Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (30 page)

Sing Muse, sing of the Warrior King

the rocky hills of Ithaka he loved

and the woman he loved

above all else

...always her

Sing Muse, how golden helmed Athena

lit the way to war

and darkened on return

Sing Muse, sing of the Warrior King

through flaming death and

gnashing teeth and

sirens’ calls

how he desired her

...always her

PATROKLES STARED AT
his hands in disbelief. Blood ran in thin streams of spider webs through his strong fingers and stained his skin. “What have I done?  What have I done?” Las lay lifeless on his back with Patrokles’ dagger plunged to the hilt and angling oddly from his chest. “I only meant to defend...” He looked to the stunned face looking back at him. “It was a mistake. An unfortunate slip of my blade.” No words would bring Las back to life, for surely his soul was winging its way to the Underworld as Patrokles knelt in stunned disbelief.

Demius pulled Patrokles to his feet, avoiding the bloody mess of his hands. “You should flee this place, Pax. No one here will believe you acted in self-defense. They will put you on trial. Find you guilty of murder. His family founded this pitiful port. You will find no friends here. None to vouch for you.”

Patrokles stood and wiped his hands absentmindedly on his tunic. “I should return to Phthia.”

“Wherefore? Head to Sparta. If you win that beauty’s hand, this—” He indicated with a flourish of his hand, “Will be a trifle long forgotten. If you leave now, you can make it to Sparta, and then back to Phthia if the worst should come. Stand here much longer and surely you will be discovered. You face betrays your shock and guilt.”

Patrokles considered the advice. “I hear nearly a hundred men have found their way to this feast for Helen’s hand. I will be just one of many. My offerings will be meager compared to most.”

Demius hooked his fingers through his belt. “But few can claim a face as handsome as yours. If she is like other women, you stand a better chance than most.”

Patrokles gathered his things in a bundle and hastily repacked them into the bedroll and mounted his horse. “It was to be a short venture regardless. If Tyndareus’ hospitality measures with rumor, I can resupply my needs.”

“May the gods speed you on your way. Go get on!”

“To better days, old friend.”

“Find a stream before you get to close to Sparta. Better yet, a river. You are filthy,” Demius laughed heartily. “A river, aye!” he yelled after Patrokles riding off with a dust storm rising behind him.

Demius watched as Patrokles shrank into a speck on the horizon before he turned his attention to the bloody corpse at his feet. “Now, to make you disappear.” He looked at the remaining gawkers. “Go on! Get back to whatever business is yours!” Demius hoisted the limp body over the back of his horse and headed for a pond he knew of. One where large animals preyed upon unsuspecting guests from time to time. “If the gods are with us, they’ll send a bear or pack of wolves to feast on you. I do apologize. I don’t know what you did to Patrokles, but you must have done nothing less than cheat him at a game of chance. He loses his temper when he gambles. Someone should have warned you.” 

THE SUITORS DESCENDED
like rabid dogs on the house of Tyndareus when word winged its way across Hellas that the lovely Helen was to be married off to the most agreeable man. Every unmarried king and prince from every Greek kingdom, large and small, near and far, from every island across every sea arrived at Sparta hoping to win Helen’s hand.

Pollux surveyed the growing throng of warriors in the courtyard from the overhanging balcony. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the wooden railing. “I hope our father’s purpose has been well planned. A gathering such as this is easily moved to mob.”

“His plan is solid. The execution of it may yet prove dangerous,” Castor said.

“How will he choose the man without the remainder crying foul?”

Castor clapped his brother on the back. “I think he means to stage a false contest, allowing the red beard to win.”

Pollux scowled. “These events entice a man to thump his accomplishments against his cuirass, however insignificant, while others clamor to shut him up. Strutting peacocks all. I would rather kill that Mycenaean coward Menelaus than bow to him.”

“It is for Sparta that we must do so. He is no better man than us.”

Pollux smashed his fist into his bare hand and growled. “He is less than either of us. Not worthy of Helen or Sparta. Mark my words, he will bring us to ruin before the end.”

Castor nodded silently. “That may be truth. But for now, see the gathering of men and consider how else father could have dealt with this. I see no other way.”

King Tyndareus leaned against a column searching the ocean of suitors for the Mycenaean prince. He stretched his neck to see beyond those positioned closest to view the crowd beyond.

The Prince of Ithaka approached the king, taking notice of Tyndareus’ clenched jaw and furrowed brow. “Are you well, my Lord?”

“Am I well?” the king echoed.

Odysseus met the king’s eyes. “What troubles you, my Lord Tyndareus? For surely you are vexed judging by your visage.”

“Are you so quick to judge me?”

“Apologies, my lord—”

Tyndareus waved his hand at Odysseus. “It is truth enough. Look at all these men here gathered. You believe they will leave my kingdom in peace when a suitor is chosen for Helen? You believe they will not cry treachery one by one? Rip Sparta to shreds in a frenzy at not being chosen?”

“A thought of that has crossed my mind, as well. Helen did stir them—”

The king shook his head. “After I forbid her to show herself and stay sequestered with the woman. Rumor enough had stirred the suitors to restless action.”

“Helen is no easy woman to control, I see.” Odysseus nodded understanding and placed a steady hand on Tyndareus’ shoulder. “My lord, if I may speak freely?”

“I would hear your council, Prince. Your head for strategy is well-known, even for one so young.”

“Use the past to aid the present.”

Tyndareus narrowed his eyes at Odysseus. “To what end? How so?”

“It is widely known that Helen was kidnapped because her beauty intoxicated Theseus beyond reason. Use this knowledge to force the men into a binding oath to protect her and her future husband. For, if rumor be true, marriage will not protect men from her beauty’s affect.”

Tyndareus rubbed his beard. “Continue.”

“Allow Helen to choose her husband. None can claim foul play, if she chooses.”

“Let a woman choose? That is preposterous. Dangerous,” Tyndareus said, even as the logic began to make sense.

“The men will believe they stand equal chance to win her admiration and her hand.” Odysseus leaned closer to the king. “But, you have chosen already, have you not?”

Tyndareus shrugged. “Why do you ask this?”

“If Helen were my daughter, I would have.”

The king took Odysseus aside, careful none could overhear. “For Helen’s safety, she must remain in Sparta. There can be only once choice.”

Odysseus nodded understanding. “A man without a kingdom of his own. You mean to marry her to...Menelaus.”

“It is a sacrifice that must be made.”

“What of Castor and Pollux? Your sons are in agreement?”

“Castor rests easier than Pollux with the situation.”

Odysseus placed a hand on the king’s shoulder. “Will they support the match? That is all that matters.”

“I have their word.”

“Then it is done. Announce to the suitors your intention and inform Helen who she must choose.”

The king’s laughter rang hollow. “If you were Helen, would you choose Menelaus?”

“I see your point. He is neither the strongest among us, nor the brightest.”

“I fear more Helen’s rejection due to his lack of fine features. I have but one question, Odysseus.”

“What is that?”

“Why are you so willing to give up claim to Helen, when the others will surely protest?”

Odysseus fingered a fold in his chiton. “There is another I find more beautiful than Helen. It is her I favor.”

“I should have known your assistance would come with a price.”

“I have asked none,” the prince protested.

“But it is on the tip of your tongue.”

Odysseus, black eyes glittering, looked up and said, “I would have Penelope, daughter of Ikarus.”

King Tyndareus placed both hands on his hips, considering Odysseus’ words. The young prince managed a delicate balance between request and demand. The king admired the measure. “You have earned your reputation well, Odysseus. The negotiator, the strategist.”

“That is a yes, then, my lord?”

“I will speak to Ikarus. I am certain he will not reject your offer.”

HELEN WRINKLED HER
nose at the thought of the big red bearded prince bedding her. “Theseus would have been preferable.”

Queen Leda clasped her hands in her lap. “Daughter, if there were some other way. We cannot risk a war on your behalf. Men will clamor for the right to claim you. What happened with Theseus will likely happen again if you are not closely guarded. Who better to keep you safe than Menelaus? Where better to keep you safe than Sparta?”

“But he is old and fat.”

The queen pressed her lips into a thin line of resignation. There was no way to oppose the king’s will, even though she agreed with her daughter entirely regarding her husband’s choice. “There’s Sparta to consider. Mycenae will be a powerful ally in Hellas.”

“What if I refuse to choose him? Or any of them? What then?”

“If you vowed celibacy to serve the gods, I believe your father would marry you off regardless.”

“Truly?” Helen asked.

“Daughter, you know what we are to men. Our value is between our legs and in our ability to bind two families together for greater good. Think of the bargain your father made at your sister’s expense. Forced to marry the murderer of her world. All for power. For gold. You believe he will allow you free reign? No. He will seek to control Sparta and you until his last breath. ”

Helen motioned a slave girl to clasp her jeweled necklace around her neck. “Then I will choose Menelaus to please my father.” She knew her mother was right. She would rebel in her own way.

Leda hugged her youngest child. “You were blessed by the goddess, my child. For eighteen summers, you have brought me great joy although your path was not meant to be paved with ease.”

Helen admired her image in the polished silver plate.
I will take a lover...

TYNDAREUS HELD HIS
hands high to quiet the rumblings of the hundred men seated around the hall.

Ajax, son of Telemon, called out, “You will allow a woman to choose?” The deep roll of masculine dissent again flooded the hall.

“My lords and princes!” Tyndareus cried out. “Give me your ear!” Again the king held his hands high signaling peace.

Odysseus stood and shouted over the assembly. “Good men of Hellas! Give the king a chance to speak in his own hall. He must have reason for granting Helen the right of refusal.” The discontented clamor calmed at his words. The Prince of Ithaka threw open his arms. “You see, Tyndareus? We await your reasoning with eager ears.”

The king nodded his thanks to his secret accomplice. “My lords! How can you expect me to decide among you? Who would be pleased by my refusal of his hand to match my daughter’s? I would make enemies of states I regard as friend and ally.” The suitors mumbled in agreement at his logic. “If Helen chooses, then I cannot be blamed for making one man’s life a misery.” Laughter filled the hall. A voice rang out, “Look at poor Theseus! Vanished to the Underworld!” More laughter followed.

Tyndareus winced at the reminder of Helen’s abduction. “That leads me to my request.” The men focused their attention on him. “Each of you must bow before me and take an oath to support Helen’s choice. Promise to serve her chosen husband with military aid if ever she is abducted again from her home.” No disruptions disturbed the quiet hush as each man sized up the men nearest him. “Then, we are in concord.” Tyndareus walked to the head of the hall and opened his arms wide. “Take your oath, one by one. Then, Helen will dance for all, and choose the one.”

The men lined up broad shoulder behind broad shoulder to kneel before the King of Sparta. They all spoke the words of promise and protection on behalf of Helen’s unnamed choice, perhaps because each believed himself a viable candidate for her consideration. Time drifted by slowly as the oaths were taken. Fresh platters of steaming meat and hot bread were set on the tables. Wine spiced with cinnamon and sweetened with honey was poured into every drinking vessel. Once again, laughter and goodwill filled the air. Finally, with all oaths properly given and accepted, the suitors began to bang their fists impatiently on the tables, slowly at first, building to a great crescendo of muscle on wood and silver against clay. The cue given, the musicians picked up their instruments. Soothing sounds of lyre strings being plucked and flute chambers emptying floated across the air, and the suitors sat and calmed as they awaited the event like hungry hounds.

From the southern entrance, Helen entered heavily veiled in golden silk with her train floating behind her. Her feet were bare and her hands graceful. As she twirled and swayed, the men caught glimpses of her porcelain skin and pale-honey colored hair. Her eyes, heavily lined with black kohl, flashed like polished sapphires glittering in the sun. The music increased in tempo and Helen moved her body to match the speed, her hips shaking, her undulations mesmerizing the suitors who strained to catch sight of her. Some reached out their hands to touch her clothes and inhaled the sweet, spicy scent of her in the air as she whirled by. Cocks throbbed beneath tunics, straining against intimate bindings with carnal desire to take her there in the hall. Lust rose in the spaces between the suitors, hands itched to rub their desire against their own legs...breathless they watched, captivated as she collapsed into a heaving pile of veils as the music came to an abrupt end. The audience sat in stunned silence watching Helen as she slowly came to her feet. She removed her facial veil and tossed it at Menelaus’ feet.

The men looked to one another in confusion as Menelaus picked up her veil. Helen’s voice rang clearly for all to hear. “I have chosen.” Menelaus surveyed the crowd, a smug smile on his face. The suitors pressed toward him to get a better glimpse of the Golden Helen to see what they were being denied forever.

The king approached Menelaus. “Will you accept my daughter’s choice of your hand? You may deny, if you wish.” Tyndareus knew he wouldn’t, but it was a small gesture he offered in part to appease all the disappointed men.

Menelaus’ smile nearly split his face with greedy joy. “I accept the offer, my lord.”

King Tyndareus took Menelaus’ hand in his own and joined it to Helen’s. “It is done. Helen has chosen. Be mindful of the oath you have taken. Honor it and may your days be long on this earth. May peace reign across your lands. May the gods bless all in your possession and care. Come, Castor and Pollux and pay your fealty to the next king of Sparta.”

The brothers approached, shoulder to shoulder, marching like two hoplites into battle and faced the red-bearded future king of their polis. They knelt before the would-be-king offering their swords in times of peace or war. In unison they spoke, “For the safety of our fathers’ lands and the true bloodline of Sparta, we give our public pledge to protect and serve you both.”