The Girl From Ithaca (11 page)

“But Helen, but Helen … he can’t,” I stammered.

“He must. Tell him he’s no longer my husband. I am married to Paris. Go, make that clear to him.”

She turned and started to walk away.

I called after her, my voice sounding high-pitched and frightened.

“Menelaus can’t do what you say. If he returns without you, his people will say he’s weak. He’ll lose his kingdom and your daughter would lose her home. Please Helen, you have to return to Sparta … if only for your daughter.”

Helen spun round. “How dare you, an Ithacan, tell me what to do and imply I care nothing of my daughter? How dare you! I’m in love with Paris and I answer only to him. Menelaus must return without me and deal with the consequences. My daughter can live with her cousins. I know my sister Clytemnestra will tend to her needs.”

I looked at her in alarm. “It’s much more complicated than that. If you stay here, there’ll be war.”

Helen laughed softly, her blue eyes shining. “The war that’s coming isn’t about me or whether I remain in Troy or return to Sparta. It’s about Agamemnon and his desire for Trojan gold and trade routes to the Black Sea. I know that. I’ve heard him say as much when I‘ve visited my sister in Mycenae. So don’t accuse me of causing this war. It’s not my fault. Look instead at the ambition of the Greeks.”

I shook my head in frustration. “But you’re the one who can stop it. Return to Sparta now and Agamemnon will lose his excuse to invade.”

Helen reached out to me. I paused, thinking she’d changed her mind. Then she touched the fabric of my cloak.

“Do Ithacans enjoy fine clothes now?” she laughed. She lifted the edge to examine the carefully sewn lining. “And I’d wager Spartan flax has been used in this.”

Why was Helen talking about linen?

“Tulla, does this remind you of one of my cloaks?” she said, turning to her attendant.

The dark-haired girl spoke quietly, in her faultless Greek. “Yes, Lady Helen. The beautiful yellow one that your grandmother made for you.”

Now I understood. “My cloak belongs to my sister-in-law, your cousin Penelope. I expect it was made by the same lady, the grandmother you have in common,” I said, hoping that would satisfy her and we could concentrate on her return to Sparta.

“And did you not have a cloak of your own, to wear on this long journey to Troy?” Helen asked.

I blushed. Was Helen embarrassing me deliberately or was she incapable of talking about anything but clothes?

There was a loud scuffle in the assembly hall. Helen and I looked back through the doorway and saw Paris and Deiphobus drawing their swords.

“You Greeks, you ask for the return of something that’s no longer yours. Helen is mine. She is mine. She stays in Troy!” Paris shouted.

My brother ignored Paris and concentrated on Priam. “You’re an honourable and peace-loving king. I am sure you will make the correct choice for the sake of your people and your family.”

I whispered to Helen. “Come with me now, before it’s too late. I promise …”

Turning round, my heart fell. Helen had gone, leaving us to our fate. I caught a glimpse of her sweeping down the corridor, her servant girl running after her.

“Helen,” I called.

No response.

“Helen,” I shouted, louder this time, not caring who heard.

The servant girl spun round and shook her head. I started to follow, but she held up her hands and mouthed words so clearly, they seemed to ring in my head: “No. Go back. Go back, please!”

Then she hurried after her mistress. The corridor was empty and I sped after them, until two burly guards came striding towards me.

The fatter of the two men pointed to the assembly hall. “In. There.”

“No, I must see Helen.”

“In. There,” he repeated.

I glared at him. “My brother is the king of Ithaca and he …”

The fat guard caught me by the shoulders and pushed me to the door. “In. There.”

I looked at the second man, but he wore the same stern frown. There was nothing to do except return to the assembly. “Fools,” I hissed and quickly slipped through the doorway, to find Antenor finishing his speech.

“My king, if you value anything I’ve said or done for Troy these last thirty years, I beg you to send Helen with Menelaus,” the old advisor was saying, his eyes set on Priam.

“That’s the talk of a coward and a traitor,” Paris shouted. “Helen is my wife and a Trojan princess. We must protect her from the Greeks.”

Priam held up his hand and Paris fell silent.

Antenor kept his eyes on the king. “I appreciate it will be painful for Prince Paris to release the lady he regards as his wife. But for the good of Troy and its people, he must make this sacrifice.”

“And what think you, Hector? Should your brother return his wife to Sparta?” Priam asked, leaning back and examining his elder son.

Hector took the sceptre from Antenor and faced Paris. “I love you, my brother, but you were wrong to violate Menelaus’ hospitality. You were honour bound to respect his wife, no matter how beautiful or easy your conquest. You must let her go. Troy must let her go.”

I glanced at Priam again, hoping for a sign he agreed with Hector. But the old king looked at Deiphobus.

“It’s simple,” Deiphobus said, smiling for the first time. “Why are we wasting our time arguing about it? Helen is now a Trojan princess and we must defend her. If the Greek dogs want war, let them come. We will be ready.”

Priam sighed. “See how you have divided my counsel, King Menelaus. We have two for returning Helen and two who insist she must stay. However, there is one left to speak. Where do you stand, Antimachus?”

“I am a soldier and I know the Greeks,” Antimachus said. “If we give in to them, they will think us weak. They’ll be back for more and they’ll want our daughters and our gold next time.” He stabbed his finger at Menelaus and Odysseus. “We must send their troops scampering home to hide behind their mothers’ skirts. That is what we must do, Lord Priam, and our people will expect it.”

Odysseus, Hector and Antenor stepped forward, each one eager to take the sceptre again. Priam handed it to his son, saying Hector would be given the chance to answer for all three of them. I noticed Paris smirk at Deiphobus.

Hector turned to face Antimachus. “I know you’ve trained the soldiers ready for war. We see it every day, when the archers stand guard on the towers and the walls. But King Menelaus does not want a war. We can settle this without bloodshed if we give his wife back. That is all it will take. The request is not unreasonable. As for your concern about Greeks returning for more? Well, unless my brother Paris makes a habit of stealing other men’s wives, they won’t need to make such a request again.”

“You are too trusting, Prince Hector,” Antimachus said. “The only thing Greeks respect is military strength and ruthlessness. Nothing else.”

Odysseus opened his arms. “That is not true. We are unarmed and come seeking a peaceful settlement, one based on compromise and trust. ”

“But you ask too much,” Antimachus snapped. “Lord Priam, I suggest we return the heads of these Greeks on a platter. Then Agamemnon will learn Troy cannot be intimidated and our people will know we are strong.”

Paris and Deiphobus turned the tips of their swords towards us. I crept closer to Odysseus.

“They come as envoys. We must not harm them,” Hector cried, moving in front of his brothers’ swords.

Priam stood up. “Antimachus, whilst your dedication to Troy is admirable, remember these Greeks are visitors to our city. One is a girl. Would you kill her too? Whatever we think of their plea, their death at our hands would be an outrage that would dishonour and curse Troy forever.” He turned to Paris. “My son, we welcomed Helen as your wife. The whole city rejoiced at her beauty and offered her a home. What is done cannot be undone. She calls me father and it is my duty to protect her. My people would expect no less from me. This is what the gods have sown and I must reap the harvest.”

My legs felt weak as Priam then looked upon Menelaus. “I respect your wish for peace and have sympathy with your situation. However, Helen has chosen Paris over you and Troy over Sparta. I suggest you accept this and return home to seek a new wife.”

Before Odysseus could stop him, Menelaus leapt onto the platform. Paris staggered backwards, dropping his sword. Odysseus scrambled after his friend and dragged him away. I was fixed to the spot, my heart beating wildly.

“There’s no need for you to take our visitors to the gates, Lord Antenor,” Priam said as he started to walk away. When he reached the far doorway, he turned to Antimachus. “You will be the one who escorts all three to the outer wall.”

“This will shame us!” Antenor cried.

I glimpsed Antimachus as he gave a satisfied nod to Paris, before Priam added, “But take care of the Greeks, Antimachus. I am holding you responsible for their welfare. If any harm befalls them on their journey, you will answer with your life.”

Chapter NINE

The Curse of Apollo

I
noticed little of the return journey through Troy, not even the colours and scents that had overwhelmed me on our arrival. Avoiding eye contact with Menelaus, I concentrated on the broad back of the soldier marching in front of me and didn’t say a word.

“Hyppos will have the horses ready. We’ll be out of here soon,” Odysseus whispered, as we approached the lower wall.

The sentries opened the gates and we walked free, out onto the track that led to the Trojan plain and then onto the coast. The charioteers were leaning against the well, talking to two Trojan women. When they saw us, they sprinted to their horses and Hyppos drew up his chariot in front of me.

He held out a hand. “In here, Lady Neomene.”

Menelaus jumped in beside his charioteer and they raced away from Troy, the horses kicking up a dust cloud as they went. Glancing back for Odysseus, I saw him turn round to Antimachus.

“Tell me, have you family here in Troy?” he cried.

A flicker of surprise swept over Antimachus’s face and then he drew himself up. “I have a wife, two grown sons and a young daughter. My sons will be proud to fight for Troy.”

“And when they are cut down by a Greek sword, I hope you can face their mother and say that Helen was worth it. I will meet you again, Antimachus.”

Odysseus stepped into our chariot, Hyppos whipped the reins across the horses’ backs and we tore after Menelaus. I gripped the side and kept my eyes fixed on the grasslands. As we thundered past, Trojan boys looked up from their guardianship of animals and a caravan of mules stopped to let us pass. I blinked back tears. Paris risked destroying this for Helen. What game were the gods playing that the stakes were so high?

We slowed to cross the bridge and I glimpsed children playing in the river. Then the horses cantered through a wooded area, along a short track and out onto the beach. By the time Hyppos pulled them up by the red ship, Menelaus was giving orders to set sail.

I climbed aboard and curled up in my sheltered spot at the stern of the ship as a hard knot tightened in my stomach. So there would be a war after all and Ithacan men would die because of Helen and Paris. I thought of Penelope waiting for news from the merchants and then imagined how quiet Mother would become, how she’d retire to her room, only to come out again when Odysseus returned.

It was dusk before we landed at Tenedos. The ship was hauled onto the sand, but I pretended to be asleep when Odysseus looked in on me. I heard him shouting orders to set up camp and start a fire. I sighed. I hadn’t realised he shouted so much. Later I crept onto the deck and saw the fire burning on the beach. Men moved around it, some carrying wood to the fire and a few boasting how they’d speared a wild pig. As I watched the group, I saw two had been set as sentries, walking along the beach, their eyes peeled on the dark of the sea.

I heard laughter. Evander’s laughter. Feeling the need of warmth and light, I jumped down onto the sand and hurried to the fire. I stood near two oarsmen as they turned the wild pig on a spit and listened to their chatter about the red ship and the good speed they’d made across the sea. They didn’t mention the battles ahead.

The smell of cooking made my stomach ache and I realised how little I’d eaten that day. Desperate to avoid any thoughts of Troy, I mixed the wine with water and handed out the wine skins to the men. I found Menelaus sitting on his own, his head in his hands. He didn’t answer when I whispered his name, so I left the wine by his feet.

Gradually the aroma and the sound of sizzling fat drew all except Menelaus to the fire. Some of the men licked their lips, their eyes fixed on the roasting pig as if they’d prefer to eat the meat half-cooked than wait any longer. Odysseus joked with them in the easy way he had with ordinary men, until at last it was ready, and he was able to give thanks to the great god Zeus. There was a cheer as he sliced into the meat. Carefully he dedicated the skin and the bones to the gods and gave every man his share.

Once we had the warm food in our hands, our mood lifted. Sailors sat in small groups, eagerly eating and stopping only to take a swig of wine or mutter a few words of appreciation.