The Song of Troy (13 page)

‘My lord, mind what you say! I beg you, be discreet!’

For answer, he smiled. My chest caved in, I pressed my knees together on a sudden hotness.

‘I saw you this afternoon,’ he went on as if I had not said anything, ‘fleeing away from us in your gauzy gown.’

The scarlet flooded up beneath my skin; I prayed no one on the floor of the hall noticed.

His hand dropped and found my arm. I jumped, the touch unbearable, the sensation coursing through me akin to what I felt when the Thunderer spoke.

‘My lord,
please
!
My husband will hear you!’

As he laughed he put his hand back on the board, but so abruptly that the goblet at his elbow tumbled over; the red wine in it spread in a lake across the pale wood. Even as I beckoned to a servant to clean it up, he was leaning towards me.

‘I love you, Helen,’ he said.

Had the servants heard? Why were their faces always so impassive while they waited on their betters? I glanced at Menelaos; he sat staring sleepily at nothing, very drunk.

Too drunk to come to me that night. His men carried him to his own apartments and left me to find my way alone to mine. For a long time I sat on the window seat in my parlour, thinking. What to do? How to get through the next however many days this dangerous man would be here? After a single meal in his company I was undone. He stalked me fearlessly, deeming my husband too big a fool to catch him out. But that was the wine, and I knew tomorrow’s dinner would see Menelaos sober. Even the most foolish of men has his share of vigilance; besides which, one of the house barons was bound to say something to him. They were paid by Agamemnon to notice everything. Let even one of them decide that I was unfaithful, and Agamemnon would know within a day. Trojan Prince or no, Paris would lose his head. So would I.
So would I!

Torn between fear and longing, I writhed. Oh, how much I loved him! But what kind of love came so suddenly, without any warning? Pure lust I could resist; I had learned that over the course of my marriage. Love, on the other hand, was irresistible. I yearned to be with Paris for every reason. I yearned to spend my life with him. I wanted to know how he thought, how he lived, how he felt, how he looked while he slept. The arrow had pierced me, the arrow which had driven Phaidra to kill herself, Danai to step into a box her father flung into the sea, Orpheus to brave the kingdom of Hades in search of Eurydike. My life was not my own; it belonged to Paris. I would die for him! Yet… What ecstasy to be able to
live
for him!

Menelaos came into my bedroom a few moments after I had climbed wearily into my bed, while the cocks were crowing raucously and the rim of the eastern sky was pale amid mist. Looking sheepish, he refused to kiss me.

‘My breath stinks of wine, beloved, I would offend you. Odd, that I drank so much. There was no need.’

I drew him down to sit beside me. ‘How are you this morning, aside from your breath?’

He grinned. ‘A little unwell.’ Amusement fled; a frown arrived. ‘Helen, I have a problem.’

My mouth went dry; I felt myself lick my lips. One of the house barons had told him! Words! I
must
find words! ‘A problem?’ I croaked.

‘Yes. A messenger from Crete woke me. My grandfather Katreus has died there, and Idomeneus is delaying the funeral until either Agamemnon or I can come. Naturally he expects to see me. Agamemnon is tied to Mykenai.’

I sat up, mouth fallen open. ‘Menelaos! You cannot go!’

My vehemence surprised him, but he took it as a compliment. ‘There is no alternative, Helen. I have to go to Crete.’

‘Will you be away long?’

‘Half a year at least – I wish you knew more geography. The autumn winds will blow me down, but I will have to wait for the summer winds to blow me back.’

‘Oh,’ I said, and sighed. ‘When must you leave?’

He squeezed my arm. ‘Today, my dearest. I’ll have to go to Mykenai to see Agamemnon first, and since I’ll sail from Lerna or Nauplia, I won’t be able to return here before I sail. Such a pity,’ he rambled, delighted at my consternation.

‘But you can’t go, Menelaos. You have a house guest.’

‘Paris will understand. I’ll perform the purification rites this morning before I leave for Mykenai, but I’ll also make sure he feels at liberty to remain here as long as he likes.’

‘Take him to Mykenai with you,’ I said, inspired.

‘Helen, really! In such a hurry? Of course he should go to Mykenai, but at his leisure,’ said my foolish husband, anxious to please his guest but blind to the peril his guest represented.

‘Menelaos, you cannot abandon me with Paris here!’ I cried.

He blinked. ‘Why not? You’re well chaperoned, Helen.’

‘Agamemnon may not think so.’

My hand was wrapped about his forearm; he leaned to kiss it, smooth my hair. ‘Helen, rest easy. Your concern is charming, but unnecessary. I trust you. Agamemnon trusts you.’ How could I explain that I did not trust myself?

That afternoon I stood at the foot of the palace steps and said farewell to my husband. Paris was nowhere to be seen.

Once the chariots and carts had disappeared into the far distance I went to my rooms and stayed there. My meals were brought to me. If Paris did not set eyes on me he might grow tired of the game he played, take himself off to Mykenai or Troy. Nor would the house barons have any opportunity to see us together.

But when night fell I could not sleep. Up and down the bedroom I prowled, pacing, then went to the window. Amyklai lay in utter darkness, no lamp burning anywhere, and the mountains were anonymous humps against the starstruck sky. A full moon hung huge and silver, silently pouring delicate light into the Vale of Lakedaimon. Drawing all this in with deep breaths of pleasure, I leaned my head out of the opening to let the stillness invade my bones. And with that enchantment still in me I sensed him behind me, watching the beauty of the heavens over my shoulder. I neither cried out nor turned round, but he knew the moment in which I became aware of his presence. His hands cupped my elbows, he drew me gently to rest against him.

‘Helen of Amyklai, you are as beautiful as Aphrodite.’

My body went limp, I moved my head a little under his cheek. ‘Do not tempt that Goddess, Paris. She dislikes rivals.’

‘She doesn’t dislike you. Don’t you understand? Aphrodite has given you to me. I belong to her, I am her darling.’

‘Is that why they say you have never sired a child?’

‘Yes.’ His hands at my waist moved in slow circles, unhurried, as if he had all the days of the world in which to make love to me. His lips found my neck. ‘Helen, have you never longed to be out there in the night, in the deep forest? Have you never craved the fleetness of a deer? Have you never wished to run free as the wind, fall exhausted under the body of the only man?’

My sinews leaped in response, but I said, mouth dry, ‘No. I never dream of things like that.’

‘I do. About you. I can see your long pale hair streaming in your wake, your long limbs striving to keep ahead of me in the chase. I should have met you so, not in this empty, lifeless palace.’ He parted my gown; the palms of his hands rested light as feathers against my breasts. ‘You have washed away the paint.’

And that was the breaking point. I turned then into his arms and forgot everything save the fact that he was my natural mate. That I loved him, truly loved him.

His willing slave, I lay in his arms as limply as my little daughter’s rag doll, and wished the dawn away.

‘Come back to Troy with me,’ he said suddenly.

I raised myself to see his face, saw my own love returned in those wonderful dark eyes. ‘That is madness,’ I said.

‘No, it is good sense.’ One hand lingered on my belly, the other toyed with my hair. ‘You don’t belong with an unfeeling clod like Menelaos. You belong to me.’

‘I am born of this land, I am born of this very room. I am the Queen. My children are here.’ I brushed my tears away.

‘Helen, you belong to Aphrodite, just as I do! Once I swore a solemn oath to her, to give her everything – I abrogated Here and Pallas Athene in her favour if she would grant me whatever I asked. And all I ask of her is you.’

‘I
cannot
leave!’

‘You cannot stay.
I
will not be here.’

‘Oh, I love you! How can I live without you?’

‘There’s no question of living without me, Helen.’

‘You ask the impossible,’ I wept, tears falling ever faster.

‘Nonsense! What’s so difficult? Leaving your children?’

That gave me pause; I answered honestly. ‘Not really. No. The trouble is, they’re so plain! They take after Menelaos, right down to their hair. And they’re
freckled
.’

‘Then if it’s not your children, it must be Menelaos.’

Was it? No. Poor, downtrodden, dominated Menelaos, ruled with a hand of iron from Mykenai. What did I owe him after all? I had never wanted to marry him. I owed him no more than I owed his beetle-browed brother, that forbidding man who used us like pieces in some monumental game. Agamemnon cared nothing for me – my wants, my needs, my feelings.

I said, ‘I will come to Troy with you. There is nothing for me here. Nothing.’

7

NARRATED BY

Hektor

The harbour master at Sigios sent word to me that Paris’s fleet had returned from Salamis at last; when I joined the day’s assembly I sent a page to whisper the news to my father. It was the usual wearisome, leisurely audience – disputes over property, slaves, land and so forth – an embassage from Babylon to be received – a complaint about grazing rights from our noble relatives in Dardania, put forward as always by Uncle Antenor.

The Babylonian embassage had been dealt with and dismissed and the King was about to deliver judgement on some trifling matter when the horns blared and Paris strutted into the Throne Room. I could not help smiling at his appearance; he had gone Cretan with a vengeance. The complete dandy, from his bullion-fringed purple kilt to his jewels and curls. He looked very well and very pleased with himself. What mischief had he been up to, to look like a jackal getting to the kill ahead of the lion? Of course our father was gazing at him with doting favour – how could a man wise enough to sit upon a throne be so blinded by mere charm and beauty?

Paris strolled down the length of the hall to the dais and was already settling himself on the top step as I drew near. That incurable stickybeak Antenor was also edging up within hearing distance. I went to stand openly beside the throne.

‘Have you good news, my son?’ the King asked.

‘Not about Aunt Hesione,’ said Paris, shaking his head, his ringlets bouncing. ‘King Telamon was courteous to me, but made it very clear that he will not give up Aunt Hesione.’

The King stiffened dangerously. How deep did that old hatred go? Why, even after so many years, did Father continue to be implacably turned against Greece? The hiss of his indrawn breath silenced the whole room.

‘How dare he! How dare Telamon insult me! Did you see your aunt, have the chance to speak with her?’

‘No, Father.’

‘Then I curse them all!’ He reared his head at the roof and closed his eyes. ‘O mighty Apollo, Lord of Light, Ruler of Sun and Moon and Stars, grant me the chance to bring down Greek pride!’

I leaned over the throne. ‘Sire, calm yourself! Surely you expected no other answer?’

Twisting his head to see me, he opened his eyes. ‘No, I suppose not. Thank you, Hektor. As always you draw my attention to cold reality. But why should the Greeks have it all, tell me that? Why should they be able to kidnap a Trojan princess?’

Paris put his hand on Father’s knee, tapped it gently. Gazing down at him, the King’s face softened.

‘Father, I have fittingly punished Greek arrogance,’ said Paris, eyes brilliant.

I had been about to move away, but something in his tone arrested me.

‘How, my son?’

‘An eye for an eye, sire! An eye for an eye! The Greeks stole your sister, so I have brought you a prize out of Greece greater by far than any fifteen-year-old girl!’ He jumped to his feet, so full of himself that he couldn’t bear to sit at King Priam’s feet a moment longer. ‘Sire,’ he cried, his voice ringing round the rafters, ‘I have brought you Helen! Queen of Lakedaimon, wife to Menelaos the brother of Agamemnon and sister to Agamemnon’s queen, Klytemnestra!’

I reeled in shock, unable to find words. That was a tragedy, for it gave Uncle Antenor the chance to get in first. He leaped forward, the swollen joints of his hands making them seem like huge, misshapen claws.

‘You stupid, ignorant, meddling fool!’ Antenor roared. ‘You pansy-faced philanderer! Why didn’t you really make it worth your while, kidnap Klytemnestra herself? The Greeks lie down meekly enough under our trade embargoes and their own shortages of tin and copper, but do you expect them to lie down under this as well?
You fool!
You’ve handed Agamemnon the opportunity he has waited years for! You’ve plunged us into a conflagration that will be the ruin of Troy! You brainless, conceited idiot! Why didn’t your father expose you? Why didn’t he stop your profligate career before it started? By the time that we have reaped all the consequences of this, no Trojan will utter your name without spitting!’

Half of me applauded the old man silently; he voiced my sentiments exactly. Yet I cursed Uncle Antenor too. What might my father have decided if he had held his tongue? Where Antenor found fault, the King inclined to favour. No matter what Father thought privately, Antenor had pushed him onto Paris’s side.

Paris was standing thunderstruck. ‘Father, I did it for you!’ he beseeched.

Antenor sneered. ‘Oh, yes, of course you did! And have you forgotten the most famous of all our oracles?
“Beware the woman taken out of Greece as a prize for Troy!”
Doesn’t that speak for itself?’

‘No, I did not forget it!’ my brother shouted. ‘Helen is no prize! She came with me willingly! She wasn’t the victim of an abduction, she came with me willingly because she wants to marry me! And as evidence of that, she brought a great treasure with her – gold and jewels enough to buy a kingdom! A dowry, Father, a dowry!’ He giggled. ‘I did the Greeks a far worse insult than to kidnap a queen – I
cuckolded
them!’