Helen of Sparta (20 page)

Theseus laughed. “He is a loyal friend, Helen. In time, I think you will come to see it. After what happened, he would have stolen you away himself if I had refused, though he would never own t
o it now.”

“A son of Zeus through and through, then.” But she smiled before she rose. “I think it is long past time I bathed. I feel crusted with salt and grime. Is
it safe?”

He touched his fist to his forehead in respect, refusing to think of the pale skin of her breasts bared, or the softness of it beneath his fingers. He kept his eyes on her face. “I will guard your body as well as your honor, but keep your gown near to hand, in case the me
n return.”

All he need do was think of Menelaus to smother his desire. He meant to give her every honor in Athens and make her his wife besides if she was willing, but until then, he would not
touch her.

It was the least he could do to make up for what he had not been able t
o prevent.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
bathed in silence, not wishing to talk to Theseus and test him further when he already sat stiff-backed along the bank, not even so much as turning his head in my direction. Perhaps it was cruel of me to ask it of him, but I had never felt so filthy in my life, between the time spent in the basket and the salt of the sea so thick in the fabric of my shift. The river water soothed my skin, and I turned my back to Theseus before dunking my head beneath the water to scrub the salt and sweat from my scalp. I couldn’t decide if I was pleased or offended that he did not glance my way, but I would not tempt him, and I did not want to know if
he looked.

When I raised my head and brushed the water from my eyes, I could have sworn I saw something stir in the trees on the other bank. The idea that the men might see me naked, and worse, with Theseus, had me reaching for my shift and covering my chest. I had hoped to scrub the fabric against the rocks before putting it on again, but the rinse I had given it would have to do. A branch snapped, and my head turned to the sound, searching for some sign of
movement.

A boy’s face appeared, peeking out from behind a tree, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We were so far from Achaea, it mattered little to me if rumors of a pretty girl spread. They would not reach Menelaus, and if they did, it would only lead him on a fool’s chase. Perhaps it might even make me safer in Athens. It was Theseus’s men I had to fear, for they would not mistake me for Aphrodite a se
cond time.

The boy’s face was mostly shadow, but he could not have been even my age. Certainly he did not have the height of Pollux, and his face was still soft more than masculine. When he realized I saw him, he waved to me, gesturing me to his side of
the bank.

I glared at him and tied the belt of my shift before swimming back to the bank I had come from. I did not dare to call Theseus by name where someone might hear it. It was one thing for word to spread of a pretty girl seen bathing in the river, another if she was found in the company of the king of Athens so soon after my disappearance. He turned when I splashed into the shallows; then his gaze shifted over my shoulder, and he drew his sword so quickly, I barely saw t
he motion.

“Go back to Ariston,” he said to me, his voice low
and tense.

A crash in the brush told me the boy had run, and I could not blame him. The look on Theseus’s face spoke clearly of his intention. “You cannot mean to chase
him down.”

“If he spies on you, he should be taught respect at the least, and I cannot risk his meeting the men now. Go to Ariston
and wait.”

“Theseus, he’s on
ly a boy.”

But he was already running up the bank, moving with the easy grace of a wolf. I pressed my lips together. If I tried to follow, I had more chance of running into his men than catching him, and if Pallans was raiding for women, he was just as likely to take me as a prize, unwitting. Theseus leapt from one bank to the opposite side in one bound and disappeared into
the trees.

I did not know what I would do if he came back with blood on his hands, but the thought made my stomach churn. I tied up my sandals and tucked the bottom of my shift into the rope belt, freeing my legs at the knee. Theseus was only a son of Poseidon, I told myself. A daughter of Zeus should be swift enough to
match him.

I swam the river instead of jumping it, but Theseus had left a trail anyone could follow. I ran after him, realizing my foolishness too late. I had spent four days in a basket, and at least three more trapped idle in a tent barely as wide as Theseus was tall. My legs tired and my lungs burned; daughter of Zeus or not, I hadn’t raced this way in years. I stumbled, and then I fell, but Theseus had married an Amazon, and I would not give him reason to say I was not Antiope. I picked myself up and pressed on until the trees thinned into a
clearing.

Theseus had his knee pressed hard into the boy’s back, pinning him to the ground. His head came up when I broke into the meadow, narrowed eyes g
oing wide.

“You can’t,” I gasped, pressing my hand into the stitch in my side. “You can’t hurt him. Just make him swear not to spe
ak of it.”

“Lady,” the boy panted. “Lady, run! Up to Mount Ida, and the gods will protect you from these men! Lord Apollo will
save you!”

“Fool boy!” Theseus rose, releasing him. “Is that what you thought? That you would rescue her from raiders with the men from the
village?”

“Surely she must be a naiad, taken as yo
ur slave.”

“Tell me your n
ame, boy.”

“Paris, son of Agelaus,” he said proudly, climbing to his feet. “My father is a shepherd for King Priam, the greatest king Troy has ev
er known.”

Theseus grabbed the boy by the tunic before he could escape, but he was looking at me. “He will tell the tale, no matter what he promises. You know what it will mean if word travels before we leave. Troy is not so far from Achaea that rumor will no
t spread.”

I met the boy’s eyes. They were honey brown, but bright with adoration when they fell on me. He did not even know my name, but Theseus’s men would not hide his. Those they met would know they were Athenian, traveling with their king, and word that Theseus guarded a beautiful woman would send Mycenae to the Rock. But he was only a boy, so young, unarmed, an innocent shepherd, and I could not let him die for me. Not
like this.

“I am not held against my will, Paris, but if anyone hears of me, that will be the least I suffer. This man is my hero, not my abductor. If you care for me at all, you will tell no one of this. Swear to me and to the gods you will keep this secret. Swear it to Lor
d Apollo.”

He sagged against Theseus’s grip, the brightness draining from his expression. He had wanted to save me, to make himself a hero, I guessed, but then he straightened and his boy’s face turned grave. “I swear by Lord Apollo, and my love for you, my lady, I will never speak of this, if you will grant me one thing i
n return.”

Theseus’s eyes narrowed, and I swallowed, knowing already what he would ask. But he was only a boy, younger than me. I felt my heart trip with pain all the same, that even a boy could not look at me without wanting to possess m
e as well.

“What would you ask?” I said. I was already trembling, remembering Menelaus, his breath in my ear, the sour smell of his sweat, and the weight of his bod
y on mine.

“A kiss, my lady, and I will keep your secret even from the gods th
emselves.”

I turned my face away, blinking the tears back from my eyes. This was how it had begun. Love of my beauty, desire for my body. And it—I—had driven Menelaus into madness. But Paris was o
nly a boy.

“You need not do this,” Theseus said to me, his voice low. I heard my own pain echoed in his words. He would have spared me this, if I had gone to Ariston instead of following. “You need not give him anything. If you would not have him killed, I will cut out his tongue to f
inish it.”

I shook my head. A kiss was a small thing to give, to spare his life and keep the fate I feared from coming. I had given much more to Menelaus, promised myself whole and consenting to Theseus, though he had honored me by refusing, and at least this boy had asked first, instead
of taking.

“I will pay h
is price.”

Theseus said nothing, but the boy stumbled free of his grasp. Paris grinned as if he could not believe his good fortune. I could not look at Theseus, for fear he would see how much it cost me, and perhaps out of fear I would see how much it
cost him.

Paris stood a finger’s width taller than me, and now that he had his prize, he did not seem to know how to claim it. I took a breath to steady myself and stepped forward to meet him. Rising to my toes, I pressed a kiss to his closed lips, the softness of them sending a trickle of dread through
my heart.

I left them both without another word, walking back the way I had come, and wishing I had never followed Theseus to b
egin with.

We arrived at Piraeus, Athens’s port, four days later, before dusk. The return from Troy had been swift and uneventful, without storm or mist to slow us. The gods had exacted their punishment, it seemed. Theseus had lost one man in Troy, when the men had tried to steal livestock from one of the shepherds. A boy had fought them back, protecting the cattle long enough for more men to arrive, and dealing a lethal blow to one of our oarsmen. When Pallans told the story and named the boy as Paris in my hearing, my stomach heaved up what was left of my midday meal. Ariston had been forced to cover the sounds with a false coughing fit, and Theseus feigned exhaustion to sit with me inside the small shelter until I cried myself to sleep. It had been a hard journey for b
oth of us.

From the tent, I heard the shouts of his people, cheering his return home. Theseus grinned at me like a boy before leaving the tent. The shouts and cheers became a roar. But what would they think if they knew Theseus had stolen himself a new bride? He was not a young man anymore, to be forgiven for his impulsive acts or ruled by lust, and Athens had not had a queen for a very
long time.

Theseus left me behind with Ariston after seeing the rest of his men to shore. I paced in the tent as night fell, and Ariston poure
d me wine.

I sat down, staring at the cup in my hands. “How muc
h longer?”

“Not long,” he assured me. “On horse it is not even half a morning’s ride to the palace
and back.”

“Do you suppose he went on h
orseback?”

Ariston smiled. “My lady, the king would never be left to travel on foot. If he requires a horse, it will be found for him. Is this not so i
n Sparta?”

I shook my head. “Tyndareus would never ride on horseback. It is beneath his dignity. He would wait for his chariot to be driven to the coast to
meet him.”

“King Theseus does not stand on ceremony in his own city, nor do the people expect it of him,” Ariston said. “It helps that he has not aged. Sometimes we forget how old he really is, though most do not remember well a time before
he ruled.”

“It’s so odd.” Perhaps he’d keep his youth long enough that we might age together. But as a daughter of Zeus I might be gifted similarly. After all, Pirithous was a son of Zeus, and he looked no older than Theseus, though he could not have bee
n younger.

Ariston shrugged. “He is a son of Poseidon. Why should he age like a mortal when he i
sn’t one?”

Movement on the deck stopped my reply, and Ariston rose. He drew a small wicked knife from his belt and looked out, but the tension in his shoulders eased almost at once. Theseus ducked into the tent, a dark cloak over his arm and a small clay pot no larger than a fist in his o
ther hand.

I let out a breath and he smiled. “Did you think I wouldn’
t return?”

“I knew that you would, but the waiting was an agony. If I never see the inside of a tent again, it will be
too soon.”

He helped me to my feet and wrapped the cloak around my shoulders, settling the heavy wool to cover me from head to toe. With his arms free, he produced a stick of kohl from the pot in
his hands.

“To hide the beauty of your face in darkness,
” he said.

I grimaced, but when he placed a finger beneath my chin to raise my face, I did not argue. Smudged kohl was really the least of it. I would have colored myself blue if it would have protect
ed Athens.

When he finished painting my face, he pulled the hood of the cloak up over my hair, tucking the stray strands behind my ear with black-staine
d fingers.

Theseus stepped back to inspect me. “How is that,
Ariston?”

“She is unrecognizable,
my lord.”

Theseus nodded, glancing over my costume once more. “It will have to do, but I pray to Athena and Hermes we are not seen at all, or questions will be asked as to why a filth-covered servant rode before me on
my horse.”

“Just say I am a slave girl come from Egypt, and you meant for me to save my energy for
your bed.”

Theseus raised both eyebrows, his lips twitching. It seemed his good humor had returned with the sight of Athens on the shore. “And what do you know
of Egypt?”

I smiled and dropped into the
henu
of the pharaoh’s court, which Alcyoneus had taught me, my forehead nearly touching the deck in the deep gen
uflection.

“How may I serve you, my lord?” I asked in the Egypti
an tongue.

Theseus stared at me, eyes wide. “Hel
en, how—?”