Nobody's Princess (6 page)

She threw down her carding combs and swept into the shadows of the palace, leaving me standing like a statue in the courtyard, all my wishes for her future happiness unsaid.

The ambassador from Mykenae stayed with us for ten days. The night before he left, Father gave a great banquet to honor him and to celebrate Clytemnestra’s betrothal. Ione helped me get ready for the feast, picking out my dress, fussing over my hair, and chattering away the whole time.

“Ah, look at how well you’ve healed in just ten days’ time!” she exclaimed, examining my feet before slipping them into my best pair of sandals. It was true: The gash on my foot was almost gone. I only needed one thin strip of cloth to cover it. “You must have made a good sacrifice to Aesculapius the Healer.”

She straightened up and began to arrange my hair. As much as I wanted to dress and groom myself, Ione refused. As my nurse, she’d get the credit or blame for how I looked at the banquet.

“What lovely curls!” she said, working diligently with the ivory comb. “That Mykenaean will have to fill his mouth with gold when he describes you to his master, Lord Thyestes.”

“Why would he need to do that?” I asked.

My nursemaid chuckled. “Do you imagine that your sister’s marrying the only prince of Mykenae? Lord Thyestes has plenty of sons, and his royal brother, Atreus, has at least two that I know of. Those Mykenaeans breed like rabbits.”

I giggled, then clapped my hands to my mouth. “Ione, what an awful thing to say!” I exclaimed, still laughing.

“Well, no one can deny it. I only pray that your sister’s getting a good man. With a family that large, there’s bound to be at least one rotten apple on the tree. If even half the stories I’ve heard about the kings of Mykenae are true—”

“What stories?” Mother had stopped Polydeuces before he could tell me anything.

“I really shouldn’t say a word; nasty things.” She put down the comb and began to weave a strand of freshwater pearls through my hair.

I turned around quickly and grabbed her hands. “
Please
tell me, Ione. I promise I won’t repeat anything. You won’t get into trouble for telling me.”

“Hmph! There’s no chance of that unless you come right out and mention my name.
Everyone
knows about those Mykenaeans.”

“I don’t. And I think I should; my sister
is
going to be their queen.” I gave her my most persuasive smile, the one I’d used since babyhood whenever I wanted to get her to bend the rules for me, just a little.

“Oh, all right.” She gave in easily. I think she wanted to tell me all the tales. “But turn around and sit still or you’ll never be ready for the feast tonight, and then I
will
be in trouble. Your sister is marrying Lord Thyestes’s oldest son, but that man wasn’t always king of Mykenae. At first his brother, Lord Atreus, ruled.”

She made a small scornful sound. “
Brothers.
Not all brothers are like yours, my dear; I helped raise Castor and Polydeuces, so I know. They may quarrel and scuffle, but it’s all quickly over and forgotten. There’s true affection and loyalty binding those two. If they were stones in a wall, you couldn’t fit a knife blade between them.

“But Atreus and Thyestes—! I’ve heard they hate one another as fiercely as if they came from separate sides of the earth instead of from the same mother’s womb. They both want Mykenae, and so they’ve spent their lives fighting and scheming and betraying one another in order to seize the throne. Back and forth it’s gone—first Atreus was king, then Thyestes, then Atreus again—and every time the crown changes hands, it’s stained with fresh blood. I heard that Lord Atreus even killed his own wife, a Cretan princess, because she dared to smile at his brother!”

“Just for
smiling
at him?” I couldn’t believe it.

Ione coughed nervously. “Well, perhaps she did more than smile. But that’s nothing. The worst is this:
I
heard that Lord Atreus actually killed some of his brother’s children, then ordered their flesh cooked and served it
to their own father
! Lord Thyestes didn’t suspect a thing until after that abominable meal, when Atreus showed him their
heads.
”

For someone who hadn’t wanted to tell me one word about the Mykenaeans, Ione was taking unnatural glee in repeating one grisly horror after another.

“What kind of a family is my sister marrying into?” I cried, jerking my head out from under Ione’s busy hands.

My nurse seemed unconcerned with Clytemnestra’s future among such people. “Tsk. Now look what you’ve done, torn the pearls loose and mussed your curls. I’ll have to start all over.”

“But Clytemnestra can’t marry a monster!” I protested.

“Oh, hush,” Ione said calmly, taking up the comb again. “Prince Tantalus never harmed anyone, and as for the stories about his father and uncle—I’m sure they’re only stories. Do you think your royal parents would give their darling girl to Mykenae if the tales were true?

“Of course, you won’t have that problem, little bird,” she went on. “As our queen-to-be, you’ll pick yourself a good husband.”

“Husband?” This time I jerked my head so suddenly that my hair got tangled in the comb and I gave a little yelp of pain before I added, “I don’t want a husband!”
And after hearing you talk, I
definitely
don’t want a Mykenaean,
I thought.

“
Don’t
isn’t the same as
won’t.
” Ione chuckled knowingly as she picked up the pearls.

It was a splendid, lavish feast intended to impress Lord Thyestes’s ambassador so that when he went home he’d tell his master all about Sparta’s wealth and power. The tables creaked under the weight of platters filled with stewed rabbit and mutton, broiled fish, crackling loaves of barley bread, round white cheeses, fresh salads decorated with mint and parsley, even the special treat of roasted venison. Mounds of almonds and slabs of honeycomb were offered to our guest in dishes that had come all the way from Crete. I loved their beautifully painted patterns of fish, dolphins, and big-eyed octopi.

Midway through the feast, my father made the ceremonial announcement about my sister’s betrothal. Because she was the center of attention, Clytemnestra sat in a place of honor, between our parents, and glowed with pleasure when the Spartan nobles raised their voices in congratulations so loud they made the oil lamps flicker.

If my sister truly wanted to leave Sparta right away, Lord Thyestes’s ambassador shared her eagerness. I was seated at Mother’s left, so I had no trouble hearing when he leaned forward from his place beside Father and said, “Great lady, when can I tell Lord Thyestes to expect your noble daughter’s arrival?”

Mother offered him a sweet smile. “Not for two years, at the very least. She’s still too much of a child for marriage. I know that a young princess is often raised in her future husband’s house, so she can learn her new people’s ways, but if she’s
too
young, she might become so homesick that she won’t be able to think of anything except her family.”

“With all respect, great lady,” the ambassador said, bowing to my mother just a little bit, “Prince Tantalus will be her family.”

I saw Mother’s face harden until she looked like an image of the goddess Artemis just before she sends an arrow through some unlucky mortal’s heart. Her voice was icy when she replied, “With all my
royal
respect to your master, we who rule Sparta never employ messengers who think they can instruct a queen.”

The Mykenaean turned pale. His apology was coldly formal, and Mother accepted it just as coldly. It took my father’s hearty laugh to break the awkward mood and restore the banquet’s festivity.

I wondered how disappointed my sister would be when she found out she’d have to spend two more years with us. I hoped she wouldn’t feel that this was my fault too.

         
5
         

MY MOTHER’S PAST

The day after the banquet, I decided that I’d lost enough training time. I didn’t want Glaucus to think that I’d given up my desire to learn a warrior’s skills, so I bound my foot with extra cloth and slipped out of the palace to join my brothers. The gods be thanked, there was a big uproar at the gates as the ambassador left us. No one in the crowd noticed me, and Ione had quit being my watchdog.

When I reached the training ground, Glaucus was alone. And he didn’t look happy. “Someone had better teach your brothers that only fools and children believe it’s a brave thing to drink unwatered wine,” he said. He pressed his lips together and shot a poisonous look at the palace walls. “If their heads hurt today, just wait until I get my hands on them tomorrow. Meanwhile, you and I had better find another place to work on your warrior skills, princess.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because once that Mykenaean wine-bag leaves, the guards will go back to their regular duties. They expect to see me training your brothers. Even the sight of a third ‘boy’ down here doesn’t faze them—they probably reckon you for one of the princes’ playmates, a servant’s kid. But if they saw me spending my time on you alone, they’d smell a dead mouse in the barley and come charging down here to investigate. Understand?”

I nodded. Glaucus smiled, then picked up the bundle of practice javelins as easily as if they were made of straw. He strode off toward the river with me scurrying after him. I tried not to let him know that my heart was about to burst from sheer joy. Glaucus and all that he could teach me were mine alone, at least for one day. He wouldn’t have to split his attention between me and my brothers. I felt like singing.

He led me to a narrow part of the river, forested on both banks, out of sight of the palace walls. He dropped the practice javelins and dove into the water without bothering to remove a single piece of clothing, not even his sandals. Once across, he cut rings into the bark of three huge trees on the far bank, then came swimming back before I could wonder whether I was supposed to follow him or stay put. (Just as well. I’d never learned how to swim.)

“Here,” he said, handing me one of the practice javelins and nodding at the targets he’d improvised.

“Which one do you want me to hit?” I asked.

That amused him. “I’ll be happy if I don’t have to spend the rest of the day racing downstream, trying to recapture all the shafts that’ll wind up in the river. Just try to get it across the water, princess.”

His words made my face go hot.
He’s trying to make me mad,
I thought.
He thinks he can control me like that, but it’s my life:
I
say yes or no.

I calmly picked up the first shaft, held it at eye level, and sighted down the length of it.

“I suppose that’s all I’ll be able to do with this one,” I said. “It’s warped. It won’t fly true.”

I picked up each one of the other fake spears and examined them in the same way. They were all just crooked enough to veer away from the target, no matter how skilled the thrower, and I said so.

The old soldier gave me a strange look, then checked the spears for himself. “Well, I’ll be Hades’s dinner guest!” he exclaimed. “You’re right! Good for you, princess.”

“I can still throw them across the river,” I said, trying not to let him see how much his praise pleased me. “But you carved those targets for nothing.”

“I have a better idea,” he said. “Wait here.”

He was gone for a while. I passed the time by flinging stones over the water. None of them made it to the far bank. Silently I gave thanks that there’d be no spear-throwing practice that day. My arm wasn’t strong enough yet; I would have been mortified.

Glaucus came back through the trees, carrying something wrapped up in his cloak. He unfurled it and a short sword fell at my feet. It was the real thing, a bronze blade with a cutting edge that glittered in the sunlight. He must have gone all the way back to the palace to fetch it.

“Pick it up,” Glaucus told me, drawing his own sword from his belt. “Let’s see how it suits you.”

I gazed at the weapon but couldn’t bring myself to touch it. To hold a
real
sword—! It was a privilege I longed for and feared. Why was Glaucus giving me this chance so soon? Did he mean it to be an honor or a test? I hesitated, longing and just a bit afraid.

“Go on and take it, princess,” Glaucus said. His smile was encouraging. “I just want to see what you can do with that. Don’t worry: I promise not to hurt you, and the gods know you won’t hurt me.”

My hand closed on the hilt and I picked up the sword. “In that case, I’m ready to learn,” I said.

My first real sword fight was a worse disaster than my first time using a real spear. The heavy blade was made for a grown man and was beautifully balanced. That was the only thing that kept me from dropping it more than I did. My first swings were wild. When I swatted a tree trunk, the vibrations made my hand tingle and smart. I didn’t even manage to cut the bark. As for my efforts to imitate Glaucus’s fighting style, they were clumsier than a pig trying to walk on its hind legs. I know he didn’t expect much of me my first time, but I’d expected more of myself.

I don’t care
what
he said about just wanting to see what I can do with this blade,
I thought.
He
must
be judging me. I’ve got to show him I can do better than this or he might change his mind about letting me train.

The fear of being dismissed made me redouble my efforts, but with the same lack of effect. Glaucus held me at bay effortlessly, while I panted and stumbled and kept wiping sweat out of my eyes. I finally got so frustrated, trying to break through his guard, that I lost my patience and charged him, holding the bronze sword high over my head and howling like a wolf. He sidestepped and tripped me as I went flying past. When I sprawled on my face in the dirt, he touched the back of my neck lightly with the tip of his own weapon.

“There’s no shame in dying in battle, princess,” he said. “But this would have been a very stupid death. The lesson’s done.” Then he picked up my sword and strode away. I was left to trail back into the palace, sore, exhausted, and convinced that I’d made such a fool of myself that Glaucus would never want me on the training ground again. I decided that I wouldn’t give him the chance to banish me. Instead, I stayed in the palace the next day, joining my sister and the other women. I sat near Clytemnestra while she worked at the big loom, surrounded by servants, slaves, and ladies of the palace, all of us busy at the woman’s work of making cloth. My hands were still sore from my wretched attempt at swordsmanship, my fingers clumsy as I held the distaff and tried to make the spindle obey me. I hated every moment, but I stuck to the tedious chore because I’d decided it was my only future.

The room where we worked was well lit by the sun, heavy with the fresh scent of washed fleece. The women chattered while they worked, hummed old songs, told stories, spoke gently or impatiently to the younger girls who were still learning their skills. It was a peaceful, safe place, but so is a grave.

I looked at my sister. Her face was serene, all her attention focused on the pattern she was creating on the great loom. In that instant, I realized that she no longer envied me anything—not my looks, or the way the grown-ups seemed to favor me, or even the fact that I’d be queen of Sparta someday. Our rivalry was over; she had what she’d always wanted. She, too, was going to be a queen.

I spent five days with the women, inside the palace walls. Every time I considered stealing back to the training ground I remembered my failure. My face burned with fresh humiliation, and I abandoned the thought once more.

On the sixth day of my self-enforced captivity, something happened that changed everything. We were all working together, as usual. By now it was quite clear that each thread we spun or wove or embroidered was intended for my sister’s bride goods. The older women murmured about how strange it was that the queen didn’t come to help prepare her daughter’s dowry.

“It’s natural,” one of them remarked, her needle making a pattern of lilies along the hem of a gown. “She doesn’t want to face the fact that she’s losing her babies.”

“That’s true,” another added. “Didn’t you hear about what she said to the ambassador? He wanted our princess to come to Mykenae before winter, but the queen refused.”

“What does she think
that
will do?” a third snapped. “Children grow up and leave us. That’s how it is, even for queens. Does she think she can stop time by—”

Her voice dropped abruptly into silence. A hush fell over the room. The women around me were laying down their work and rising like a flock of herons taking flight. Even my sister stood up from her bench at the great loom and turned, making a graceful gesture of respect. Queen Leda had come.

I scrambled to my feet and made a quick, clumsy bow, holding up my hands to greet her. In public, even when the only other people present were slaves, we royal children had to salute our parents with the same reverence we would pay to the gods.

Mother acknowledged all of us with a curt nod, then pointed at my discarded distaff and spindle. “Helen, pick those up and come with me.” Her voice was almost as sharp as when she’d reprimanded the Mykenaean ambassador. My stomach turned sour.
What have I done?

We walked down the hallways of the palace in silence. I was almost too frightened to breathe. She led the way up a blue-and-crimson-painted stairway and brought me to the bedroom she shared with my father. It had a window that looked out over a small thicket of bright flowers and sweet-smelling herbs.

Mother sat down on the bed and motioned for me to sit beside her. The air was still and warm. I could hear the bees buzzing as they drank nectar from the courtyard flowers. Without a word, Mother took the spindle and distaff away from me.

“Is this the way you’re always going to handle troubles, Helen?” she asked, her voice soft and kind. “By running away?”

I blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She patted my hand, then without warning grabbed it and turned it over so she could examine the palm. One of her fingers traced the signs that the sword hilt had left on top of the calluses I’d already earned from the wooden spears. Six days hadn’t been long enough to erase them.

“Oh, but you do,” she said. “Why do your hands look more like your brothers’ than Clytemnestra’s? Tell me the truth.”

“You already know it, don’t you,” I said. There was no need to make it a question. My mother nodded. “Who told you?” I asked.

“No one had to tell me,” Mother replied. “I saw you practicing with the sword on the day Lord Thyestes’s ambassador went back to Mykenae. I’d had enough of him, so I left your father to handle the ceremony of farewell without me and went off to hunt rabbits.”

“Hunting rabbits?” I stared at my mother as if she’d grown a pair of horns.
“You?”

She laughed, and twined a lock of my hair around one finger. “Your father loves rabbit stewed with onions. He says the ones I catch just for him taste best.”

I tried to picture my tall, elegant mother crouching in the underbrush to set a snare. “Who taught you how to make rabbit traps?” I asked.

“Traps?” she echoed. “I haven’t got the patience for traps.” She got up and reached under the big chest at the foot of the bed. The long wooden box she dragged out was painted with curls of ivy, garlands of pine boughs, and a pattern of wild boars, tusked and bristling. When she opened it, I gaped at the black bronze-banded bow and the arrows fletched with pheasant feathers.

“This is what I use to hunt,” Mother said, grinning as she strung the bow. She did it as naturally as breathing. “Not just rabbits. I bring home game birds too, and deer, and even foxes, when I can outsmart them. The first time I saw your father, I’d just come home from the hunt. The forests of Calydon are thick with game, but the deer are so clever that it was the first time I’d managed to bring one down. I was so proud of what I’d done that I insisted on carrying the buck into the throne room myself and dropped it at my father’s feet before I noticed we had a guest.” She smiled at the memory.