Helen of Troy (60 page)

G
elanor,” Paris said, “I respect your eyes and ears. You know of the incident at the well. What are your thoughts?”

We were pacing in our antechamber. The smell of fresh plaster still lingered, so new was our home. Evadne had joined us. I now had two Trojan handmaids, Scarphe and Leuce, but I had dismissed them for the day so they would not hear our conversation, so much had mistrust and apprehension crept into my mind.

Gelanor cast that measuring eye on me. “I am new to Troy. I am only just learning the stories behind the faces and the names.”

Paris shook his head. “Nonetheless, sometimes an outsider sees things a native overlooks.”

“Well, then . . .”

I expected Gelanor to start naming Trojans one after the other and analyzing the probability that he or she was the culprit, dissecting the motives. Instead he said, “I think spies have penetrated our walls.” He paused. “They are disguised as Trojans. There is a possibility that they
are
Trojans, disaffected ones, but it is less likely.”

“Spies!” breathed Paris.

“I would assume that they are outsiders, masters of disguise,” said Gelanor. “It is true, it is always preferable to corrupt a true Trojan. That way one need not worry about accents, explanations of how the person came to Troy, telltale mistakes that give him away. But it is difficult to find that someone unless you have an opportunity to freely meet the enemy and make your approach. The only open contact many strangers have with Trojans is at the trade market, and that is long over.”

“Could someone impersonate a Trojan convincingly—to other Trojans?” I asked. I knew that in my case, the accent was different, many words were different, there were things at every turn that would signal I was not a Trojan.

“Believe me, they can,” said Gelanor. “That is their job, like a farmer yoking oxen and a smith forging metals. They can forge a person who does not exist.”

“But how can they keep it up?” asked Paris. “Children play such games, but they tire of it by nightfall.”

Gelanor smiled. His smile was always both reassuring and somehow oddly distant, as if he were amused by it. “They come to believe it themselves,” he said. “They embrace it entirely, and the old self fades away.”

“I see a face,” said Evadne suddenly. “A young face.” Then she sighed. “But that is all I see.”

We asked witnesses more about Menelaus and Odysseus. What did they say, how did they look? Men present at the council meeting said that the chamber was filled to overflowing, that people lined the walls. Menelaus was soft-spoken, persuasive. His person was comely, and his appeal rational. He said that Paris had violated the most basic law of hospitality, coming under his roof with the pretense of friendship and stealing his wife away in his absence. He claimed that I had been taken against my will—raped, even.

“No!” I cried out.

“But what else can the Greeks think?” said our informant, a young council member. “It is necessary for their pride for them to believe that.” He paused “Menelaus also said that Paris had stolen vast amounts of gold and treasure from Sparta.”

“That is not true!” cried Paris. “I took nothing. Helen took only things of her own—things we are nevertheless more than willing to return.”

Menelaus—lying! Had Odysseus put him up to this, to make his case stronger?

“I swear before all the gods that is untrue,” I said. Even as the words left my mouth, I knew the ears they needed to fall upon were long gone. Our enemy had seen to that. My testimony would have set things straight. Now it would never be heard.

“A great pity, then, that you could not swear it before the council,” the man said quietly. “After Menelaus spoke, Odysseus took over. He is the most persuasive speaker ever born. Oh, it is not obvious at first. When first he rises to speak, he seems negligible, his words far from nimble. But then they pile up, and form drifts of words, words that bury you. He spoke of the disgraceful behavior of Paris, of Priam, of all of Troy. He spoke of the longing of Menelaus for his beloved wife. He spoke of the deceit and effrontery in holding her here against her will. He warned us that punishment is our due. Priam insisted in the strongest terms that they were wrong, that it was impossible for Paris to have taken you away against your will, as he had only one ship, not a fleet. Menelaus just sneered. ‘Lies from Trojans,’ he said. ‘What else can we expect from these despicable people?’ Odysseus slapped his chest. ‘We will meet you in armor on the Plain of Troy,’ he said. Then he added that Agamemnon, leader of the Greeks, demanded not only the person of Helen and her treasure, but large amounts of gold to cover the expenses the Greeks had already incurred in their quest to recover her. Otherwise they would level Troy to the ground.”

“There was a riot,” prompted Gelanor. “I’m afraid it proved their point about the Trojans being dangerous and barbaric, outside the normal rules of conduct—the sort of people who steal wives.”

“Who started that hue and cry?” asked Paris.

“I don’t know. It seemed to come from the back of the room,” said the man.

“So there are several of them,” said Gelanor. “Drugging Paris, confining Helen, and spying in the council chamber. We must look for many.”

A suspenseful calm descended on Troy after the tumult with the Greek visitors. It was as if the two men were gods, or strangers from an unknown world, whose existence, to the shock of the Trojans, had now been confirmed.

I was shaken as well. Menelaus had been here, walking these streets. But the two halves of my life were separate, utterly sundered. So I believed and so I wished. How could they now come together? I was not sure what I would have felt, seeing his face again.

Nervously, a group of women decided to leave the city to go to the washing troughs as usual. This time they went with armed guards; several of the royal women wanted to join them, not to wash clothes but to soak their newly woven tapestries to blend the colors. Much weaving was done in the palace and there was a small cartload of it waiting for the next step in its processing, which could only be done at the troughs. My own weaving was stalled, I felt. I wanted it to tell a story, an important one, but the old stories had lost their pull for me, and so I had begun nothing. Perhaps seeing the designs and works of others would help me.

The day was fair and promised to be hot for the first time in the new summer. Trundling out of the Dardanian Gate, the carts carrying the laundry and tapestries rolled down the incline. The women laughed and walked beside them; boys eager for play patted the horses and leapt up on the carts, jumping from one to the other. A fine sweet breeze blew in from the countryside.

One of the boys standing on the highest pile of laundry suddenly cried out, “Look! Look!” and pointed toward the sea, which was visible from where we were.

“What is it?” the guard nearest him asked.

“Can’t you see? Black things out there!”

Grunting, the guard climbed up on the nearest cart, after ordering everyone to stop. He shaded his eyes, squinting. For several long moments he said nothing. Then he shouted, “Ships! Ships! Back into the city!”

The big carts turned laboriously around and headed back to the gate, their loads of wash and tapestries quaking.

“Shut the gate tight!” barked the guards, after the last cart had rumbled through. We women hurried, tight-lipped, to the ramparts on the northern side of the city to see what was happening. When we got there, we found people lined up six deep, staring out to sea. We pushed through them to find our men, and then, standing beside them, we saw what they were seeing.

Spread out upon the sea, a great dark web of ships drew toward us, making a pattern like that on a loom, a tapestry telling its own dreadful tale. The ships were as numerous as flies clustering around a spilled pool of sticky wine—swarming, jostling for place, hungry.

“How many?” Andromache, standing beside me, was still out of breath from our dash to get there.

“Hundreds,” said Hector, staring grimly out. “The lookouts at Sigeum and Aesyetes’s tomb on the headlands have just come in, reporting that there are hundreds.”

“A thousand,” said Deiphobus, next to him. “At least a thousand.”

“That is impossible,” said Hector. “There simply cannot be a thousand of them.”

“Can you count, man?” snapped Deiphobus. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

“They move too swiftly and are too far away to be accurately counted,” insisted Hector.

Deiphobus sneered. “You will admit, dear brother, that there are a great many of them?”

“Yes, I grant you that. I see it gladdens your heart.”

“Indeed it does. I am eager to engage them.”

“Hector . . .” Andromache touched his shoulder. “Look at them.” Again she pointed out to sea, shuddering.

“The more, the better!” cried Deiphobus. “The more to perish. No army of that size can maintain itself in the field. They will starve to death, and the more of them, the faster it will happen. They must count on a quick strike, a quick victory, before the problems of living in an alien land bear in upon them. But they are fools. The walls of Troy are impregnable. They cannot assault us here. All they can do is mill and mass upon the plain. Perhaps,” he said smugly, “a few of us may venture out to give them battle. But it will be an individual or two.” He whirled around and looked at me. “Here it is. The face that has called forth all those ships. One ship for each hair of your head, each eyelash, each finger and toe. Let them wreck themselves on the rocks of our walls! We have more stones than you have golden hairs on your head!” He swung away, a little smile of pleasure playing about his lips.

I turned and fled. I could not stand and watch the hideous black line of ships come closer.
One ship for each hair of your head, each eyelash, each finger
and toe.
Let it not be so. But it was so. The forty suitors had grown into an army.
My
forty suitors, come to fulfill their promise.

The streets of Troy were thronged with people, pushing and jostling. I looked into their faces and they did not seem frightened, but acted like children being presented with a new toy. The ships had come to play with them!

I rushed through them and up into my palace. Hurrying up to the roof terrace, I had my own private view of the approaching ships. If I had somehow believed that they would have vanished, I was disappointed of that miracle.

I descended to the household shrine and sat quietly, hoping that if I were absolutely still my heart would stop pounding so violently. I could barely catch my breath, and was gasping for air.

Soon the calm of the place soothed me—that and the fact that it was underground and in another world from the one above. Slowly, silently, the sacred serpent glided from his dark abode and waited by my feet. He raised his head as if expecting me to impart wisdom to him, rather than the other way around.

But I had no wisdom. Everything we had counted on had turned out to be wrong. That Menelaus would not pursue me. That the suitors would not honor their oath. That Agamemnon could not gather a large army, and even if he did, men would not follow his bullying command. All wrong, all wrong.

Evadne had seen it in her vision, people had spotted the fleet on its way here, but seeing it making for our shores was altogether different.

The vast number of ships—how could Troy withstand them? What if—unthinkable thought—Troy fell? Yes, unthinkable thought, but all the earlier possibilities had been unthinkable, too, and yet the ships were here.

Because of her a great war will be fought, and many will Greeks die
.

But if many Greeks died, so would many Trojans. And all because I had chosen to run away with Paris.

I started the familiar song that I had sung to others—it was
not
on account of me, Agamemnon had just been searching for an opening for war. But I need not pipe that music to myself.
I
had given him the excuse.

A mixture of panic and guilt surged through me, gripping me so hard, each breath hurt. These men—they were coming to assault my new family, new home. But amongst them could there be my old family? Were my brothers there? Were Castor and Polydeuces in Menelaus’s ships? Was Father? But no, they could not have all left Sparta. Someone had to remain behind to rule.

Oh, let not my brothers be there!

The snake slid over my foot, caressing it with his cool belly.

Tell me, tell me! I begged him. But his dark eyes gave no answer.

Night fell, but in the last fading of the twilight, before the darkness of night blended with the darkness of the ships, we could see how much closer they had come to our shores. Tomorrow they would land.

Priam called an emergency council meeting, sending us our summons by torchlight. Soon we were crowded into his megaron, the poor light making it hard to recognize faces. Priam, in his agitation, did not wait for everyone to arrive before he began speaking.

“We all know why we are here,” he said, skipping the usual niceties. “The Greeks are bearing down upon us! By sunrise they will be here! Our lookouts have reported the number of ships to be well over five hundred. We cannot count, of course, until they have landed and tied up. This is our last unmolested night.” He stopped to catch his breath. I saw his hands were trembling, but he clenched his fists to cover it up. He gestured to his elders, motioning for them to come to his side. Thymoetes, Lampius, Clytius, and Hicetaon appeared, taking their places beside him, while Hecuba stepped back, disappearing into shadows.

“Antimachus. Antenor.”

They came forward.

“My sons.”

Paris left my side and went to stand beside his brothers.

“You are what stands between our enemies and our citizens, our women and children.” He looked around at all of them, letting his eyes linger on each face. “Troy has never faced such an attack. But I know it is safe in your wisdom and strength. Let the lookouts speak first, tell us what we are facing.”

The lookouts, both young soldiers posted at Sigeum and Aesyetes’s tomb, stepped forward. “We think, sir, that there are more than seventy-five hundred ships but possibly fewer than a thousand. So let us take five hundred as an estimate.”