Helen of Troy (66 page)

The Greek commander, Agamemnon, did not hesitate to sacrifice his own daughter, so he was hardly likely to treat enemy prisoners gently. No one should fall into his hands. What a pity my sister had.

XLVI

W
e shall proceed regardless!” Hecuba announced her decision to Priam and dared him to countermand her order. “Our daughter shall not be robbed of her day by the Greeks.”

In the days just before the assault, Laodice had at last found her bridegroom: Helicaon, the son of Antenor. Priam and Antenor had made the arrangements, and Laodice was giddy with relief. She was now eighteen years old and seemed to have longed for marriage the entire time I had been in Troy. Helicaon was a winsome, if perpetually disheveled young man. She probably had visions of transforming him into a replica of his fastidious father.

But all that was before the battle around our walls, was before more Trojan blood had been spent, before our wounded hobbled through the streets. Thus Hecuba’s resolution was a surprise.

“But the people . . .” Priam said. “Might it not seem a mockery to them, after our losses?”

“No! It will serve to show them we in Troy do not buckle or break under our losses.”

Laodice turned to me. “Helen, you shall help me choose my gown, select my jewels.” Her eyes still held that reverence that I wished would abate, as it caused jealousy in the family.

Jewels . . . I thought of the strange jewel Menelaus had bequeathed to me, with its threatening message.
For Helen, my wife, that she may count the
cost of her love
.

Love of whom? Himself? Paris? In any case, I had left the brooch in its box.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I said. “But Ilona has exquisite taste in jewels. I am sure she—”

“I want
your
help,” she said stubbornly.

* * *

Now at high noon we stood in Priam’s courtyard to begin the betrothal ceremony. Outside, we could hear the shouts of the people, who sounded even more defiant than Hecuba. They cheered for the brave king and queen and their celebration in the face of danger.

In Troy, the betrothal was the most binding and solemn ceremony, rather than the wedding. And they had other special rituals as well: seven flowers from seven hillsides, seven wines from seven vineyards, seven waters from seven sacred springs. All these were mixed and handed around in a confusing medley of chants and gestures that comprised the Trojan bond of commitment.

Rather than the fragrant, floating gowns they usually wore, the women were attired in coarse, undyed wool. This was Laodice’s own touch.

“This is a war wedding and we must dress accordingly,” she had said. She also asked the men to wear the tunics and cloaks they used in the field. So we were a dull-hued group, the only bright colors the red of Cassandra’s and Helenus’s hair and the glow of amethyst, amber, and gold on necks, ears, and arms.

Everyone was there. There must have been well over a hundred people, since the elders, councilmen, cousins, and half-siblings were included. I wondered about the bastards and other wives of Priam. In all the time I had been here, I still had never formally met them, so that even if they were here today, I would never recognize them. I assumed Hecuba would not tolerate the presence of the other wives, at least not on this day, but their sons might be another matter.

“As you share with us the joy of our betrothal, we share with you the pain of your casualties,” said Helicaon. “We do not hold it lightly.” He himself had been out in the field, but returned safe from the fray.

“Let us contribute!” cried Troilus, from the thick of the crowd. “Let us sacrifice for the cause!” He strode forward and grabbed a bread basket off the feast table, dumping the loaves out. “Men and women of Troy! Your gold and jewels!” He peeled off a gleaming arm bracelet and threw it in the basket. Someone else snatched the basket and tossed a ring into it. More baskets followed, and soon they were heaped full of treasure, the women competing to see who could strip off necklaces and earrings the fastest.

Paris pulled off his arm cuff and added it to the collection. I wondered if I should slip away and get the brooch from Menelaus. It would be an ironic use for it.

“To them it is a game.” Hector spoke quietly next to me. “They do not understand. Not yet.” He sounded weary. “But we do, do we not, Helen?”

I stepped back so that we would be less likely to be overheard. Paris was talking eagerly to Helenus and did not notice.

“I am not sure I know what you mean,” I whispered.

“You know the men who have come here, what they are capable of. I know the man I faced outside—Achilles. Now I dread what I know must come.”

“Troy can rely on your courage,” I said. Even as I said them, the words sounded a sop to a child.

“You disappoint me,” he said. “Do not mouth token, pretty words. You know the truth.” He looked sadly at the excited crowd, reveling in their light and voluntary sacrifices. “Let them have their hour of play. The other hours will follow soon enough.”

Laodice looked blissfully up at Helicaon, her future settled at last. There are certain women who cannot rest until they are married; there are others who cannot rest until they are free. Helicaon seemed unaware that he had just delivered Laodice from her restlessness, and stood grinning from having too much wine, swaying a bit.

Deiphobus drifted by, arm in arm with the old councilor Clytius. Together they cast lascivious eyes at me, the exact same look, one eye surrounded by wrinkles and the other not. Deiphobus always made me shudder.

The treasure baskets were listing under their contents, the flower garlands were drooping, and the wine was running low. The celebration drew to its natural close, and people were drifting away, when we heard a tumult outside. A huge crowd was surging up toward the portico, gesturing and crying out that someone had a message for Helen.

“Bring him in, then!” said Priam, addressing them from the portico.

“He’s not in the city, he stands outside the walls and calls for Helen, queen of Sparta.”

“Bid him deliver his message and be gone, then,” said Priam. “On my daughter’s betrothal day, I’ll not—”

“He’ll speak only to Helen. If she does not appear on the walls, tomorrow he’ll lob fiery arrows into the city.”

“Shoot him!”

“We can’t, he’s protected by a gigantic shield that’s as tall as he is and half circular like a tower.”

Ajax! Ajax had come before the walls of Troy to speak to me. But Ajax was not a man of words, or even of thoughts.

“I’ll go,” I said. I did not wish to have Laodice’s day, even the very end of it, interrupted or spoiled.

“Not alone,” said Paris, stepping beside me.

When we reached the walls near the Scaean Gate, I saw the Ajax shield down on the field, looking like a little fortress. I stood on the broad top of the wall and cried out, “Helen, princess of Troy, is here. Speak!”

“I speak only to Helen, queen of Sparta!” A dreadfully familiar voice rang out from behind the shield.

“Then you have come in vain, for there is no such woman here.”

“Oh, I think there is, lady, and I think she is speaking now.” Agamemnon stepped out from behind the shield.

His stocky, truculent body, his cocked, arrogant head—I had hoped never to see them again. Time had done nothing to make them less repulsive to me. A horrid laugh followed his words.

“The queen of Sparta is no more,” I insisted, keeping my voice steady. Hordes of Trojans were lined up along the walls listening, but Agamemnon stood alone on the plain.

“Indeed not, for she killed herself from shame over you.”

But I already knew that, and he could not add to my sorrow. I did not answer.

“And the present queen of Sparta is killing herself of shame as well,” he bellowed.

Still I did not answer, but stood as still as possible, as if by not moving I could dismiss him.

“Do you wonder if your brothers are out there in my army? Coming for you? Do you think they’ll rescue you when Menelaus seeks his revenge? Well, lady, look no more for them, for they rest beneath the earth of Sparta!”

I felt myself move, now, felt as if I would tumble from the walls. Paris steadied me.

“Your mother is dead, your brothers are dead, your daughter has been taken away to Mycenae, and your husband hates you and means to destroy you. So think upon what you have wrought for the sake of that slight man standing by your side!”

Instead of answering him, I turned to the archers in the tower. “Shoot him if you can, for the coward hides behind the shield of another and greater warrior, cowering like a dog!”

At that Agamemnon bellowed again, but ducked his head behind the shield. A roar of laughter came from the watching Trojans.

“See how he slinks and trembles,” said Paris, grabbing a bow from one of the wall archers and quickly fitting it with an arrow. He sent it flying, where it glanced off the edge of the Ajax shield with a hollow ring. Agamemnon shrank down to avoid it.

Paris sent a second arrow hurtling toward the shield, where it stuck in the thick bullhide, trembling.

Just then a chariot raced up, driven by a ferocious charioteer. Agamemnon jumped into it, securing the shield behind him; the chariot rumbled away, its wheels sending up swirls of dust. The shield faced us like a wall. Paris attempted to shoot high, so that the flight-arc of the arrow would overreach the shield and land inside it, but they were too far away.

“A coward’s address, and a coward’s retreat,” cried Paris to the crowd. “Such is the mettle of the high commander of the enemy army.”

The crowd laughed hysterically and cheered.

But, alone in our quarters, I wept. My brothers, my dear brothers gone . . . How? How had they died? Together, in an accident or battle? Separately, from illness?

“It may not be true,” said Paris, knowing why I wept without my saying a word. “He is a liar, we know that. He said what was most calculated to wound you.”

“It is true about my mother,” I said.

“He may have compounded truths with lies. After all, he lured his own daughter to her doom with a lie about marrying Achilles.”

And could it be true about Hermione? Sent to Mycenae? “Hermione . . .”

“Your sister loves her, and it may be better for her to be with a woman who will speak kindly of you,” said Paris. “Helen, you have paid dearly for coming with me. Would you take it back, knowing what you now know?” He drew me close to him, as easily as pulling a feather. I felt as insubstantial as one.

“No,” I said. “If I were standing with you in the moonlight in the courtyard in Sparta again, and Aeneas had gone to ready the chariots, and I could say,
No, depart without me—
I would not. Rather I would say, even more strongly,
Let us mount the chariots and be gone.
”

“The road was rough and dangerous from that first descent,” he said. “We have, it seems, been pursued and fleeing ever since.”

But the memories were warm ones. “Cranae—the islands—into the gates of Troy—I thought we were safe at last.” Now the warmth was replaced by a spreading chill, as if Troy were suddenly enveloped by a creeping mist.

“We are safe,” he assured me.

I did not, would not tell him that Hector felt otherwise.

* * *

That night, unable to sleep, pictures of Polydeuces and Castor careening through my mind, I stole away from our bed. One never feels more awake and sleepless than lying alert beside a slumbering companion.

I roamed the chambers, coming at last to the one where my empty loom stood. Now, suddenly, I knew the pattern I would create upon it. I would show both sides of my life, make them one by weaving them into one design. Until I had confronted Agamemnon on the walls, I had thought my old life was no longer a part of me. Now I knew that I would forever be Helen of Sparta as well as Helen of Troy. Within Helen there could be many Helens. Only by admitting the Spartan Helen into my presence again could she be rendered harmless.

I would—I was absorbed as I sketched out the design in my mind—make the outer borders of the tapestry Sparta, encircled on the outer rim by the Eurotas, using gray-blue thread. The inner circle, a clear and brighter blue, would be the sea between Sparta and Troy, and the heart of the weaving would be Troy, with its citadel in the center. And hovering at the rim of these worlds would be Persephone and Aphrodite, who held me in their watch.