Helen of Sparta (10 page)

“Thank you, my lord.” She squeezed his arm, looking up into his face. Her eyes were the green of spring grasses and myrtle leaves. Last night, he would have sworn they matched the turquoise o
f the sea.

“Theseus!”

He jerked at the call, tearing his eyes from hers and excusing himself.
Athena, help me. I must keep my wits.
He thanked the gods it was only Pirithous who had noticed. Theseus j
oined him.

“Do you want Menelaus to have you killed in your sleep, Theseus?”
he hissed.

“He would
n’t dare.”

Pirithous gave him a dark look that suggested otherwise. “All the same, you would do well to keep your admiration to yourself until you speak to her father. I don’t understand how you ever got on without me. Even with Antiope you did not behave so f
oolishly.”

“Antiope would have sneered if I had.” He shook his head, hoping to clear it, but it did not help. All he could think of was Helen, and he searched for her again in
the crowd.

Menelaus had gone to Helen’s side, leaning down to whisper against her ear. Helen stiffened and pulled away. She raised her chin, her voice sharp even at a distance, though Theseus could not make out the words. Helen walked quickly away, joining Castor and Pollu
x instead.

“Menelaus takes too many liberties,” Pirithous
murmured.

“Let him. He only succeeds in driving her away.” But his hands had balled into fists at his sides. Whatever argument they’d had the previous evening, Helen had clearly not forgiven the son
of Atreus.

“Whatever it is she wants of you, Theseus, it will have something to do
with him.”

Menelaus’s expression was dark as he watched Helen, but he recovered himself and offered his company to Clytemnestra. Helen’s sister welcomed him without re
servation.

Whatever she wanted, Theseus hoped it was within
his powe
r
to give.

Theseus paced his physician’s small room, really no more than a short hall and a sleeping chamber, though the walls were painted richly with leaping fish and dolphins. Bread and watered wine sat ready on a small table, but he could not bring himself to eat while
he waited.

The sun had risen, and the morning’s entertainments had begun in the megaron. Pirithous was there, no doubt enjoying himself with whichever servant made herself available, and none the worse for his lack of sleep the night before. He claimed his stamina was a gift from Zeus; considering his other appetites, Theseus did not
doubt him.

“My lord, would you prefer to sit? Is there something I can have brought for you?” Aris
ton asked.

“No, thank you.” Theseus forced himself to stop, standing before the window. He clasped his hands behind his back. Ariston was a good physician as well as an old friend, but Theseus was still his king, and a king should not show anxiety or worry. Certainly not over a yo
ung woman.

A knock on the door cut through him, and he turned. It could not be anyone other than Helen, but the woman who slipped into the room kept her hair and face covered by a scarf. The green eyes that met his were unmistakable, and splashes of her red gown peeked out from beneath a pale
blue robe.

Ariston shut the door b
ehind her.

“My lady.” Theseus crossed the room to meet her and brought her hand to
his lips.

Helen squeezed his hand. “My lord. Thank you for s
eeing me.”

“It would be rude of me to refuse you.” He nodded to Ariston, and the man disappeared into the bedchamber without a word. “May I offer you food
or drink?”

She shook her head, reaching up to unwrap the scarf from her face. “Thank you
, but no.”

Her golden hair fell free of the scarf, no longer encumbered by the ornaments. A single diamond rested against her throat. It was something he had found in Egypt before he had settled into the kingship of Athens, and one of his gif
ts to her.

Theseus lifted the stone, rolling it between his fingers. “I thought this would suit you, when I heard of your beauty. I’m pleased I could finally
offer it.”

A blush began at the fair skin of her chest and rose all the way to her cheeks. “It is very b
eautiful.”

“So beautiful, it would shame any other woman who wore it but you.” He dropped his hand and again met her eyes, which were the green of olives now. He had never seen a woman with eyes so arresting, and when she looked at him, he felt it like fire on his skin. Zeus had outdone himself. “I’m honored that you seek my counsel,
Princess.”

“I seek your help, my lord, not just your counsel.” She swallowed, all the color leaving her face. The scarf twisted into knots between he
r fingers.

“To you, Princess, I am Theseus.” He took the scarf from her hands and guided her to a low bench along the wall. “Sit, please, and tell me what makes you so
anxious.”

She sat and stared at her lap, her fingers pleating the fabric of her skirt before smoothing it again. He poured her wine and pressed the cup into her hands, but she only frowned into t
he liquid.

“I hope that you are as generous when you hear what I have com
e to say.”

Theseus pulled a stool around to face her and seated himself close to her side. From the way her fingers barely closed around the cup, he feared she migh
t drop it.

“Barring a declaration of war against my city, or a curse upon my sons, I believe there is little you could say that would o
ffend me.”

He leaned forward, brushing a strand of her golden hair behind her shoulder. It was smooth as silk, and he knew he should not touch her, but somehow he could not quite sto
p himself.

She stilled when his fingers brushed the column of her neck, and her gaze rose from the wine to his face. “Menelaus says that if you married me, you would treat me as nothing more than
a whore.”

He drew back. A hundred responses came to mind, many of which he would have spoken in his younger days, but it was not the insult that mattered now. “What do you
believe?”

Her face flushed. “I believe you are a good man and a fair king. You look on me with kind eyes and listen to me as though my words carry weight. If that is how you treat your whores, I would be lucky to be counted am
ong them.”

“I would treat you as a queen of Athens,” he said. “And if we were married, my city would love you. But I would give up Athens for you, if you w
ished it.”

“No.” She grabbed his knee, her fingers lighting a fire that traveled up his leg. “I would join you in Athens, if you would let me. When this celebration has ended and you leave Sparta, take me with you. That is a
ll I ask.”

Her nails bit into his thigh, but he did not free himself from her grip, and the warmth spread to his stomach. Her eyes were wide, pleading, and her other hand held the wine cup so tightly, her knuckles tur
ned white.

“As
my wife?”

“If you w
ished it.”

“Helen.” His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “I do not know of any man who would not
wish it.”

He could not stop himself from stroking her cheek, his fingers trailing along the soft skin of her jaw. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, and her eyelids fluttered shut, her hold softening o
n his leg.

He sighed and dropped his hand, though he could still feel the texture of her skin on his fingers. “And if I were younger, if I were not responsible for the people of Athens, I would leave with you now without he
sitation.”

She turned her face away, her hand slipping from his knee. “If you do not take me, you risk an even greater war. So many Achaeans will die that even when they win it will leave our lands in ruins for generations. The kings who survive will be twisted in spirit, but most will not return from battle. Is that not worse fo
r Athens?”

The prophecy felt like stone in his stomach, worse now that he heard it from her lips than as a rumor shared by
Pirithous.

“How do
you know?”

“The gods have granted me visions of the future, horrible dreams of what will come.” She swallowed again and stared at the wine cup in her lap. Her face was so pale that he could see the veins beneath the skin. “If I remain here, if I marry Menelaus, it will mean blood and death
and fire.”

He rose, turning away to keep from drawing her into his arms and giving her comfort he shouldn’t. She offered him not only herself, but a reason why he should take her. The gods were cruel to present him with this, if they did not mean for him to have her.
Athena, help me to think cl
early now.

He stared at the window, shuttered to keep their privacy, and rubbed his face. “And how do you know that if I take you from here, it will be avoided? How do you know it will not incite the war
you fear?”

“Because in the dream I am Menelau
s’s wife.”

He heard her stand, and the wine cup clinked softly as she set it upon the table. Her hand touched his elbow, and the warmth of her fingers spread u
p his arm.

“Theseus, if I am not here, I cannot be stolen from him by this stranger who will come, and if I am not his wife, he and Agamemnon cannot start a war to reclaim me. If there was another way, another man whom I thought I could trust, I would not impose mysel
f on you—”

He laughed, looking down at her. “You offer yourself to me as my wife, and you think it is an im
position?”

She pressed her lips together. “I know what I am, Theseus. And you are wise enough to know it, too. The man who is my husband will not have an easy life. Every man in my father’s hall seeks to have me as his alone, no matter what the cost, or how much blood i
t spills.”

Yes, he knew. But life as the wife of a hero would not be easy, either. Was it possible she did not know what his love had brought down upon his wives? By Zeus’s thunder, he hoped she didn’t. If they were to have a future, let it not be shadowed
by death.

“I’m flattered you think me any different,
” he said.

“Haven’t you proven it? Just now, you refused me when I offered you myself. But I will beg you, my lord, if I must. I cannot stand by and do nothing to stop so much destruction. This is my future, and if the day comes because I did not act now, the guilt will fall on me along with t
he blood.”

Her eyes held the fire of emeralds, and he knew why she had chosen him. It wasn’t because he could refuse her. She did not care if he wanted her for her beauty, or for her kingdom. She only cared that he would act to save the lives of others. She would trade herself for the lives of strange men she had never met, prostitute herself for peace. At least if she were his, he could see that she went unpunished for her generosity. In Athens, she would be honored above all others. He could make her
his equal.

“I am not your lor
d, Helen.”

He fingered a strand of her hair, then tucked it behind her ear. There was nothing left to do but accept the burden the gods had placed upon his shoulders. Just as he had accepted it as a youth and gone to Crete for the freedom of Athens. Perhaps now he served to free Helen, too. There were worse things to
fight for.

Father, help me now as you
did then.

“I am your servant,” Theseus said. “I will speak to your father and bargain for your hand, but even if I cannot bring you to Athens openly as my wife, I will see you made safe. You have
my word.”

C
HAPTER SEVEN

C
lytemnestra spent the evening at Theseus’s side, shooting glares at me from across the length of the table, and I forced myself not to consider the things she might be telling him. Theseus would not listen to her lies. I had to believe he was too wise
for that.

Beside me, Agamemnon put down his cup, wiping the wine from his mouth and beard with the back of his hand. He watched Clytemnestra with small, dark eyes, his mood souring more with every smile my sister gave t
o Theseus.

“He’s too old for her,” I said. “She would never
have him.”

He glowered at me. “But not too old
for you?”

I broke a piece of bread from the loaf between us and tried not to show the chill that went down my spine when his eyes traced my body beneath my gown. “My marriage will be to the man who will best serve Sparta. Age brings wisdom, and I would be a fool to turn down any man who offers my people suc
h a gift.”

“Just because you are beautiful, you think it gives you the right to choose a king?” I tried not to flinch when his fist hit the table. “Tyndareus will see you married to the man who offers him the greatest gifts. The wealth of Mycenae will ensure that man is my
brother.”

“Is Mycenae richer than Athens?” I kept my voice light though my heart raced. “I’m surprised it has recovered so quickly from the war. You must be a very fine king,
my lord.”

“It’s a shame you do not have your sister’s manners.” He bared his teeth at me and refilled his wine cup. “What good is beauty witho
ut grace?”

My face flushed, and I stared at the bread on my plate, biting my tongue on an even ruder reply. Nestra’s laugh rose above the sounds of conversation, but I did not let myself look up to see if Theseus smiled in return. The king of Mycenae must have been truly blinded by love for my sister if he believed her manners were an improvement over mine. If I hadn’t been so irritated by her incessant flirting, I might even have told her so. Not that she wou
ld listen.

Agamemnon left to go carve himself more meat. Unlike Theseus, he did not offer me any of the food from his plate, and I did not ask for any. Sitting beside him was punishment enough without allowing him further excuse to insult me with his refusal. At that point in the night, I would even have been grateful for one of King Nestor’s war stories. At least he had always treated me with courtesy. I would never understand what Nestra saw in Agamemnon. It could not just be his muscle, or she would fawn over Menelaus just as much if no
t more so.

I picked a pomegranate from the fruit bowl and stared at the bloodred skin. I dug my nails into the rind and breathed in the fresh scent of its fruit, hoping it might dispel my e
xhaustion.

“My lady?” Clymene touched my arm. “Menelaus asks you to meet him in the c
ourtyard.”

I frowned. I had already refused to meet with him earlier this afternoon, and I had no desire to see him now, either. Not after the things he had said to me this morning, standing beneath
my window.

“Tell Menelaus I cannot leave my father’
s guests.”

She nodded and left. I dropped the fruit on my plate and noticed Theseus watching me. He raised his cup and I smiled. Then Nestra tugged at his arm, draping her body against him, and I had to
look away.

Neither Agamemnon nor Menelaus returned to the table. If I had been sitting with Theseus, or even my brothers, I might have found a sympathetic shoulder to lean against, but alone, there was no point in forcing myself to stay awake after I had spent the last night
sleepless.

I rose, picking my way through my father’s guests. There were fewer now, many of the poorer admirers having left that morning, and the balcony above was open to women and children again. Most of those left were princes and kings, men who believed they could win my hand by gold or athleticism. I recognized a few as good friends to Tyndareus—Ajax the Great, of course, and his half brother, Teucer, known for his skill with a bow; and Ajax the Lesser of Locris, whom I wished I did not know at all. Adrastus and Diomedes, his grandson, had come from Argos, but Diomedes was not even my own age, and Adrastus could not truly hope we might marry, no matter how exceptional he believed his heir to be. Sparta did not need a
boy-king.

Too busy looking for the men I knew at the tables, I did not notice the one who stepped in my way until he had caug
ht my arm.

“Surely you do not wander alone with so many guests present in the palace,
my lady.”

I pulled my arm free, looking up into a face that reminded me of Pollux. “It is early enough yet that I need not fear. No man with his wits about him would violate me in my fathe
r’s hall.”

“Your pardon, Princess.” He bowed, offering me a charming smile. “Theseus would not forgive me if I did not see you safely to the women’s
quarters.”

“King Theseus is very a
ttentive.”

The man laughed. “Only to beautiful women, I as
sure you.”

“And who are you to know the limitations of Theseus’s kindness?” I asked, step
ping back.

“Pirithous, king of the Lapiths, son of Zeus.” He grinned again, his gaze flicking over me, and I felt even in so swift a glance, he had taken in everything about me. “I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, but I did not wish to steal your attention from Theseus. He’s quite taken with you, but that can hardly be surprising. What m
an isn’t?”

Pirithous certainly had the height of a demigod. I refused to take another step back even if it meant I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. And this was Theseus’s closest friend? His manners left something to b
e desired.

“King Agamemnon does not seem to have any use for me, even as a dinner
partner.”

“King Agamemnon is a fool,” he said. “Be grateful you have not caught his eye. The way the servants speak of him, he’s nothing more than
a brute.”

I smiled. “I do not have any interest in procuring King Agamemnon’
s favors.”

“No, of course.” His eyes narrowed. “But there are many rumors about your relationship with his
brother.”

I raised my chin. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear from servants, King P
irithous.”

“I’ve seen enough to know it is not all talk,” he said softly. “He is determined, Helen. If he was a brother to you once, he isn’t an
y longer.”

My throat tightened. Was it so obvious? “I don’t know what
you mean.”

He smiled grimly. “I’m afraid if you won’t permit me to accompany you, I’ll have t
o follow.”

I swallowed hard and surveyed the room. Menelaus’s seat still sat empty at the table, and the idea of an escort did not seem so unwelcome anymore. He would not be happy that I had refused him and gone to be
d instead.

“If you insist. I cannot
stop you.”

He inclined his head. “I won’t be fa
r behind.”

Strange, I thought, to find such comfort in the words of a stranger. When I heard his footfalls echo mine in the corridors, I did not turn, and as I slipped through the guarded and curtained doorway to the women’s quarters, I caught no sight of him at all. But he had been there, and on Theseus’s behalf, he kep
t me safe.

I did not need to light the oil lamp to find the way to my dressing table, and perhaps if I kept the room dark, Menelaus would not notice I had returned to my bedchamber. I would not be able to weave tonight, if I could not sleep. Not if he watched for me. I shook my head. He’d probably found another slave to take to his bed in my place. Was it terrible that I hoped so, just
this once?

The soft sounds of movement told me Clymene had arrived before me, and I lifted my hair up off my neck. “Can you undo the clasp of my
necklace?”

The delicate wire slipped free, and I caught the diamond pendant in my hand, letting my hair drop. The stone flashed in the moonlight, and I smiled. Even darkness couldn’t dull its beauty. Clymene’s fingers moved through my hair, plucking out the silver and ivory pins and dropping them to the floor. She wasn’t usually so
careless.

“You’ll never find them again in the dark,” I said, glancing over my
shoulder.

I froze.

A figure loomed behind me, too tall to be my maid. My hand closed around th
e diamond.

“Clymene will find them in the morning, I’m sure.” Menelaus’s fingers slid down my neck and along my spine, prickling my skin. “I sent her to the feast. Agamemnon should keep her occupied un
til dawn.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” I slipped out from under his hands but did not turn to face him. My heart pounded i
n my ears.

Clymene was with Agamemnon. Leda would not check on me; she barely even looked at me. And Nestra no longer shared my room. Clymene had been my only protection, but she would obey Agamemnon and Menelaus as she would my father or brothers. All the ser
vants did.

“I could not stand to think you would go to your bed still angry. If you had only come to me earlier, I would not have been forced to climb in through your window like a common thief, but I had to speak with you.” He touched my hair again, and I willed myself not to flinch. “I don’t know what I said to upset you this morning, but whatever it is, I apologize a hundred times. A thousand. Surely you understand it is only that I love you
too much—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, interrupting him. I could not stand to hear more of his love. Not when he showed no regard for my own feelings. “No matter what you say, or how many times you apologize, tomorrow you will still look at me as though you own me. You still consider me to be yo
ur prize.”

“When all this madness is over, we’ll be married. Tyndareus only waits for his guests to leave to announce it.” His hand fell to my shoulder, his thumb sliding over the sleeve of my gown and slipping it down my arm. “Clytemnestra will be given to Agamemnon and be made queen of Mycenae. Even she can’t complain about such an arrangement. And you and I, we will be free to love each othe
r openly.”

“No.” I fought back the tears pressing behind my eyes. Tyndareus could not have done this to me. Not without my agreement. Not without at least consulting Pollux and Castor. Surely my brothers would not have kept this from me. “Menelaus, it is not so simple. You know
it isn’t.”

“I told you Agamemnon would keep his word,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “Tyndareus has always hoped we would marry. Did you never wonder why I sought you out, even when you were still so young? Once I knew you, it hardly mattered how it had begun. You were so sweet to me as a child, so delighted with my attentions. How could
I resist?”

“But you can’t. He wouldn’t.” I turned to
face him.

The line of his mouth in the moonlight showed no kindness, and his eyes glinted with a hardness I had never seen before. It reminded me too much of Agamemnon and the way he stared at serving girls. The way he had stared at me during th
e banquet.

“You can’t want this,” I said. “The future it will bring. The war. You can’t want to have me this way. To put me in the path of harm, and your
brother—”

“You should be grateful,” he said before I could speak further, as if he had plugged his ears against my words. “If I had not bargained with my brother, leveraged my support in his desire for Mycenae, Agamemnon would have taken you for himself, instead. Can you imagine? You say I only look upon you as another prize to be won, but at least I can give you my affections, my love. My brother never understood. He never realized how much more you are than just your beauty and your kingdom. But I do. I know yo
u, Helen.”

I shook my head, sidling away. The things he was saying—no wonder Agamemnon was so sour, and if Nestra had k
nown . . .

But it did not matter. No matter what argument he made, it did not change what would come to pass. Better if I had been promised to Agamemnon than Menelaus. Perhaps there would not have been any affection shared between us, but that would be nothing if it meant all that death, all that horro
r avoided.

“Think, Menelaus,” I said softly, urging him to see reason. “Think what you’re saying. Think what you would be allowing t
o happen!”

“I would be allowing you to become my wife. You cannot truly be so surprised by it all when I have made my feelings so clear.” He stepped closer, crowding me against the table. Jewels fell to the floor, ringing against the tile. There was not enough wine on his breath for the excuse of drunkenness. “Have I not always cared for you? Always protected you? Who bette
r than I?”