Nobody's Princess (7 page)

“I’ll bet Father thought you were Artemis herself,” I said.

That made my mother laugh. “Not Artemis. You know how he feels about her. But he did say he mistook me for one of her huntress nymphs. That was just before he told me he had to marry me or die.”

I made a face. “Father said
that
?”

“Men say many things when they want to win a woman. Whether or not they mean what they say…” She shrugged. “Your father meant it. Poor soul, it seemed like he
would
die, because none of my father’s advisers thought I should marry him. Tyndareus came to Calydon as a landless exile; his brother had stolen his kingdom.”

The story of Father’s early trouble and final triumph was so well known that the palace stones could tell it. “Did you come to Sparta to marry him after he won back his crown?” I asked. “Or did he have to go back to Calydon for you?”

“Are you asking because you want to know, or because you want to distract me from what we
need
to talk about?” Mother asked, her fingers curled around the polished curve of her bow.

I looked away. She touched my chin and gently turned me back to face her.

“It’s all right, Helen,” she said. “When I was your age, I, too, believed that if you buried a problem, it would go away.”

“There’s no problem,” I said. “I’m through.”

“Why? Because of what Glaucus said to you? I was standing in the shelter of the trees. I saw and heard everything. He was right, you know. You
did
act stupidly, running headlong at him like that, and it was just the sort of thing that would’ve gotten you killed in a real fight.”

“I know,” I said, miserable. “That’s why I quit!”

“Yes,” she said. “But why did you start?”

“I don’t know. It was silly.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” my mother said. She set aside her bow and picked up the women’s tools I’d brought with me. She studied the thread wound around the spindle and the clump of carded wool tied to the distaff. I knew I’d made a mess of both and waited for her to say so.

Instead, she said, “For once, your distaff doesn’t look like you stuck it into a bird’s nest. And look at this: It’s the smoothest thread I’ve ever seen you spin.”

“It ought to be,” I muttered. “I worked on it for five days.”

“And how many days did you work with the sword? One. Don’t you think the sword deserves at least as much of a chance as the spindle?”

I gave her a startled look. “Are you saying that you
want
me to go back to training with my brothers?”

My mother held my hands in both of hers. “That would be easy, wouldn’t it?” she said. “So easy to let someone else make your choices for you. That way, if you fail, it isn’t your fault.” She clasped my hands more tightly. “You deserve to live a better life than that.”

“I—I don’t understand.” My mother’s words confused me. I was only ten years old.

She let go of my hands and leaned back. “You will, if you think about it. Then, whichever choice you make—sword or spindle or both—will be truly yours.”

As I stepped out of the bedroom doorway, one last question made me pause. “Mother?” I rested one hand on the doorpost, with its carved pattern of palm branches. “Mother, will you teach me how to hunt?”

She gave me a strange look. “Gladly. But why?”

“Because if I do choose to go back to the training ground and Father finds out and wants me to stop, I want to bring him a whole
cauldron
of stewed rabbit so he’ll change his mind.”

When Mother stopped laughing, she took me outside, off into the olive grove, and gave me my first archery lesson. I didn’t hit anything, but as Mother told me (with a perfectly straight face), I did manage to scare the olives off a couple of trees.

I went back to the training ground the next morning. Glaucus didn’t say a word about my absence. He was busy working with my brothers, so the only welcome I got from him was a silent nod and the hint of a satisfied smile.

He had the boys practicing with wooden swords, fighting both of them at once and winning. He made it look so easy, even though they outnumbered him and were younger and faster on their feet. When he smacked Castor’s sword aside with one blow and disarmed Polydeuces on the backstroke, I first thought:
There’s no shame in losing a match to someone like that.

While my brothers scrambled to pick up their swords, Glaucus turned to me. “Well, princess,” he said. “Will you be staying, or is this just a visit?”

I let his sarcasm wash past me. “I’m staying,” I said simply. “If you’ll take me back.”

This time his smile was wide. “
She
spoke with you, didn’t she,” he stated. “The queen. I thought I caught sight of her in the woods that day.”

“What?
Mother
told you to come back?” Castor exchanged a bewildered look with his twin.

“She didn’t
tell
me to do anything,” I said.

“No,” Glaucus said, looking at me thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose anyone could do that.” I didn’t know whether to be pleased or insulted.

The first day of my return to training didn’t go well. I was rusty, and my brothers each took full advantage of that when paired off against me. Wooden swords leave wide, purple bruises, but by the end of the day I’d given back one for every five I got, which was good enough for me.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to outshine my brothers anytime soon. Even if I trained with them daily and sacrificed a whole herd of sheep to Ares, it couldn’t happen: They were five years older than me, and they’d begun their training when I was still an infant. Worse for me, at fifteen my brothers were already tough and strong. How I envied them for the way their bodies had changed, and how I wished mine would do the same!

         
6
         

NEWS FROM MYKENAE

I got my wish for a changed body the year I turned twelve, though not the changes I’d been hoping for. Overnight, my legs and arms became so long that I couldn’t govern them. That made me clumsy, both in the house and on the training ground. Clytemnestra hadn’t been cursed by any such sudden growth. She was still small and graceful. I hoped no one else had noticed how awkward, how
different
I’d become.

I had to give up that hope once and for all on a late-winter day halfway through my twelfth year. While cold rain pelted down outdoors, I stayed in the palace, helping Mother, Clytemnestra, and Ione store some of my sister’s bride goods. Father came in to see how we were doing. If he intended to inspect the piles of carefully folded cloth, he forgot all about it when he took a good look at me.

“By Ceres, Ione, what have you been feeding her?” Father exclaimed, resting his hands on my shoulders. “She’s taller than a boar spear!”

“You needn’t tell
me.
” My nurse snorted. “I’m the one who’s got to make her new clothes all the time, so she still looks like she’s wearing a dress instead of a boy’s tunic.”

“Well, Helen, whatever you’ve been eating that’s made you sprout up like this, you could use a little more,” he told me. He held out one of my arms. “Tsk. It’s a reed.” His tone was fond, but his words stung me anyhow.

Clytemnestra chimed in, oh-so-sweetly. “Father, don’t make fun of Helen. I’m sure she feels bad enough about her face without you teasing about what’s happened to the rest of her.”

“What’s this nonsense?” Father demanded, giving her a severe look. “There’s nothing wrong with Helen’s face!”

“Of course not,” Mother said calmly. “My looks changed in just the same way when I was her age—my face, my body, everything so bony and bumbling! But after a couple more years passed, it was quite a different story.” She smiled.

How could she tell such obvious lies? She’d
never
been as scrawny and clumsy as me. It wasn’t possible! A stork didn’t turn into a swan. I couldn’t stand to hear any more. “Will you all stop talking about me as if I were a stone?” I exclaimed. “I’m right here!” And with that, I
wasn’t
right there. I ran off, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment, leaving my family to pick apart my appearance to their hearts’ content.

The awful thing was, Clytemnestra was right. My face had changed along with my body. When guests came to Sparta, all their compliments now seemed to be about my height. I learned that
regal
is just a polite way to say spindle-thin and sapling-tall. I didn’t need Mother’s mirror to tell me that I was no longer “the pretty one,” but every year on my birthday I stole a peek at it anyway. It told me what I already knew: My face was thinner, the cheekbones and chin sharper, the nose more prominent, and the mouth wider-looking.

I didn’t
need
to be “the pretty one,” but I needed to be
something.
If I wasn’t pretty anymore, what was I? Who was I now?

I was glad to have the training ground for my refuge. When I was there, I didn’t have time to brood over my changed looks. I used Glaucus’s lessons to get my gawky arms and legs back under control.

By the time I was thirteen, I not only looked like a younger version of Polydeuces, I was fighting like one too. Sometimes I was even able to give my brothers better than I got during our sparring matches, though by that time they were eighteen, full-grown young men, using real swords except when I challenged them to a bout. They complained that I won because they’d forgotten how to handle a wooden blade. Glaucus just told them to shut up and accept defeat like honorable men. As for me, I told them that as soon as Glaucus let me use a real sword all the time, they’d need to find some new excuse when I beat them.

That day finally came when I turned fourteen. There had been a great fuss in the palace that morning. Clytemnestra and I stood beside Father while he made a thanksgiving sacrifice to his favorite goddess, Aphrodite, in our honor. After that, we were given sweetened, watered wine and plate after plate of cake drenched with honey and sprinkled with chopped figs and almonds. After just a few bites it got too sweet for me, but Clytemnestra made a pig of herself, honey dribbling down her chin.

I couldn’t wait to get away. Glaucus had been dropping hints for a whole month about how there’d be something special waiting for me when my fourteenth birthday came. As soon as I could manage it, I ducked away, changed my clothes, and raced to the training ground.

My brothers were already there, grinning, nudging each other, and whispering until Glaucus reminded them that even though they had beards and brawn, he could still put a sandal up their backsides. They dropped their clowning, and only then he gave me the sword.

It was more like a large hunter’s knife than the warrior’s blades my brothers used, but it was new. I could tell that Glaucus had had it made specially for me. I was so overjoyed, I felt ready to fly.

Two months after our fourteenth birthday, on the very day that Clytemnestra sewed the final stitch of crimson thread into the delicate, saffron-yellow wool of her last and finest of her bridal dresses, a courier from Mykenae came running up the steep, rocky path to the palace. It was a most wonderful coincidence; you could almost hear the gods laughing.

We royal sons and daughters all knew that something significant was happening. Father sent word for us to put on our most splendid clothes and come to the great hall. This was the room where all important visitors were greeted and where Father handed down his most vital decisions about the future of Sparta.

There was a small blaze burning in the large, circular hearth that lay in the middle of the room, in front of Father’s throne. The thin thread of smoke wafted up and out past the second-floor balconies that ran all around the wide square opening above. The sun was still high enough to pour light into the hall, so no one had to light the stone oil lamps.

My brothers were at Father’s right, sunlight and flame flickering over their tanned faces. My place was at Mother’s left, and Clytemnestra was between our parents. We were all supposed to keep our eyes straight ahead, the picture of dignity, but even though I stood as if my feet had taken root among the brightly painted patterns on the floor, I couldn’t help letting my eyes wander.

The messenger stood on the far side of the fire, on travel-weary legs. He’d been given wine and other refreshments the moment that he arrived (we Spartans knew how to be good hosts) and was even offered some time to rest after the long journey from the north, but apparently he’d refused.

What he’s got to say must be urgent,
I thought.
I wonder if he’s brought us good news or bad?

Father’s throne was carved from stone, massive and immovable, but for certain occasions a smaller, wooden throne was brought in for Mother. When I saw her sitting beside him like that, tall and proud and beautiful as a goddess, I found it hard to believe that this was the same woman who’d gone hunting through the hills with me just the other day. The deer we’d shot was in the hands of the kitchen slaves. My arrow was the first to hit it, but hers was the one that brought it down.

I saw how the messenger stared at Queen Leda, drinking in her beauty.
He’s probably thinking that it’s all true, the story about how Zeus himself fell in love with Mother,
I thought. He was so distracted that Father had to ask him twice to speak.
Finally
he did. “Hail, Lord Tyndareus! Greetings and love from my noble master, Lord Thyestes of Mykenae. My king asks the gods to bless you and your house and bids me say that the day you have all prayed for has come. Prince Tantalus is ready to receive his bride. Lord Thyestes has made rich sacrifices in all the temples of Mykenae and even sent offerings to Apollo’s shrine at Delphi, asking for blessings on your children’s future. The omens are good; the gods approve.”

“May the gods bless Lord Thyestes and all his royal house,” Father replied, speaking as formally as the occasion demanded. “You will feast with us tonight to celebrate the happy news you’ve brought us. You will then return to Lord Thyestes tomorrow and tell him to prepare to receive my daughter, the princess Clytemnestra. She’ll leave in five days’ time, accompanied by her bridal goods and attendants, including her brothers, the princes Castor and Polydeuces, the royal sons of Sparta. Tell your master that my queen and I pray our daughter will be a wife worthy of Lord Thyestes’s son.”

I looked at my sister. She’d spent the past four years of her life preparing to become Prince Tantalus’s bride, the future queen of Mykenae. Now the waiting was over. In only five days, she’d leave her land, her home, her family. What was she feeling? I tried to read her face. Her lips were pressed together tightly and I saw a little red rising to her cheeks, but that was all.

She always did say she was eager to leave us,
I thought.
I know we’re supposed to stand here like statues, but if I were the one getting my heart’s desire, at least I’d smile, just a little.

After the feast that night, I took the earliest possible opportunity to go back to my room. I didn’t bother calling for Ione to fetch a little oil lamp—the moon was almost full, and the stars washed the sky with light. I could see well enough, and I wanted to be alone. I needed some time to myself, to think about what my life was going to be like after Clytemnestra left.

My sister and I might not have gotten along as well as Castor and Polydeuces, yet there was still a bond between us. I treasured the times that she’d treated me like a friend, not a rival. What would she say if I let her know that I envied her as much as she seemed to envy me? She had such a talent for making beautiful things! The blouse she’d embroidered as a gift for me was the finest thing I owned. When she helped me with my own dreadful needlework, she did it without making fun of my poor skills. I think that was the best way she had to let me know she cared about me. I wished I had a way to show how deeply I cared about her.

A cool breeze came in through the window, bringing the green scent of cedars and pine from the hills. I stood there gazing out toward the mountains, wondering if my sister would believe me if I told her how much I’d miss her.

A strange sound from behind me made me turn quickly. The moonlight couldn’t reach every corner of my room; the small, half-choked sound was coming from a deep pool of darkness in the corner nearest the doorway.

“Who’s there?” I called. The sound came again, and now I recognized it: a sob.

Before I could say another word, the sob broke into a harsh bout of weeping as a shadow came rushing out of the corner and into my arms. Soft hands clung to me, a tear-streaked face pressed itself against my cheek, and in my ear my sister’s anguished voice cried, “Oh, Helen, it’s really
happening.
I just realized that it…I’m scared. I don’t care if I’m never queen of anything, I don’t want to marry a
stranger
! Sister, save me; you’re our future queen, there must be
something
you can do. Talk to Father, to Mother, beg them to change their minds; they’ll listen to
you.
Don’t let them do this to me! Oh, Helen, please help me. I want to die!”

I let her cry in my arms until we heard the sound of footsteps and Ione came running into my room, carrying a lamp.

“There you are!” she exclaimed when the light fell on Clytemnestra. “When you weren’t in your room, I—”

My sister threw herself into our nurse’s arms and wept louder while I told Ione what was wrong. She was sympathetic, but coldly practical. “A fine time to change your mind!” she told Clytemnestra. Then she turned to me. “Not that it would’ve mattered if she’d said no to this four years ago. It’s Lord Tyndareus’s decision. You can talk to your father all you like, child, but don’t expect him to call off the marriage. Didn’t you hear the messenger? The gods have spoken.”

Ione had a point. The gods desired my sister’s marriage. More important, the king of Mykenae desired it, and Mykenae was powerful and proud. If Father called off the wedding, the insult could bring war. One girl’s unhappiness was nothing next to the safety of all Sparta. He’d never budge, but I couldn’t just accept that without doing something for my sister. At least I had to
try.