful for the news of my sister, even if she persists in her stubbornness. Gods, I hope she is going to be all right!”

  Odysseus looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Oh, I think your sister will do very well, Nestra. Very well indeed.”

  Later that afternoon, as Iphigenia and I were strolling in the gardens, we found Odysseus sitting staring into the far distance. He looked up when he saw us and smiled.

  “May we join you?”

  He nodded, and I sat beside him on the seat. Iphigenia sat on the balustrade across from us.

  “What’s the smell?” she asked, sniffing the air.

  “Basil,” said Odysseus. “I picked a sprig to sniff, but I’ve been fiddling and wrecked it.” He opened his hands and let the crushed leaves fall to the floor.

  “Were you thinking profound thoughts?” I asked.

  “I was certainly deep in thought; I can’t claim any were profound,” he said smiling.

  “What do you think of this proposed war with Troy?” I asked.

  Odysseus gave me a guarded look. “You were there this morning and heard what I said to Agamemnon.”

  “Yes, I know what you said,” I replied impatiently, “but are you for the war? Do you personally support it?”

  “Yes, I support it.”

  I frowned. “I thought you said it would be hard to win and could take a long siege. So why do you think it’s a good idea? Do you really think we should fight to get Helen back?”

  “You’re not asking the right questions,” he said. “I couldn’t care less about hauling Helen back from Paris’s bed. Nor am I interested in trade and whether Troy and Mycenae compete for it like dogs over a bone.”

  “Then why?”

  Odysseus sighed. “For peace.” He saw my incomprehension. “I’m ruler of a very small kingdom situated on a small island. I have a wife and a son. We have few resources, but even so, some day a bored warlord will decide that Ithaca could be a nice addition to his kingdom and will invade us. The few warriors that represent my army would be defeated in minutes and my lands conquered. There would be no independent Ithaca left for my son to inherit.”

  “How would war with Troy prevent that?” frowned Iphigenia.

  “Because, my dear, such a war will take the combined armed forces of all our warring kingdoms and send them across the Aegean Sea. There’ll be no bored armies left here preying on their neighbours. Any warriors seeking glory and plunder will be at Troy. With luck, Ithaca could have peace for another generation.”

  “Oh,” said Iphigenia.

  I mirrored her surprise, although such tortuous thinking was typical of Odysseus.

  “There’s one flaw in your argument,” I said at last.

  His eyes crinkled. “What’s that?”

  “You’ll be one of the warriors bound for Troy. You won’t get to enjoy your peaceful island with your wife and son.”

  He laughed and stood up. “Yes,” he said, “I’m working on that problem.” He grinned at us as he walked away.

  “Give my love to Penelope,” I called after him.

  “Did he mean that?” asked Iphigenia after some minutes.

  “Oh, I think so,” I said. “It’s really quite ingenious if you think about it.”

  We resumed our walk.

  “It’s unusual for a warrior not to want to go to war, though, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “It’s what they spend their lives training for,” I said. “They aren’t much use for anything else. Your father can’t even find his sandals by himself but stands there saying they’re lost, until one of the slaves gets them from under the bed.”

  “I thought being a warrior was a good thing?” persisted my daughter.

  “Of course it is,” I replied. “Fighting for the honour of your king and country is the most noble and honourable thing a man can do with his life.” Although Odysseus’s words might bear some thinking about. They echoed those I’d heard from the townspeople.

  “Then does that make Odysseus a coward?”

  “I’ve never heard anyone accuse him of being one. I shouldn’t think so.” I gave a little laugh. “Odysseus has always been unusual. He’s the cleverest man I know. Your father would do well to listen to his advice.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  I WAS WORRIED ABOUT HELEN BUT DIDN'T care much about Troy, our trading patterns, or the glory and gain of a campaign. I did, however, respect Odysseus. If he had doubts about the wisdom of this campaign, I was prepared to listen.

  Unlike my husband. Agamemnon didn’t listen, of course. His mind was made up. He wanted a swipe at Troy’s trade and dominance in the area, and Helen’s rescue had provided the perfect excuse.

  Agamemnon was everywhere: in the planning room, at trade displays, bartering with suppliers. I didn’t know how effective he was. I suspected Adrastus and Amarynceus, his Achean subcommanders, quietly and efficiently did most of the work that actually got the army provisioned and ready for war. Agamemnon’s constant interference and inconsistencies would have driven me to murder, but they seemed to manage. At least no one could doubt my husband’s commitment and enthusiasm for the campaign.

  Every evening when we’d retired to our bed, he’d vent his frustrations about other commanders, suppliers and the inadequacy and unreliability of almost everyone else in Greece. Agamemnon could sulk better than anyone else I knew, and swing from wild enthusiasm to deep gloom. Clearly Electra inherited her father’s temperament. I was heartily sick of his problems – most of which, I was convinced, were caused by his own organisational errors – and did my best to shut my ears to the constant drone of complaint.

  I was also getting fed up with the beefy warriors cluttering the town, with all their attendant problems and complications. It was a relief when Agamemnon finally set the date for assembly at Aulis.

  The whole town turned out to wave the troops away. Most seemed to think the campaign with Troy would be over in a couple of months and sent their men off cheerfully. I, at least, knew they could hardly leave Aulis before then, let alone reach Troy, sack the city and return. I assumed they would be gone for a year. Still, I kept quiet, and stood along with all the other women and children watching the troops depart. Beside me Iphigenia waved happily, while Electra and Orestes cried for their daddy.

  It says something about our marriage that Agamemnon and I were so relaxed about being apart for such a long term. I would miss him, of course, but I had the children and the work of running Mycenae during his absence. I suspected there would be little time for pining for an absent husband.

  Agamemnon had left Myrto with me to help manage affairs. We were a seasoned team now, both knowing each other’s strengths and weakness. Myrto’s eldest son was going with the troops. I didn’t ask but suspected Myrto was pleased enough to be able to stay at home and leave dreams of glory to his son. He was a family man, through and through, torn between pride in his son and concern for his wellbeing in the campaign.

  As I stood waving I was aware of the undercurrents flowing through the crowd. The storekeepers from the markets were, frankly, in mourning. They had traded more in the last four months than most had in their working lives. The troops’ disappearance meant their cash flow went too. A few venturesome souls, both traders and whores, had elected to travel in the army’s train and set up new businesses when they settled in Boetia for the winter.

  I smiled at a woman I knew, a midwife in the town. Her husband was one of the soldiers.

  “There’ll be a boom in my busi
ness in nine months’ time,” she declared cheerfully. “After that there’ll be a gap, or at least,” she grinned, “there’d better be a gap until the troops come home again.”

  I nodded. The whores and wine shops were in for a lean winter. The farmers would be busy for months cleaning up fields the army had churned up camping on their land. They would need to get the ground ready in time for spring planting. Stock numbers were down. Many farms had been predated by hungry troops, and it would take time to restore flock numbers. Mycenae was uncharacteristically low in food reserves after provisioning boats and troops for the campaign, and feeding all the men over summer. We would need a good harvest next year.

  Worst of all, labour units were down. I imagined that every farm, every little shop, every minor commercial enterprise had some young man who hoped to find adventure, fame and glory on a foreign battlefield. The young had signed up for the campaign in droves. For every warrior who hoped to be a hero, there would be ten others who provided essential services to the army.

  Cooks, builders, brickmakers, blacksmiths and healers. There was a place for them all, and a certainty of use for them in the future.

  We watched them march through the gates, Calchas amongst them as their official soothsayer. I climbed up the rise to the top terraces and followed the progress of the bright banners across the plain towards the sea. They turned into a smudge on the horizon as they headed for the Gulf of Saron, and I turned away. There was a lot of work to do to bring some order back into both town and countryside.

  A messenger told us later that as they set sail two eagles, one black, one white, flew by on the starboard side. Then in sight of the entire fleet, they swooped on a pregnant hare and devoured both it and its unborn young. It was a complex and threatening image.

  Calchas hastily interpreted this as a sign from the gods. The eagles were Menelaus and Agamemnon, and the unfortunate hare with its young was Troy, which they would capture and destroy.