For the Most Beautiful (8 page)

Zeus is clearly tempted. Everyone knows that Mycenae and Argos worship Hera more than any other goddess, and he can't deny that a change would be nice. A few more altars to Zeus here and there couldn't hurt, could they? Besides, three of her cities for one of his? It sounds like a pretty good deal. But he has a reputation for reasoned deliberation to uphold – the mortals call him ‘Zeus, the far-seeing' and ‘god of counsel', after all – so he pauses for a long moment, just for appearances' sake.

Hermes, Athena and Aphrodite watch the twitch of his eyebrows in anticipation.

Then, after a suitable interval, he nods.

Hera smiles triumphantly.

‘Troy is yours,' he announces. ‘Do as you want with it. Troy …' he gazes down through the clouds at the hundreds of Greek ships already blackening the seas of the Aegean as they sail towards the east ‘… will fall.'

A few weeks after the princes' return, I was walking with Troilus through the gardens of Troy's lower city, towards the western circuit of the walls. It was a perfect summer's day, the sky a calm, unruffled blue, the sun warming the stones beneath our feet, fountains splashing in gardens hidden behind high mud-brick walls, and the smell of burning wood from the bakers' ovens mixing with the sweet scent of rock-rose and ripening figs. We looked for all the world like a young couple newly wed, except for the absence of a golden ring on my finger and a diadem on my head, and the fact that every time we saw a palace guard or a slave in royal livery, we had to leap into the shadows and press ourselves flat against the walls to prevent them seeing us together. Today, however, was a day to send our cares to the skies on the breeze that played with the apples hanging over the orchard walls.

Except that I could not.

‘Troilus …' I said, turning towards him. ‘Troilus, I can't stop thinking about what my father said when I was at the temple of Apulunas. About my becoming a priestess.'

He sighed deeply. I had told him of this days ago, yet still the fear of my father's threat had hung between us, like a cloud, on these balmy summer days.

‘Yes, I know. I have tried speaking to my father, but he always turns me away. I shall try again, soon. And besides—'

A sudden low booming sound bellowed over the town and drowned his words. I stopped in mid-stride, startled, and looked back to the upper city, the palaces and temples all enclosed within their own ring of thick walls and the high lookout tower to the north.

‘What's that?' I asked. ‘Why are they ringing the bell? I've never heard them do that before.'

Troilus was standing still, a small crease between his eyebrows. ‘It is a warning,' he said at last, in a low voice. ‘A warning of attack.' He caught my hand. ‘Come,' he said, and he pulled me forwards. ‘Come, we must see for ourselves. The West Gates are closest and look over the bay. We can see from there.'

It was cooler up on the walls, a strong sea-breeze blowing over the city and bringing the smell of the salt sea on the afternoon air. Troilus ran to the battlements. After a few moments, I followed him, standing several paces away so that no one could suspect us, though in truth the tower was empty of guards. They must all have gone to the lookout in the north when they heard the bell toll. I watched the waves whiten as they beat the shore of the Trojan beach and the blue horizon of the ocean melt into sky beyond the Hellespont.

And then I saw them.

It was like a thin line of grey cloud at first, emanating from the island of Lemnos to the west, to the other side of the headland of the bay. Nothing definite. Just a gathering mist on the horizon. But as the moments slipped by, and the cloud rolled gradually closer, it began to billow out into shapes. Keels cutting into the water. Sails held taut against the wind. Masts pricking up into the sky like the points of swords. Oars stabbing in rhythm into the waves. And as the cloud rolled on and on, it brought them closer – a thick black stripe that covered the horizon and spread slowly, so slowly, over the surface of the sea, like a tempest.

I turned to Troilus but, for once, he was not looking at me. He was staring out to sea, his expression full of foreboding as he took in the threatening dark mass of ships on the horizon.

‘The lookout tower,' he said to himself, his voice hoarse. ‘I must go to the lookout tower. My father—' His throat seemed to constrict. ‘My father will need me.'

We ran, together, along the walls, breathless and silent, past the Scaean Gates and the old fig tree growing on the plain that had stood there a hundred years and more, towards the lookout tower, following the tolling of the bell. As we emerged on to the open space of the battlements I saw one of the lookouts strike a wooden battering ram against a huge bronze bell on the tower's corner, sending those deep, vibrating explosions of sound bellowing through the city, like the rumble of an earthquake.

Prince Hector, the eldest of King Priam's sons and leader of his armies, was already standing by the battlements, and Troilus strode quickly over to join him, leaving me in the shadows by the tower door and the guards. Together, the brothers studied the dark outlines of the ships growing clearer, and took in the size of the fleet – thousands of ships, tens of thousands of men, darkening the ocean, like a storm sent by Zayu. I watched Hector's expression with growing dread. There was a frown there, a concern that I had never seen before in all the years I had lived in the palace. Hector knew Troy, its walls, its armies, its horses, better than anyone in the city – he lived for Troy, he always had – and the worry drawn in lines upon his face as he contemplated the Greek fleet was a worse omen to me than any number of ships. He turned, saw me and gave me a brief nod. I tried to smile.

A teeming crowd of confused people had gathered at the bottom of the walls by the Dardanian Gates into the upper city, shouting over the noise of the bell that was still sending out its low, resounding knell. I could hear their buzzing chatter, the clamour of their voices, as they called up to find out what was happening. I watched as Hector stood for a moment, taking in the ships one last time, and Troilus laid a hand upon his shoulder, saying something in a low voice. He nodded again, and walked to the edge of the tower facing south, towards the city.

‘People of Troy!' Hector shouted, his voice carrying over the noise and the hollow echo of the bell's last toll.

Gradually the crowd in the city below fell silent.

‘You ask to know what is happening. I shall tell you. The Greek fleet is even now,' he gestured towards the horizon and the gathering mass of ships, ‘sailing towards our shore. And yet we did not ask them to come. We did not ask for war.'

I felt myself shudder at the very sound of the word. I glanced at Troilus, standing by the battlements. It was a fear beyond anything I had ever known, to think that he might go to war, that the high walls of Troy might be battered by arrows and spears and that the shining towers might fall, as the old widows had told us they feared would happen when Hercules came to the city all those years ago. I felt a wave of pity for Hector, standing at the tower's edge, straight-backed, like the general he had been raised to become. In truth he was a gentle man, who loved to ride swift horses across the plain and play at swords with his little son, Astyanax. He had only ever wanted to rule his city in peace, like his father did.

A loud, coarse voice shouted from the back of the crowd down in the city, up to the tower, interrupting my thoughts. ‘And what about Paris? What about how he stole Helen?'

The crowd took up the chant: ‘What about Helen? We don't want Helen! Send back the adulteress!'

The chant spread and was getting louder.

Hector motioned at some of the soldiers down by the gates to control the crowd as they shouted, punching their fists into the air to the rhythm of the words. But the shouting was growing ever louder, and the soldiers were calling up to Hector, asking for orders, reluctant to turn on their own people and powerless to do anything as more and more took up the chant.

At that very moment, the door to the tower beside me flew open and a trumpet fanfare sounded over the cries and shouts of the people. King Priam and Queen Hecuba emerged on to the tower with their retinue, followed by their fourth son, Paris, and, behind him, Helen.

A sudden hush fell over everyone on the tower and in the city below, as if by some enchantment, as Helen stepped out on to the walls.

So
this
was Helen of Sparta.

I stared at her as she passed me, the first time I had seen her since she had come to Troy. She had spent weeks hidden in Paris' chambers. She was not beautiful as such, I thought, weighing the words as I watched her walk towards the battlements. It was not enough to call her beautiful: it did not do her justice. She was simply, irresistibly, desirable.

Indeed, I could not stop looking at her. No one could. We all just stood there, gazing, as she made her way towards the tower edge, hand-clasped with Paris, leaving behind her the scent of summer roses, sweet myrtle and the musky fragrance of jasmine. Nothing about her was absolutely perfect, and yet – I could not have said how – everything was arranged in such a way that she was infinitely, hopelessly alluring.

You wanted to touch her, to test if her silvery-blonde hair really was as soft and rich as it seemed. You wanted to trace the slim curves of her hips with your hands and feel the silken material of her dress slip through your fingers. You were desperate just to be looked at by those smoky grey-blue eyes, deep and clear as the pool Narcissus gazed into when he fell in love with his own reflection, just to catch a little of their lustre in your own.

And her breasts – her ripe, full, creamy breasts … I forced myself to look away. I could not help but feel a little nagging jealousy. Would Troilus still call me his most beautiful girl, now Helen was there for him to compare me with? Who would look at Krisayis, when there was Helen to be had? Surreptitiously, I tried to rearrange my dress a little, pulling the neckline of my bodice lower so the plump curves of my breasts showed, like Helen's, and I tied my girdle a little tighter around my waist.

The people down in the city were elbowing each other now and whispering Helen's name, eager to catch a glimpse of the woman who had brought the Greek fleet to the shores of Troy. They were paying no attention to Hector and the glare he was casting at Paris.

But then old King Priam stepped forwards, holding his sceptre high in the air, and the crowd in the city below calmed, like the waves that grow silent after a storm when the god of the sea holds up his trident.

‘My people,' King Priam said, his voice filled with authority, ‘what madness is this that Apulunas has sent down upon you?'

The last few loudmouths muttered themselves into silence as he surveyed the crowd.

‘Have you forgotten the duty we owe to Zayu, king of the gods?' he thundered. ‘His laws demand that we care for any fugitive or traveller who begs for assistance within our walls. You all know this. And yet you would turn Princess Helen over to the Greeks, when you know as well as I that she will be slaughtered like carrion for the birds. My people, what has come over you?'

The crowd seemed almost to cower before the anger that sparked in his eyes.

‘In Troy, we are known for our hospitality,' he continued. ‘We are not barbarians, to hand over a fugitive – a woman, no less, and my son's chosen wife – to her captors. We are not savages, to turn away a guest from our walls. We are men, and we are men who righteously fear the gods, whose strength and justice oversee all. Princess Helen has claimed our protection, and she shall have it.'

He paused to allow his words to sink in, and then he spoke again, this time in a lower, gentler tone. ‘My people, I am not ashamed to confess that my son may have done wrong when he disregarded the honour of his host, Lord Menelaus,' he said, ‘but it is not his youth that is to blame. It was by the gods' will that Princess Helen was brought to our city.'