Helen of Troy (56 page)

“Oh, yes . . .” The lightness left his voice. “That place.”

“You said you knew exactly where it was. Let us go there and get it over with.”

He turned abruptly and headed in the opposite direction. Clearly he had wished to go there last, if at all. We traversed gentle dips and valleys, going from shaded stands of pine to vine-choked hollows filled with thick shrubs then out again, climbing higher. The path up the mountain twisted and turned, loose gravel falling on either side.

Suddenly we reached an open space, a meadow sloping gently downhill. Tall dark cypresses guarded its edges, and I could see a sparkling stream running through it on its way through the thicket on one side.

“Here. It was here.” Paris stopped and extended one arm. “I was sleeping here, beneath this tree. This very one.” He sought out an old oak whose thick trunk cast a wide shadow. “Yes, and here is the stone I pillowed myself on.” Gingerly he knelt down beside it, ran his hands over it. “I was lying thus . . .” He stretched himself out. “There were more leaves above me then, but otherwise it is the same.” He closed his eyes to imitate the sleeping. “And then I heard them—I saw them . . .”

There was nothing there but the sound of the wind passing through the branches.

“I think there was someone else with them—yes, a male—Hermes. How could I have forgotten? It was he who told me I must decide between the goddesses. He said he could not help me, I must make the decision by myself. He said”—low laugh—“that my looks and my knowledge of love affairs qualified me to judge. Then I stood up, and they led me . . .” He looked around, casting his gaze in all directions. “There! There, into that grove.”

“Then let us go there,” I said.

The grove surrounded a deep pool, filled by a spring-fed stream falling from rocks above. In summer, when the rains and melting snows were gone, it probably vanished. Like the goddesses themselves. But now it spread itself out in dark wide ripples, its center reflecting the sky, its edges shadowed. A hush hovered over it. I could hear the splash of the water as it entered the pool at one far end.

“They bade me sit on this rock.” He sank down on it. “Then they stood before me. They were frightening. First of all, they were larger than humans. The arm of Athena was as big as a ship’s mast. I need have no illusions about what that arm could do to me. Hermes explained, as if he were talking to a simpleton, that Zeus had appointed me to choose the fairest of them. He would give them some prize or other, I believe it was a golden apple engraved with the words, ‘To the fairest,’ once I decided.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it
was
a dream. Why would goddesses care about an engraved golden apple? They could make their own. And why would they care what a herdsman said? They hardly consider mortals, any mortals, of any importance. It made no sense. But I did not question it, I was so frightened of my safety. I only wanted to escape with my life.” He coughed. “I told Hermes I would divide the apple between them. He said that was impossible, that I must decide. My heart was racing. Well I knew that a person may make conditions before an action, but never afterward. I begged the losers not to be vexed with me, as I am only a simple mortal, and prone to error. Hermes assured me they agreed with my request.”

“But clearly they did not!”

“The gods are not to be trusted. We know that. That is why I sought protection—not that it availed me any.”

“But you gazed upon them. Tell me about them, what they looked like.”

“I hardly noticed,” he admitted. “If you saw a gigantic mastiff, its jaws dripping with foam, about to spring, would you notice its coat?”

“And they disrobed?”

“Hermes suggested it. So the first was Hera. She looked well enough, but then her attempts at bribery were pathetic. She sought to dangle riches and territory before me.” He paused. “Then came Athena. She had insisted that Aphrodite remove her magic belt, which caused all who saw her to fall in love with her.” He laughed. “Aphrodite agreed, if Athena would remove her helmet. She said Athena looked hideous in it. She was right. Athena was . . . almost attractive without it.”

“And what did she offer you?”

“Oh, more territory and victories, things I care not about.” He shrugged—too quickly. Then he went to the edge of the pool and, kneeling, dipped his hand into it.

“Aphrodite, then,” I coaxed him.

He sank back on his haunches. “That lady knows how to please a man.” He smiled.

“Yes, she is known for that.”

“The first thing she told me was that I was the handsomest man in the region and was wasting myself in cattle-herding. She said I was meant for better things. She promised them to me.”

“She promised you a place in Troy? But of course she already knew of your true birth.” Oh, how quickly I rushed to supply the answer! Would that I had waited for him to speak first.

“Yes, that is exactly what she promised,” he said, smiling. “Just that.” He flipped some water over at me, spraying my face. “And it was soon after that that I went to Troy and the truth of my parentage was revealed. I must thank her for that. Because of her, I became a prince of Troy.”

“You were already that.”

“But it was Aphrodite who revealed it to my mother and father.”

“Then it was worth it to choose her. It changed your life in a manner you desired.”

“Yes, yes.”

“I thought you did not remember what they promised you.”

A fleeting look of alarm crossed his face. “Coming here has revived my memories. As I hoped.”

“As
I
hoped. Now we must propitiate the losers, so they call off their vengeance on Troy.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He dug into his sack and brought out two painted vases celebrating their charms, along with homage acknowledging their beauty with exquisite necklaces of carnelian and amethyst strung with gold beads. He laid them reverently on a flat stone, invoking their presence.

Holding up his hands, he cried, “Great goddesses of Olympus, Hera of Argos and gray-eyed, aegis-bearing daughter of Zeus, sublime Athena, look with favor on these gifts I bring you, and have mercy on Troy.” Then he offered more things to fire their hearts: spread out upon the rock were models of ships and walled cities, as if Paris could deliver them! “All these are yours to command. You promised to abide by my pitiful decision, but I am only an ignorant mortal. My weak opinion should weigh nothing in the scales of the immortals.”

He knelt before the makeshift altar.

There was utter silence. Did they even hear him? They were most likely occupied with other matters, all as frivolous as an engraved apple. I clamped my thoughts shut, lest they read them.

“You threaten Troy, which never did you harm. I am not Troy. I was not even acknowledged by Troy when I was summoned to award the golden apple. Do not blame innocent people for my failings.”

More silence.

“Call off the Greeks! Beseech Zeus, call off the havoc of war!”

No sound but the rustle of the thicket and the gurgle of the waterfall.

“Then . . . Aphrodite, save us!” he cried. “Do not let us perish!”

Aphrodite: the goddess who, leading us by invisible traces, had brought us together. She was not trustworthy, but now she was all we had. Our petition to the others had been ignored, and Troy must suffer. I gave a cry. Was there nothing we could do? But what could we promise to the losers, Hera and Athena? It was they who had the power to bestow gifts, not us.

I reached out to Paris and took his hand, drawing him up. “Come,” I said. “This is as it is.” I felt both sad and defiant. “We must stand up to it, bear it, whatever may come. The gods can buckle our knees and crush our shoulders, yet there is a majesty in being destroyed by them—but by their hands alone. Meanwhile, we stand on our feet. This is our last petition to them, to hateful Hera and Athena.” I cast my glance across the skies. Sometimes the gods even admired those they destroyed, if they were worthy adversaries. “You made your choice, Paris. Now we must accept the consequences.”

“You would do that alongside me?” He sounded incredulous.

“Of course. Without you there is nothing of me.” I clasped his hand. It was cold, like a jar left outside in the night.

“Helen.” He leaned toward me, his eyes asking a hundred questions.

“I thought never to see you again.” A clear, sharp voice rang across the glen. I jerked my head around to see a woman standing on the far side of the pool. She was young, slender, robed. Paris’s hand trembled in mine. I felt a slight movement as if he would withdraw it, but he did not; instead, he squeezed it tighter.

“Oenone,” he cried.

“Oh, yes. Oenone.” She was striding forward, coming toward us. Her steps were brisk, kicking out her closed mantle around her; inside it I could see a rose-colored gown. The closer she got, the clearer I could see her lovely face. Paris stood rooted as if he were a tree. He clutched my hand.

“So this is the one you left me for.” She was within a few paces of us before she stopped. “Oh, I have heard of her.” She flipped back her hood. Long honey-streaked hair tumbled out. “She’s not so superlatively beautiful as they say. So why, Paris?” Her voice was loud and challenging. I wanted to answer it, but it was not my place. Let Paris speak.

“I love her,” he finally said.

“Love her, or love the fact that she is daughter of Zeus?” The bold woman circled us. “You carved our names together on the forest trees. You said you would be mine forever. Then suddenly you were gone!” She brought her arm out in a swift gesture. “Gone, and gone to
her.”
She thrust her face up into mine. “Tell me, lady, what trick did you use to win him? When he came to your husband’s court, why did you throw yourself before him?”

I did not,
I started to say. But why should I defend myself? Best to say nothing.

“A married woman,” she hissed. “Did you know special things to lure him? Or was it just the melody of the forbidden? I know Paris, he likes the forbidden. That is why he went to Troy that day. It was forbidden. Mark yourself, lady, and now that you are no longer forbidden, but come with a price—watch for him to flit away!”

Why did Paris not speak?

“Begone, Oenone. You are wearisome. It is over between us.” Now Paris did speak, but his words were drooping, weak ones.

“So you think. Have you forgotten my gifts of healing?” She pulled herself away, glared at us.

“What of them? I am not in need of them.”

“Ah, but you will be. I see ahead, I see it. You will suffer a grievous wound and be brought to me here—
she
has no powers of healing—but in that day I will turn my back on you and send you back to Troy to die.”

If she sought by this to win him to her side again, she was ignorant of men. “Such is your love, then,” I spoke. “A shallow one, that smarts only with your own pride. This is not love.”

“Curses on you!” she spat. “Source of all his doom, and you dare to call me names!”

“I only know that if I truly love someone, I would never withhold vital aid to him, regardless of what he had done. But perhaps that is because I am a mother, and know other dimensions of love.”

“A mother who has left her child—abandoned her for her lover! What right have you to speak to me of love?”

Ah, well she knew how to wound me. “Perhaps I understand love even better because of that. I have suffered.”

“And I have not?” she glared at Paris. “Speak to me, you coward. Do not let your lover speak for you.”

“Oenone, I have told you, it is over between us.”

“Because you have gone on to a higher station—prince of Troy, lover of a queen.”

“It was my destiny.” His voice was faint, reluctant. “I was already a prince of Troy, and not to claim it would have been cowardly. And Helen is my other self, my soul. Meant for me since the beginning.”

“Let that other self save you, then, when the time comes!” she cried. She turned, then stopped and looked back at us. “I had prayed to see you just once more. The gods brought you here, whispered in my ear where I could find you. Bitter finding! I leave you to her, and in those final hours, even she will beg me to save you.” She flung back her head. “But I won’t, my lady. Your pitiful supplications will be balm to me, but they will avail you nothing. Rejoice in your short time together!” In a swirl of her cloak she was gone. The foliage swallowed her up as she slipped away.

“Paris,” I said, shaken. “You had not told me of her.” Now I remembered Deiphobus’s sneering remark about a water nymph Paris had left. “Perhaps it is best. Now I know everything: the hard test the goddesses put before you, the woman you had loved before me. You know Menelaus, I now know Oenone. I have looked upon her face.” He looked so distraught I sought to reassure him. “There should be no secrets between us.”

Fool that I was, I thought I knew all. I still did not know the final secret of Aphrodite’s promise, how she had dangled me as a prize.

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