Helen of Sparta (13 page)

He shook his head again and nearly fell against the altar. The cup of wine spilled, washing him in red. He stared at it
in horror.

“It’s the only way,” she sa
id softly.

“Zeus would punish her for this? For coming to me for help, for wishing to save the lives of her people and stop a war?” The wine dripped from his fingers, and he closed his hands into fists, trying not to feel it as blood. How much blood would Zeus ask for in exchange? And for what? The chance of happiness for his daughter? A future where she need not fear war or abuse? “You would
let him!”

“I will give you my help, as I have promised, but I cannot change Zeus’s mind.” She shook her head. “If you cannot resign yourself to the cost, perhaps you should not m
arry her.”

Athena disappeared in the space of a breath, and he stood alone in the temple, her words ringing in his ears more loudly than the ocean of
his fury.

Wine-stained and trembling, he fell to
his knees.

All he could do
was pray.

C
HAPTER TEN

A
t the banquet the next day, Pirithous rose from his place when he saw me and under the guise of courtesy, helped me to my seat beside him. I had spent the rest of my night in one of the spare rooms, waiting until Clymene came in search of me before returning to my own bed. I did not know when Menelaus had left it, but I was glad he
had gone.

I bit my lip to keep a hiss of pain from escaping as I moved. I could feel my mother’s eyes following me and swallowed against a swell of panic. If Leda realized what had happ
ened . . .

I refused to consider the possibility. Clymene had promised me she would burn the linens, and I had made her swear not to speak a word of it. Leda would never know. I would not let her force me into a marriage to Menelaus simply because he had barged in through
my window.

“Easy, now,” Pirithous murmured. “Smile, or you will not foo
l anyone.”

I forced a laugh, adjusting the scarf at my neck to be certain it covered the marks Menelaus had left on me. “Are you so skilled in the art of deceit, then, King P
irithous?”

Pirithous filled my cup with wine. The first bitter taste told me he had added more than water. His eyes met mine over the rim of my cup, and he smiled as if nothing had passed between us b
efore now.

“Ariston sends his regards,
” he said.

“You’ll give him m
y thanks?”

“Of course.” He waited until I had set down the cup, and filled it again to the brim. I tried to protest but he only laughed. “By order of your physician. Drink up and enjoy it. I promise the potion is not better without
the wine.”

Whatever he had put in my drink worked quickly on my empty stomach. I must not have hid my relief any better than my discomfort, because Pirithous passed me bread and meat from his own plate a moment later. He did not have to tell me to eat. My stomach sloshed with too m
uch drink.

By this part of the day, even those who had drunk until dawn were awake, and there were few empty places at the tables. Servants wove through the guests with jugs of water and mixed wine, filling cups until they had none left of either, then returning to the kraters for more. Platters of bread emptied faster than they could be replaced, and when I saw Leda rise, leaving in the direction of the kitchen, I did not envy the slaves working there when sh
e arrived.

Pirithous seemed to prefer discussion of sword work and spear throws with Pollux to conversation with me. Even so, he was far more attentive than Agamemnon, and I did not have the energy for the farce of conversation we would have shared, regardless. More than anything, I wished for my bed or at least the reassurance of Theseus beside me. The seat meant for him remained empty, and as much as I tried not to notice, I could not help but glance up every
so often.

When the roasted boar had been cleared away, I touched Pirith
ous’s arm.

“I do not see King Theseus,” I said, my
voice low.

Pirithous covered my hand with his, squeezing it lightly, but his gaze traveled over the others in
the hall.

“He is anything but faithless, Princess, if that is what worries you. Theseus cannot seem to go two days at a time without bending a knee to his father.” He released my hand and poured me more wine. “Not that it has ever done him much good in matters li
ke these.”

“Like these?
” I asked.

He searched my face, the humor drained from his expression. Then he turned toward my brother, clapping Pollux on the shoulder with all the appearance of a man who has had just one too ma
ny drinks.

“Tell me, Brother,” Pirithous said, “what do the Spartans say of Theseus, our great Atti
can hero?”

Pollux laughed. “Much the same as the Atticans, I’m sure. Is it true that he went willingly to Crete as tribute, in the place of anoth
er youth?”

“Against good King Aegeus’s wishes, he did indeed, to free Athens of the blood debt. They say that Minos made him dance with the bulls, but Theseus charmed them so they would never gore him. And why not, when he is Poseidon’s son? Minos was so furious, he threw him into the Labyrinth against the Minotaur. Do you know what Theseus used to kill t
he beast?”

“Aegeus’s sword, of course,” Pollux said. “We all k
now that.”

Pirithous grinned and shook his head, as a man does who wants only the excuse to tell
a secret.

“Then how?” Pol
lux asked.

“A length of string.” Pirithous slid a finger across his neck. “So strong and thin, it slit the beast’s throat when Theseus tried to strangle it. He keeps it still, dyed crimson from the Minotaur’s blood. It’s the only token he has of Ariadne, since he was forced to abandon her at Naxos to
the gods.”

“Did he love her?
” I asked.

Pirithous met my gaze, and though he smiled, lines of sadness fanned around his eyes. “It was years before the grief of her loss left his heart. Of course, she was a goddess to the Cretans, Minos’s daughter or not, and heroes like Theseus are born to serve the gods, not to wed them. She used him to secure her freedom from the power of the Labyrinth. Once that was done, she had no more use for his love. She chose Dionysus
instead.”

I picked at some bread, but my stomach felt sour. “You make her sound a terrible creature to abus
e him so.”

Pirithous shrugged. “That’s the hero’s fate. Used and abused by the gods for whatever they
see fit.”

“Do you not count yourself as a hero, King P
irithous?”

He laughed. “Princess, I am no Heracles, even if I am a son of Zeus. After witnessing what misfortune it has brought Theseus to serve the gods, only a fool would not choose o
therwise.”

“But Ariadne he
lped him.”

“Yes, she helped him.” Pirithous took a drink of wine. “And then she and Dionysus broke his heart, and took King Aegeus’s life in payment. Better for him if he had not gone to Cret
e at all.”

“And what of hi
s people?”

“The people of Athens would have kept their king awhile longer. The cost of freedom was very high for Theseus, but of course he did not realize the price when he left, and he was young enough then that he did not know better.” Pirithous poured himself more wine. “You and Theseus are not so different from each other, you know. He serves his people first, himself second, and the gods a
bove all.”

“You give me more credit than I deserve,”
I mumbled.

I stared at my wine before taking a long drink. The bitterness of the potion had left it, but Pirithous did not seem as though he would ever let my cup fall empty. I did not know how much Theseus had told him, or how much he had guessed, but the numbness that came with too much drink did not come quick
ly enough.

The conversation between my brothers and Pirithous stopped abruptly, and I looked up. Theseus stood at the far end of the hall, his expression set into a king’s mask. He seemed to search the room until his eyes found mine. I looked away at once, hoping Menelaus hadn’
t noticed.

Pirithous rose to his feet. “Excuse me,
Princess.”

I murmured something appropriate and watched him walk away, unsurprised when his path led him to Theseus. For someone who had been praying, Theseus looked as if he had been thro
ugh a war.

Pollux slid over to my side, taking Pirithous’s seat. He stole the pomegranate from my plate. “String, of all things. I never would have bel
ieved it.”

I glanced at my brother and frowned. “Perhaps you still shouldn’t. Clymene says King Pirithous gossips like an old slave in the
kitchens.”

Pollux peeled the fruit, dropping thick pieces of rind on my plate as he worked to free the jeweled seeds inside. “King Theseus asked Tyndareus for your hand,
you know.”

The wine turned to stone in my stomach. “And what did Tynda
reus say?”

“Theseus would make a good match, but Menelaus understands more fully the risks involved. Father thinks he will protect you more
fiercely.”

“None of you understands,” I said. “We should not be risking any of this! Menelaus does not care if this war comes, nor for the men who might die fighting it, as long as he
wins me.”

Pollux sighed. “They are only dreams, Helen. You worry
overmuch.”

“You and Father and Menelaus do not worr
y enough.”

He rolled his eyes and slid back to his seat, taking my pomegranate with him. Pirithous sat down beside me again, his gaze following Theseus as he took a seat of honor beside Leda. I had not seen her return, but there was no longer any lack of bread on t
he tables.

“Theseus must speak with you,” Pirithous murmured in my ear, so low I barely
heard it.

“I am
watched.”

Pirithous twitched a shoulder. “Tonight, then. At the evening
banquet.”

“Are you sure it’s wise with so many who mi
ght hear?”

“I am sure it is n
ecessary.”

“But
Menelaus—”

“He will not find your window unguarded.” Pirithous pushed my cup closer. “Drink. You’ll be made safe tonight, no matter wh
at comes.”

I planned to accompany Tyndareus to Zeus’s shrine before the evening meal, for an excuse to stretch my legs. I was so thick with wine that I nearly fell when I got to my feet, but Pirithous steadied me, and it seemed natural that Pollux should invite him to come with us as Z
eus’s son.

“Won’t suspicion fall on you, if you stay so near?” I asked him while we walked together up
the hill.

Tyndareus and Pollux had outpaced us some time ago, though they were not out of sight. Even with the wine, I still moved stiffly, but the sun poured over us, warming my muscles, and I enjoyed the exercise if not the scenery. The stampede of men, after yesterday’s sacrifice, had trampled the grass and poppies into dust on either side of the path. Not even the goats would find sustenance from what
was left.

“I count upon it,” Pirithous said. “And better me than Theseus, as I will be innocent of the crime, in spite of my re
putation.”

“Theseus will be innocent, too,” I reminded him. “I’ve ask
ed to go.”

“Do you really think Menelaus will see it
that way?”

I stumbled on the path, for a moment feeling Menelaus’s body pressed against mine, crushing me beneath him. Pirithous steadied me, his han
ds gentle.

“Menelaus is a fool if he doesn’t realize it,” I snapped, jerking away from his touch, but it only made me trip again. Pirithous’s eyes lit, his lips curving, until he sa
w my face.

“Then he would only behave true to his form. He has already proven himself a fool to pursue you this way. I wonder if you would be so determined to be free of him if he
had not.”

“I’m determined only to free Achaea’s sons from the war that will come.” I glared up at him. “Whether Menelaus had pursued me or not, a marriage to him is still part of tha
t future.”

“What of love?” Pirithous asked. “Have you not given it any consi
deration?”

My face flushed. “As heir of Sparta, I do not have the luxury of marrying for love. My husband will
be king.”

“And is that all you think of Theseus? That he will make a good king for you
r people?”

I bit my lip, and Pirithous ha
lf smiled.

“Is it his power, then, that attr
acts you?”

I shook my head. “It will help to keep me safe, but if it were only power that mattered, I’d have looked no farther than
Mycenae.”

“Then wha
t, Helen?”

“He treats me with kindness, as more than just a trophy.” I frowned. My mind was still sluggish from wine and the potion, and I struggled for the words. “And I think—I hope—he respects me. Enough to offer me the right and freedom to choose my own fate. For that alone, I could
love him.”

Pirithous laughed. “I thought you did not have the luxury of marrying
for love.”

“Theseus is a good king, well loved by his people and his friends. He will do everything within his power to save his people from the devastation of war. To save Achaea itself. With or without love, he is the righ
t choice.”

“And what of Menelaus? Did he never have y
our love?”

“It doesn’t matter now, whether he did or not,” I said. “He would see Sparta burn as long as he had what he wanted from it. I would not willingly make such a man into a king of m
y people.”