by Mike Ashley
This stirring appeal had no effect.
‘I shall find out who the man was,’ I told her conversationally, ‘and then I shall tell Paris. Now Hector, as you know, doesn’t like anyone upsetting Paris, especially mere women. There’s strong support in Troy for making peace with the Greeks, and so if I could think of a good reason for my husband Mighty Priam to throw you out of Troy, it might be very helpful.’
She paled, and I knew I was home and dry.
I cooed a little. ‘Tell me the truth, beauteous Helen, and this shall be kept between ourselves. If you refuse, I shall make a convincing story about your unfaithfulness with a marketman and demand my son’s vengeance on you.’
‘Very well,’ she agreed sullenly. ‘But promise by Artemis that you won’t tell.’
I’ve nothing against the goddess of the chase even though, not having caught anyone, she’s still a virgin, so I did so, hoping Artemis was having a nap and couldn’t check on who I was.
‘It’s Marmedes.’ Helen squinted at me to see how I was taking it.
For a moment it didn’t register, but when it did . . .
‘He’s a Greek,’ I shrieked. ‘And isn’t he Chief of Staff to Diomedes?’ The immortal goddess nearly exploded out of Hecuba’s shape to put in a chit for an authorized thunderbolt straight away.
Diomedes, King of Argos, was the villain who had dared to wound a goddess! Me! This is strictly against the rules, but Pallas Athene, bless her welded iron chastity belt, had given him special dispensation. All because I swept into the battle to rescue my darling son Aeneas from death at Diomedes’ hands. What mother would do otherwise? And just for that he wounded me in my hand, so that some of the immortal ichor flowed and it hurt and I had to run weeping to Paean for a pharmaka to cure it.
And here was Helen, who owed me everything, having it off (I was quite sure) with his Chief of Staff. I had to step carefully, however, remembering I was Hecuba.
‘And what is a Greek doing in Troy? You, daughter-in-law, were consorting with a spy?’
‘Oh, no!’
‘He had come to steal you back for Menelaus?’
‘No. He rather fancies me himself. In fact, we are in love,’ she cried recklessly. ‘Or were.’ She cried anew, making her eyes red, so I knew she meant it.
‘Love?’ I said incredulously. ‘Paris is supposed to be your one and only true love – that’s what this whole war is about.’
‘I’ve been here for ten years,’ she pointed out crossly. ‘Surely I can see one of my own countrymen occasionally?’
‘How occasionally?’
‘Only three times a week,’ she told me complacently. ‘He disguised himself as a melon-seller and came in at the Scaean Gate at nine o’sundial when it is opened for the marketmen to enter. At noon I went for my walk along the walls, and we met in one of the tower guardhouses.’
‘Did the guards notice?’ I enquired sarcastically.
‘There is only one guard, for the tower looks out on the open plain, not towards the Greek encampment. We bribed him. I left Marmedes at four, and came back to meet Paris after his councils of war with your honoured husband.’
‘Husband?’ I repeated, thinking for a moment she meant Hephaestus.
‘I’m sorry, Great Queen. Mighty Priam, King of Troy.’ She mistook my bewilderment for disapproval, luckily. ‘Marmedes then returned to the market and left with the other stall-holders at dusk.’
‘And when did you last see this magnificent specimen of manhood?’
‘Two days ago. I left the tower as usual at four, and was expecting to see him at noon today. And now he’s out there, dead.’
‘And in Anchises’ clothes,’ I pointed out. ‘Marmedes was a Greek and a spy. Possibly a murderer, who killed Anchises and was then killed himself.’
‘So it hardly seems worth investigating,’ Helen informed me hopefully.
That’s my daughter-in-law, or rather Hecuba’s. Love flies out the window when her own rosy-hued skin is threatened. She wasn’t getting off so easily. My rosy-hued skin was of far more importance.
‘Daughter, a human life has been taken. And where is Anchises? Marmedes’ murderer may know. We must hunt him down.’
‘Marmedes was a dear. He wouldn’t even kill a scorpion, let alone Anchises.’
‘Who else knew of your trysts besides the guard?’
‘I told no one.’
‘Paris never suspected?’
‘He would never dream I could look at anyone other than him.’ She wriggled complacently.
I let this pass. ‘And if he did?’
‘He would kill him, or ask Hector to do it for him – oh!’ She exclaimed at her own words, but I thought she had seen someone outside. Looking out, I could see, to my horror, the old queen herself staggering back towards the palace after her session with Cassandra at the Temple of Athene. Fat lot of use offering good goats at her shrine. A more dedicated Greek supporter I have yet to see, and if she found out that the corpse on Ida was not a Trojan but Marmedes, she’d be after my ichor.
I quickly withdrew from my chamber on the pretext of an old woman’s call of nature – how fortunate we immortals are not to have to worry about such matters, though I’ve often wondered where all that nectar goes – and whisked my bright blue dress away, just as Hecuba clad in orange swept in. I grinned to myself. Let the ladies sort it out. I had more important ambrosia to fry.
I removed myself quickly to Aeneas’ own house within the palace complex, where his precocious young son Iulus was marching around with a himation wrapped round his shoulders, and Aeneas’ ceremonial large-brimmed hat, pretending to be Priam. I am not fond of my grandson and could not have swept in at a more convenient moment. ‘You mock my husband, Iulus?’
‘Great Queen.’ Aeneas went bright red, clipped Iulus round the ears, and abased himself.
‘Never mind,’ I told him graciously, ‘I need your help, Aeneas.’
I saw his face change, as he realized it was still me.
‘We are going to interview a guard. The corpse was Helen’s lover, a Greek, Chief of Staff to Diomedes. You remember him?’
He flushed; he is always so ridiculously sensitive about being rescued from death in battle by his mother.
‘He was a spy – here?’ he growled.
‘He disguised himself as one of the market-sellers, and was in the habit of meeting Helen from noon to four in one of the guardhouses. I am quite sure Helen was betrayed by the guard to someone. Once he tells us who it was, we have our murderer.’
‘Why don’t you leave this to me, mother? It is my duty as a son to find out what has happened to my honoured father.’
‘Because –’ I broke off. This was confidential Olympus business. Instead I said, ‘It is known that I support Troy in this war. If Troy is not to fall, then this murderer must be found.’
‘Troy fall?’ He smote his chest. ‘Zeus defend us.’
‘It’s no use asking the impossible,’ I replied shortly. ‘Hera is browbeating him all the time to help her support the Greeks. This business must be settled quickly, or it’s curtains for Troy.’
And for Aphrodite, I thought with a shiver of fear as we walked around the walls. I was nevertheless rather enjoying masquerading as a mortal, as a queen anyway. It’s not much fun masquerading as a slave – so difficult to have any choice of lovers.
We reached the guardhouse Helen had described and tried to enter the tower room. It was locked. Aeneas threw himself valiantly against the door, hurting himself needlessly. Goddesses do have their uses. I whisked us both inside, only to find that the guard wasn’t going to be telling us anything. He was dead, slumped over the table, the remains of a meal strewn around. I have seldom been more frustrated. I even considered a quick trip down to the River Styx to have a word with Charon before the corpse crossed the river. A glance at the corpse, however, told me he had been dead too long. He was already over the river, past Cerberus and safely in Hades. Somebody had thoughtfully placed his boat f
are, two coins, in his mouth, and Charon is such a greedy old so-and-so he doesn’t always wait for the body to be buried before he grabs his ill-gotten gains.
‘Poisoned,’ said Aeneas grimly. ‘Henbane or atropine probably. There’s a thriving black market in it.’
‘It’s terrible,’ I said indignantly. ‘I remember this poor guard.’ I did indeed. Only two years ago I decided to requite his love for a young priestess, and Pallas Athene had stomped around in a temper for days.
‘Poor man, indeed. I wonder which of them it was?’
‘Hector, Paris, Helenus or Priam,’ I mused. ‘Marmedes was dressed in Anchises’ clothes. How could that happen, Aeneas?’ I was getting worried, for it was getting on for afternoon nectar time and Zeus would be expecting an interim report from me.
‘Only those with houses within the royal complex could get hold of them. If Father suspected a plan was afoot to kill him, he might well have escaped and be in hiding. I believe they dressed this stranger in his clothes, so that the Trojans should think him dead. As I suggested earlier, Mother,’ he said reproachfully, as if I were a birdbrain.
It was then that I had my second brilliant idea.
‘Hail, Mighty Zeus, Son of –’
‘Where the Hades have you been, Aphrodite? I’ve had both Iris and Hermes out looking for you. Found out whose that body is yet?’ Father was stomping angrily around the Hall of the Marble Columns.
‘Helen, your daughter,’ I said meaningfully, ‘has identified him as Diomedes’ Chief of Staff.’ Father chortled, anger suddenly evaporated. ‘And her lover.’
He stopped chortling and roared again instead. ‘How can the Greeks sack Troy to regain Helen if she’s just taken a Greek lover? This is your doing, Aphrodite.’
‘Me?’
Even he realized he was being unjust and patted me absentmindedly. ‘There, there, just arrange to lead that Egyptian shepherd-girl to me with your girdle and we’ll say no more about it.’
‘Thank you, Great Zeus,’ I muttered savagely.
‘But you’re still going to Hades till you find out exactly what happened.’
‘I have!’ I cried hastily, just as my third brainwave blessed me. ‘The vital question is why Marmedes should be dressed in Anchises’ clothes. He must have been killed by someone who had easy access within the palace complex both to them and to Anchises. To have Anchises thought dead would be very handy for the House of Priam. What, you will ask,’ – I was getting quite carried away – ‘became of the Greek’s clothes? I will tell you. Anchises is wearing them – he’s been despatched by Priam as a spy into the Greek camp.’
Unfortunately I had not reckoned on the effect this would have on Father. The famous sable brows shot up to the Mighty Hairline. ‘But he might learn the Greek plans!’
I hastily backtracked. ‘Not a chance. Aeneas inherited his lack of brains from somebody, you know.’
He seemed about to say something, but changed his mind. ‘Find Anchises –’
‘But you can do that,’ I said indignantly. ‘You’re all-seeing Zeus whenever you want to be.’
‘I promised Hera an evening in the Golden Bed,’ he muttered. ‘I deserve some free time.’
My heart sank. In my view, chasing every mortal woman who hasn’t got a squint and three legs, is not an occupation. ‘Very well, I’ll do it,’ I said bravely.
‘And while you’re about it, find out which of those blasted Trojans decided they could run the war better than me!’
Was it Paris of the once golden skin, Helenus of the slim sexy body, flashing-armoured Hector, or mighty Priam himself? I sank onto my azure silken-sheeted bed and thought about my plan of action. How was I to proceed? I couldn’t keep impersonating Hecuba, and to go as my goddess self would terrify everyone into silence, innocent or guilty. Idly I ran my hand over the sheets – then I knew exactly how to get Helenus’ story out of him – through my own charms. So I could go as myself.
I quickly had the Graces run me up a nice little number in lilac and then dress my hair with hyacinths to match my eyes with darling little irises in between. I perfumed my body with rose oil, stretched sensuously, and peered down to earth. I concentrated all my powers on Helenus to see what he was doing. (This sort of thing takes it out of us, so we can’t do it too often.)
He was in the baths. I had wondered about Helenus’ body for some time – and I was right. Delicious. I promptly magicked his slaves away.
‘Where are you?’ he yelled to them, cross at having to towel his magnificent bronzed body himself.
‘Here I am,’ I called in a low husky voice, gracefully materializing with my aura circulating round him madly. He was so overwhelmed by my beauty he tried to seek the nearest way out. Silly boy. I led him to a couch and laid him down, sat at his side and finished the towelling for him, gently, slowly, tantalizingly. By the time I had finished we were both more than ready for what was to come, and he had quite forgotten his awe of being clasped in a goddess’s arms. He was so good a lover that I almost considered binding him with my girdle so that he would fall in love with me, but decided against it. It might be a hindrance in my investigation. As he lay in my arms afterwards, I cooed gently at him:
‘Where do you spend your afternoons, Helenus?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ he murmured sleepily.
It must be a woman. ‘Then unseal them, dearest, and tell me where you were three afternoons ago.’
‘Oh, great goddess, thou knowest all without my telling.’
‘That is a misconception,’ I replied crossly. ‘We can’t watch everything at once.’
Helenus is an intelligent young man as well as sexy. He raised himself on one elbow, stroked my left breast and grinned. ‘It’s about that lover of Helen’s, isn’t it?’
‘So you knew about him!’ I exclaimed.
‘We all did, Hector, Paris – and Father.’
‘And which one of you killed him and took the body overnight to Mount Ida to incriminate me?’ I asked grimly, having explained Helen and Marmedes’ timetable.
‘Not me. I was with a lady friend that afternoon.’
‘By name of –?’
He hesitated. ‘You won’t be jealous. Or tell . . .?’
I could hardly claim, as his hand seemed to be travelling downwards, that I was here primarily in a professional capacity.
‘Never. We gods are above petty mortal emotions.’ It was an old line, but it worked.
‘It was Creusa.’
‘What?’ I sat up indignantly, forgetting for a second all about that delightful hand. ‘But she’s my daughter-in-law. I thought you had your eye on Hector’s Andromache.’
He grinned. ‘I’m saying nothing.’
I tried to shame him by sighing, ‘What will become of my beloved Troy if such shenanigans go on within the royal house?’
‘Ah, that I can tell you. It will fall.’
I had forgotten Helenus’ great gift. Like that little madam, his sister Cassandra, he has second sight. A direct line to Zeus, you might say. Father hadn’t even told us yet.
‘Why? Because of your philandering?’
‘I see only the result, not the reasons or means. Creusa will back up my story.’
‘It hardly matters,’ I said sulkily, ‘if Troy is to fall.’
‘Before it does,’ he offered enticingly, his hand resuming its delightful movements, ‘how about . . .’
My next target was Paris, and once again I decided I didn’t need to disguise myself. I debated whether to strip again to remind him of Mount Ida and how much he owed to me, but in the end I went down in my old early morning ambrosia gown. After all, I’m beautiful whatever I wear and he was growing rather portly. No wonder Helen was going off him.
He at least had the decency to be in awe of me. ‘Good goddess,’ he stuttered, as I swooped through the air into his chamber, just as he was admiring his new calf-length leather boots in the mirror. I made rather too fast a landing and scattered a few jewels from my diadem
on the floor. That would give Helen pause for thought.
‘Where were you three afternoons ago,’ I demanded, ‘between four and six?’
‘Why?’
I looked at him, intimating that I was not to be trifled with (except in intimate circumstances of my own choosing).
‘I was at the bowmakers.’
A menial, who would doubtless back up anything Golden Boy Paris said. If he spoke the truth, though, he could not have killed Marmedes. I decided to get tough. It was Helen or me, and I rather favoured being the survivor myself.
‘That corpse was Marmedes of Argos. Did you kill him?’
‘A Greek?’ He reeled. He did it very well.
‘You know he was,’ I replied sweetly. ‘And you also know Helen was having an affair with him.’
Paris looked sulky. ‘Who told you?’
‘We goddesses know all,’ I lied loftily.
‘Then you must know who killed him,’ he answered, reasonably enough I suppose.
‘Nearly all,’ I amended with dignity. ‘You can’t have been at your bowmakers for two hours. Helen left the trysting place at four o’sundial, and there would be two whole hours in which he could have been killed before the Scaean Gate was closed.’
‘I went to the temple to offer a goat to Hera.’
Very suitable, I thought, but mention of the Cow-Faced Lady was not the way to my heart. ‘Try again, Paris.’
He glanced at me and his eyes slid away. ‘As a matter of fact I was at a place where we men go –’
‘A brothel, when you’ve got Helen?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Good Zeus, no. I wouldn’t have the strength. We just sit around and drink, set the world to rights, or go into the gymnasium to practise valiant feats, as Hector is always nagging me to do.’
‘One of these days you might pluck up the courage to go and fight,’ I said tartly.
The cheeky boy had the nerve to laugh. ‘There are ten or more will vouch for me.’
‘And you were there until six?’