Daughters of Sparta

by Claire Heywood

  Each evening the suitors would feast and drink in the Hearth Hall, with Father and Kastor and Pollux. But Helen wasn’t allowed to attend. Her father was keeping her away from the suitors as much as possible. “A goddess is all the more beautiful for being formed in men’s imaginations,” he insisted. She had thought it strange that so many princes would come to compete over her without any of them ever having seen her, so perhaps there was some truth in what her father said. All the same, she was frustrated at not being able to get a good look at the suitors. After all, it was she who would be marrying one of them.

  The closest she got was whenever the suitors were competing, out beyond the bounds of the palace. Every couple of days they would organize a contest among themselves, and Father would take her to watch. They needed to feel as if they were performing for her sake, he said, but she knew that the contests were aimed at impressing her father. She was just the prize. It was he who would decide his son-in-law and successor.

  Even when they were watching the contests, she still wasn’t allowed to get too close. Father had had a kind of podium erected a little away from the competition ground, on top of which the two of them would sit as they watched the men perform their feats. And Father insisted that she wear a veil, a huge piece of shining cloth draped over the top of her clothes and drawn up over her head. He even made her draw it across her face, “to show them that you are modest,” he said. But often she would lower it again when her father looked away, just to let a little fresh air touch her skin. It was stifling under the veil, sitting out in the open under the sun’s heat.

  Today was a competition day, and she was as hot as ever. She longed to tear off the stupid veil, and her dress too, and go swimming in the river like she had when she was younger. She had to stop herself from giggling aloud at the thought of it. What a scandal that would cause, she thought with a grin. Father would not be happy, but she wasn’t so sure about the suitors. She saw the way they looked over at her. She knew they were wondering what lay beneath the veil, imagining what their prize might look like once it had been unwrapped. Their looks didn’t make her embarrassed, though. She was proud to be the object of so many men’s desire. They wanted her, and it felt good. Occasionally, she would even let the veil fall back from her head a little, to reveal a glimpse of her hair. Even at this distance, she knew the suitors must be able to see it, bright as it was, shining in the sunlight. Her hair was her best feature after all, and she saw no sense in keeping it hidden.

  There was an archery competition under way. Slaves were throwing apples into the air for the suitors to pierce with their arrows, though it was proving too difficult a task for most. Several had failed at the first attempt, others after two or three. Then there were only three men left. Now two. And then, as the penultimate man missed by a whisker, there was only one remaining. He did not cease, however, but nodded to the slaves to continue, and carried on sending his arrows into the sky, each finding its mark. He looked as if he could carry on forever as he casually drew arrow after arrow from his quiver. Only when the quiver was empty did he stop. Lowering his bow, he turned toward the podium where Helen and her father were seated and gave a respectful nod. Helen saw her father rise from his seat at the edge of her vision, and as he began to clap she followed suit.

  “Who is that man, Father?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him compete before today.”

  “Philoktetes, son of Poeas,” came her father’s reply as he gestured for the waiting attendants to deliver the victor’s prize to him: a large bronze cauldron with golden handles. “Some say that bow is the very same that Herakles used to shoot the Stymphalian birds.” Helen’s eyes widened in awe. “Nonsense, most likely,” her father continued, “but he certainly is skilled in its use.”

  As the slaves were clearing away the apples, Helen asked, “Is that it for today, Father? May we go back to the palace now?”

  “No, there will be one more contest, I believe,” he replied. “A foot race.”

  Helen was relieved. At least foot races were over quickly. Then she would be able to retreat to the relative cool of her chamber and take off this stupid, suffocating veil.

  The suitors were already lining up to begin the race. Only five were competing, and she recognized three of them from previous contests. There was Odysseus, broad-chested and squat. She thought him rather ugly, but he had done well at the contests so far. Her brothers told her that he hadn’t brought any bridal gifts—not a single thing! He was a curious man indeed, and she was quite glad he would not be her husband—how could he hope to be, when he had come empty-handed?

  Beside Odysseus stood Ajax. She had heard people call him “Ajax the Great,” and she could see why. He was a giant of a man, standing a head above the other runners, and broader than Odysseus. His arms and thighs bulged with thick muscle. Helen was a little afraid of him.

  The third man she knew by name was Antilochos. He was like a reed beside the bulk of the other two men, being the youngest and slightest of all the suitors. He was very handsome, though, his fine features matching his boyish frame, and his long hair was a lovely shade of rich chestnut. Of the three men she recognized in this race, Helen knew which one she hoped would win.

  She noted that Agamemnon once again stood among the spectators. She had not seen him compete in anything so far. Perhaps it made sense, given that he was only here on behalf of his brother, but she also got the sense that he thought it all beneath him. He had brought the richest gifts and everyone knew it. And he was King of Mycenae, after all; there was no need for him to prove himself.

  Taking her eyes away from Agamemnon, Helen realized that the race was just about to begin. Within seconds the adjudicator’s yell sounded, and they were off. Odysseus had an early lead, followed by one of the men Helen did not know, then Antilochos. But Ajax’s powerful legs were bringing him up fast, past Antilochos, level with the next man. Then a yell and cloud of dust as Ajax fell, and the other man too. And out of the confusion sprinted Antilochos, leaving the fifth man far behind. Odysseus was slowing now, Antilochos drawing level. And then he was past him, his young knees a blur. And it was over. Antilochos had won, just ahead of Odysseus, with the fifth man coming behind them. But Ajax and the other man were still in the dust, and as Helen looked at them she realized they were wrestling. No, not wrestling. Ajax was on top of the other man, his huge hands around his throat. There was a lot of shouting, and it took three men to drag Ajax off the man.

  “He tripped me!” Ajax roared. Helen could hear his words despite the distance, so loud was his rage. “I’d have won if not for that Kretan son of a whore!”

  Odysseus had come up beside him now, though, and as he spoke to him the huge man seemed to calm a little.

  Helen thought it a shame that Antilochos’s victory had been overshadowed by Ajax’s temper, but he was given his prize nonetheless—a slave woman skilled in weaving, whom she recognized from the women’s room—and with that the day’s contests were over.

  CHAPTER 9

  HELEN

  It was late in the evening. Today’s feast was over and the suitors had gone back to their tents, allowing a stillness to descend over the palace. Helen had been summoned to her parents’ chambers, where she was now sitting with her father, mother, and brothers. This was the closest Helen had been to her mother in some time, occupying the seat beside her and breathing in her warm scent. It was nice, all being together like this, but Helen knew they had been gathered for a reason.

  “The tournament has been going on for several weeks now, as you are all well aware.” Father was looking around at them all, his lined face exaggerated in the lamplight. “Everyone who was due to arrive is here, and all have had ample opportunity to prove themselves. Therefore, I believe the time has come to choose a victor.”

  A thrill went through Helen; she had been waiting for this moment. Her father rested his chin on his steepled fingers, apparently waiting for one of them
to speak. When no one did, he said, “Kastor, tell me who you would choose.”

  “Well, Father,” Kastor began, “I must speak on behalf of Diomedes.” Diomedes, thought Helen. Yes, she remembered him from the contests. Young, strong, and quite handsome. “He is already a proven warrior, despite his youth,” her brother continued, “and his gifts are generous. Pollux and I have hunted with him several times, and we have become good friends. He is as fine a man as any other here and would bring you glory as a son-in-law, I know it.”

  Before her father could respond, Pollux interjected with his contribution.

  “Or if not Diomedes, Father, then surely Ajax of Salamis would be a fine choice.” Helen cringed at the mention of Ajax. No, not him, she willed, as if her father might hear her thoughts. “His strength is unmatched,” her brother continued. “He outstripped all the rest at discus, and you saw him in the wrestling matches—and not only that, but he is a cunning warrior. If we are to protect Sparta, Ajax would be a great man to have with us. True, he may not have brought as many gifts as some, but he has promised to drive together all the sheep and oxen from the coasts near to his kingdom, from Asine all the way to Megara, and present them as a wedding gift.”

  “Oh, what a ridiculous boast,” her mother cut in. “That man is too proud by far, and hotheaded too. I would not trust him to rule our kingdom, nor indeed to be husband to my daughter.”

  Helen felt a wave of warmth and gratitude toward her mother. She did not want to marry Ajax, but she wasn’t sure she would have been brave enough to say so. Her mother still cared for her, despite her distance; she knew that now. Helen looked toward her, hoping to thank her with her eyes, but her mother did not turn her head.

  “Which man has won your favor, then, my queen?” Helen’s father asked now.

  “There are many fine men here, my husband, who would no doubt be good choices; however, I must speak for Antilochos, son of Nestor, above all. He has proven himself a fine young man—fleet of foot and a master of horses—and has brought great gifts to honor our family. Moreover, his father is known to be a man of superior wisdom and is respected throughout Greece. If son follows father, Antilochos will make a fine match.”

  Helen suppressed a nod of her head. She had to admit that the thought of handsome Antilochos as her husband was an agreeable one.

  “Your case is well argued,” said her father, his brow creased in contemplation. “But we must not forget that our esteemed friend Agamemnon is here. He is our kin by marriage and our close military ally. It would perhaps be unwise for us to slight his honor by favoring another man over his brother. And he has brought the richest gifts, gold and bronze and horses. No man here disputes that, no man . . .”

  Her father looked troubled, torn. It seemed he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. Then after a moment he turned his face to Helen and looked at her, properly looked at her, for the first time since they had all sat down.

  “Helen, my child, what do you think? Which man would you choose?”

  Helen was surprised to be asked. She had assumed she would sit here and listen until a decision was made—was pleased even to be allowed that much. But her own say? She was unprepared for it, and had to think for a moment. She had found many of the suitors handsome and some had certainly impressed in the contests . . . but she hadn’t had opportunity to actually speak to any of them. She had dreamed she would have a husband who loved her, and whom she loved in return, like in the stories Nestra used to tell her . . . But she couldn’t know about any of that. What difference did it make, whomever she chose? Diomedes or Antilochos or Agamemnon’s brother, whom she had never even seen . . . But then she realized. There was a difference.

  “Father, if I married Agamemnon’s brother, that would make me Nestra’s sister by marriage. We’d be sisters twice over, wouldn’t we?”

  “Yes, I suppose you would,” replied her father. “But I don’t see—”

  “And do you think, if we were sisters-in-law, that we might be able to see each other? I mean, when our husbands visited each other, as brothers are sure to do?” Helen was quite excited now, and pleased with herself for seeing the opportunity.

  “I’m not sure about that, Helen,” said her father hesitantly. “Wives don’t often—”

  “But it would be more likely than if we weren’t sisters-in-law, wouldn’t it, Father?”

  “I suppose it would, yes, but—”

  “Well, in that case I would choose Agamemnon’s brother,” she said conclusively, with a satisfied smile. The possibility of seeing Nestra again was like a rope she could cling to.

  Her father opened his mouth to say something more, but at that moment there was a polite knock on the wooden door of the chamber. The palace steward Nikodemos entered, his head bowed.

  “My lord,” he began, his voice nervous, “Lord Odysseus, son of Laertes, wishes to speak with you. I told him that you were busy and that it was improper to disturb you in your private chambers—”

  “Quite right,” said her father curtly. “Send him away, Nikodemos. I will speak with him tomorrow.”

  “I tried, my lord. But he insisted that it was urgent. He’s just outside. He says he is sure you will want to hear what he has to say.”

  Her father paused, apparently thinking, then sighed. “Very well,” he said impatiently. “Send him in when I call.”

  As Nikodemos bowed and backed out of the chamber, Helen’s father turned to her.

  “It is not proper for him to see you, Helen. The other suitors will say he has had unfair privilege.” He stood up and scanned the room, and having spotted what he was looking for, fetched a large, plain piece of cloth that was hanging over the back of a chair. “Use this as a shawl and cover yourself,” he said, passing it to her. “Draw it across your face and keep your head bowed and your mouth silent. Kneel on the floor beside your mother and he will take you for her handmaid.”

  Helen did as she was asked, though she wasn’t very pleased about having to kneel. Once she was covered and settled, her father called to Nikodemos, and Odysseus entered the chamber.

  “Lord Tyndareos,” he said with a reverent bow. “My lady, honored princes,” he continued, nodding to each in turn. His attention skimmed straight over Helen; she was glad her father’s idea had worked. “I have come because I know that you must by now have reached the point where you are ready to choose a husband for the princess Helen, and I would like to offer some counsel.”

  “And what makes you think I need your help in choosing a suitor?” said her father tersely. “I suppose you’ve come with some clever argument for why I should choose you, despite your failure to bring a single gift, is that it? Yes, I know of your silver tongue, Lord Odysseus, but I’m afraid it will not avail you here.”

  Helen was worried Lord Odysseus would be affronted, but he simply smiled.

  “I have not come to tell you whom you should choose, for I know that decision is already made,” said Odysseus. Her father opened his mouth to reply but didn’t get the chance, for Odysseus continued, “You will choose Agamemnon’s brother, Menelaos. It is the only sensible option in your position. You cannot afford to offend Agamemnon, and another bond between your two families will make you both stronger. Why share wealth and influence with an outsider when you could consolidate it within your joint houses?”

  Helen saw that her father had closed his mouth now and was listening to Odysseus, the annoyance on his brow gone.

  “It is true that I have brought no courting gifts, and I apologize if this offended you,” Odysseus continued, “but I suspected that Menelaos might be one of the suitors, and knew I would have little hope of winning your daughter if that were the case. I simply wanted the chance to see the most beautiful woman in the world with my own eyes.” Here Odysseus paused, though only for a heartbeat, and his eyes slid to Helen, meeting hers through the gap in her shawl. Startled, she quickly
looked at the floor, but it was pointless. He knew it was her. He had known all along. She blushed beneath the veil. The most beautiful woman in the world, he had called her.

  Above her, his voice continued. “Once I heard that Agamemnon was here on his brother’s behalf I knew I was right not to have made my suit for Helen in earnest. Instead, I hope I may win another bride with some advice.”

  “Go on, then,” said her father, his voice edged with impatience. “I’ll hear what counsel you came to give.”

  “You are in a difficult position, Lord Tyndareos,” Odysseus began. “You know it as well as I. You must choose Menelaos, but you don’t want to offend the other suitors, nor make them feel as if the whole tournament were a sham. You must know it will seem that way, when you choose Agamemnon’s brother as victor. They will claim it was all arranged, that the two of you conspired to rob them, to make fools of them.”

  “But it’s not true,” said her father wearily. “I didn’t know that he would—”