Helen of Sparta (22 page)

I flushed. “Thank you, my lady, but I hope it is not just my appearance that has captured your son
’s heart.”

She smiled and kissed my cheek. “If it were only that, he would not wish to make you his queen.” Aethra let me go and turned her attention to my clothing. “Theseus asked if you’d like to share the morning meal with him in his rooms, but we must dress you first, in something more appropriate to your station than that frock you ar
rived in.”

“But if I am to be
a slave—”

“Nonsense,” Aethra said. “If you are to be seen by the palace at large, we will find you something suitably humble, but I see no harm in dressing you properly while you eat with my son. It is the least he can offer you while you live in this gilded cage, and I assure you, if I sent you to him in slaves’ clothing, he would never let me hear the end of it. Besides which, once his table is set, the servants know well enough not to disturb him until they’re call
ed again.”

Before I could object, she had crossed the room to a large chest and thrown it open to frown at the contents. “We’ll have to have new clothes made up, of course, but perhaps this will do f
or today.”

She held up a skirt of finely woven linen, tiered in shades of green, from the palest hint of sea foam to a deep emerald at the hem. I had never seen anything like it, for green was impossibly rare. In truth, I had not realized such shades were
possible.

“It will go well with your eyes,
I think.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Too fine to wear just to eat a morning meal alone
, by far.”

“If you had arrived under any other circumstances, and the king invited you to share his meal, would you dress in rags?” She held the skirt up to my waist, then tossed it over her arm while she stripped me of my sleeping shift with brusque efficiency. “I doubt very much your mother would have allowed you to leave your room in anything l
ess fine.”

I could not argue with that, and Aethra took advantage of my silence to pull a soft ivory shift over my head and wrap the skirt around my waist before I could think of anything further to say. The fabric was so soft against my skin that I wondered how it could be linen at all. I opened my mouth, but Aethra gave me another of her sharp looks, belting a leather girdle at
my waist.

“Not another word, my dear. It fits as if it were made for you, and we mustn’t keep the king waiting. He can be very ill-tempered when he’s hungry, and after the long journey you had, he’s sure to be half
-starved.”

The idea of Theseus in an ill temper of any kind made my stomach twist, and I had no desire to be the ca
use of it.

I half dozed while Aethra combed out my hair and worked ivory pins into a crown of braids. Leda had never given me so much attention, leaving me in the hands of maids and nurses. Aethra’s touch was softer than even Clymene’s, and she hummed to herself as s
he worked.

When she finished, Aethra stepped back to l
ook at me.

“The diamond is a very nice complement,” she said, and I raised my hand to my throat, having forgotten it was there. The stone was warm to the touch. “I think Theseus will be well pleased, considering his last sight of you was covered in kohl and filth from your travels. You’ve no real need for face paint at all with lips as red as yours, and a complexion so fair, unless you favor the
fashion?”

I wrinkled my nose, thinking of the few times Nestra and I had been made up so formally. Having my face caked with white powder had been miserable. Leda had slapped our hands anytime we raised them above our chests, to keep us from smearing it. And the red sunbursts painted on my cheeks and forehead had itched. I did not know how anyone could
stand it.

Aethra smiled. “No, I see that you don’t. That’s as well, I think. The less you remind Athens of Phaedra the better, and all that paint would only hide you
r beauty.”

“Thank you, my lady,” I
murmured.

She opened the door to the baths, and I followed her through the empty room to the adjoining chambers without protest. I kept my eyes on my feet, determined not to trip on the full skirt, clumsy as I was after my sleepless night. The deep cut of the bodice made me self-conscious, though it did not expose me. I had seen Leda dressed in the Cretan style for rituals, her breasts bare and painted, but she had dressed me as conservatively as she was able from the moment my hips had begun to spread. I had never worn any gown even as revealin
g as this.

A complex knock by Aethra opened the door to us, and Theseus stood on the other side. I must have been pink from my chest to my forehead when I raised my eyes to meet
his gaze.

“Helen,” he said, his expression warmer tha
n the sun.

He offered his hand, and when I took it, I felt all the tension of the night leave m
e at once.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said to Aethra without so much as glancing away from me. “Tell Demophon to begin the day’s affairs without me. I don’t wish to be disturbed until the afternoon, and if he requires help with any of the more-stubborn issues, have him call on Me
nestheus.”

“I am certain he will have no need,” she said, and left without ano
ther word.

When we were alone, I nearly tripped into his arms, my exhaustion falling over me like a cloak with the relief of his
presence.

He tipped my face up, searching my eyes, even as he pulled me against him. “You have n
ot slept.”

I flushed again, that he knew it so easily, and hid my face against his chest. “I was afraid if I did, I would dream. What if I cried out in
my sleep?”

“No, I suppose it would not do if you were heard. Rumor spreads gossip through the palace faster than Iris can whisper the will of the gods. Tell me what I can do to ease your dreams. Shall I send for Ariston? There may be a draft he can
mix . . .”

I shook my head. A potion would guarantee nothing. “I am well enough for a few d
ays more.”

“Even a daughter of Zeus must sleep.” He pulled me with him into the room, past the low table set with fruits, bread, wine, and cold meats. “If you fear sleep in your room, you may have it in mine. I’ll admit it was not how I intended to spend our first morning together in Athens, but I will not have you suffer more than
you must.”

I could not help but glance wistfully at the bed. “Won’t the servants wonder if they hear
weeping?”

“I’ll wake you if you begin to cry, but they dare not question any sounds that come from this room too closely.” He guided me to the bed, larger even than the one in the queen’s room, but much more modestly appointed. The carved oak had been freshly oiled and polished, making the owls resting atop the posts gleam. No doubt Aethra had seen it done while he
was away.

“It seems a shame to waste the gown
,” I said.

Theseus chuckled and swept me off my feet to lay me down. He removed my sandals and pulled a light blanket up over my body. The bed was soft, but not so plush that I drowned, and it lacked the excess of cushions and blankets that spilled over everything in the queen’s room. My eyes closed the moment my head touched th
e bedding.

“It wasn’t a waste.” He kissed my
forehead.

I wanted to argue, but it seemed too much effort, and the words failed before my lips would move. Just a few hours of sleep,
in safety.

The sounds of Theseus in the room, pouring wine and breaking bread, sent me to sleep more effectively than an
y lullaby.

C
HAPTER TWENTY

D
ragging himself away from Helen after he had seen her rested was more difficult than Theseus would have believed possible. He’d left her a pomegranate, broken into pieces, but he could not spare the time for more. Aethra would see her fed, he reassured himself. And what good was he to Helen, if he did not act as king? Demophon waited, and so did the rest of t
he nobles.

“Father!” Demophon rose from the throne and came forward to
greet him.

When had his son grown so tall? He easily matched Pollux in height now, and Helen’s brother was several ye
ars older.

The nobles parted between them, and all conversation in the megaron ceased as they met before the centr
al hearth.

“Demophon.” Theseus clasped his arm at the elbow, greeting him formally as an equal. “I see you kept things
in order.”

His gaze flicked over the others, now bunching together and beginning to speak among themselves. His cousin Menestheus stood by the dais, and Theseus nodded thanks to him. It was not that he doubted his son’s capabilities, but he was young yet, and it had eased Theseus’s mind to know he was watched over. Certainly Menestheus knew the politics of Athens and her people, even if he would never make a strong leader himself. He was too worthless with a spear for anyone to follow him, but he served loyally, as his family had served Aegeus before Theseus had be
come king.

“Any trouble?” Thes
eus asked.

Demophon shook his head, Phaedra’s dark hair falling into his eyes. Theseus bit back the suggestion that he have it cut, smilin
g instead.

“Things have been quiet, of course, though when you did not arrive three days ago, the nobles began to fuss,” Demophon said. “Aethra said Athena protected you and settled them. No one has any quarrel with Athens, and those who squabble within the city only do so out of boredom. We could u
se a war.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Demophon. War will not do us any favors if we cannot win or the casualties are too high. Better the people be bored than starve und
er siege.”

“And who could challenge Athens, truly?” Demophon smiled, and it transformed him. The boy he had left behind had become a man, ready to test himself for honor and glory. “We have Athena’s protection, a
fter all.”

“Not all the gods are as reasonable as our lady.” He clapped his son on the shoulder, trying not to think of Zeus. “Remember that when you
are king.”

“Of course, Father.” Demophon bowed
. “May the gods grant you many more years bef
ore then.”

Theseus chuckled. “A taste of the kingship in my absence and you find it is not so sweet as you
imagined?”

Demophon grimaced. “You make it look
so easy.”

“Decades of practice, I assure you. When it’s your time, you’ll be ready. And you’ll have your brother to support you.” Theseus let his gaze drift over the room again, but Acamas was nowhere to be seen. “Speaking of your brothe
r . . . ?”

“Aethra let him sleep and moved his lessons to this afternoon. I can have him called if you
wish it.”

“No. Let him study. But we’ll have a private supper this evening, and I expect you both to be washed and dressed to Aethra’s s
tandards.”

Demophon raised his eyebrows, opening his mouth to speak, then shutting it again as he glanced at the nobles surrounding them. “As you wish, o
f course.”

“I do.” He had not been certain he should admit the truth to Demophon and Acamas, but it would have been cruel to deny Helen the small amount of freedom it would give her. At least with his sons and his mother, she could b
e herself.

“The nobles will be expecting a banquet to celebrate your return,” Demophon said, “and the festival of Athena is coming
quickly.”

“The banquet will wait until tomorrow. Tonight I will spend with my family. As for the festival, that will be your responsibility this year. I trust it is not too much
for you?”

Demophon pal
ed. “But—”

Theseus grinned. “You can have Menestheus to help, o
f course.”

“You want me to organize the entire
festival?”

“If you’re to be king one day, you’ll have to shoulder the burden eventually. And time slips away from us, even now.” He squeezed his shoulder.
Please, Zeus, let your price not be my son.
“As long as I live, you will have my help and my wisdom, but I will not be king of Athens forever, and the sooner the people trust you to lead them, the better for all of us. Aethra will help you with the women’s rites, but do not forget that a king is both warrior and priest, just as the queen is priestess an
d mother.”

Demophon’s eyes shadowed at the mention of a queen. “And will we have a new queen i
n Athens?”

Theseus sighed. He wished making Helen queen could be as simple as placing a circlet on her head. “If the gods
will it.”

Demophon’s expression filled with questions, but he only pressed his lips together, as if he would not risk their slip
ping free.

Theseus gave his son’s shoulder another squeeze and released him. “Whatever comes, it will not be in time for the festival. Better that you begin to know Athena now than wait until I have b
een lost.”

Demophon nodded, and Theseus hoped all of this was for nothing. What choice did he have but to prepare his son for the day as if it might be tomorrow? He did not know the price, and if he were given a choice between his own life and his sons’, they must be ready to take their place on the throne. Not only for the people of Athens, but for Helen and all of Achaea. Whatever the price, Theseus would not let it be for nothing. To prevent the war, Helen must be protected, and if he were not living to do so, it would fall to
Demophon.

“Rumor came to us that you went to Sparta to secure Helen, my lord,” Menestheus said, speaking loudly enough for the assembly to hear his question. “And that Aphrodite herself wishes you
to marry.”

Theseus turned slowly, letting the entire room witness the flash of irritation for such an interruption, even if it came from his cousin. Menestheus had always been presumptuous, the more so because of
his blood.

“King Tyndareus of Sparta invited us, as king of Athens, to celebrate his daughter’s birth,” Theseus said. “It’s true that Helen is uncommonly beautiful, but even we cannot be in two places at once. We cannot hold Athens and Sp
arta both.

“Even if we had been tempted,” Theseus continued over the mutters of some of the younger men, raising a hand to quiet them, “Queen Leda seems to have misplaced her daughter. Helen went missing four days before we left Sparta, stolen from her bed in the palace. When she is found, the girl will no doubt marry one of the sons of Atreus. King Pirithous will be disappointed to hear
the news.”

That remark earned him a rumble of laughter from the nobles, and Theseus forced himself to smile. Pirithous’s proclivities were well-known, as he often came to Athens. Most of the nobles kept their daughters out of sight for the duration of his visits, and Theseus could not blame them. Had he a daughter of his own, he would have done
the same.

“The brothers Atrides are cursed,” one of the men called out. “Sparta insults us by choosing one of Mycenae’s sons over the Hero of Attica and Athens
herself!”

Theseus found the man in the crowd, one of the lesser nobles, and young, too. Not even of age with Menestheus and spoiling for a fight. It was long past time he led a raid to give the younger men experience in battle, but he would not leave Helen behind, now. Not until he knew whether Mycenae would march. If his nobles knew already of Aphrodite’s supposed appearance on the ship, it would not be long before word spread to the Isthmus, then Corinth, then the Peloponnese, with Mycenae and Sparta listening eagerly for
any news.

“If the House of Atreus is cursed, then we would not want them for so close a neighbor, never mind a tie by marriage through Helen’s sister, promised to Agamemnon,” Theseus said. “Let Mycenae have Sparta, if they can hold it. All of Attica follows Athens, and we are not so in want of a bride that we cannot find a suitable princess elsewhere.” He nodded to Demophon. “You have your heir; Athens is secure. And in the meantime, we have guest-friendship with Tyndareus o
f Sparta.”

“We heard that King Pirithous stole her,” Menestheus said. “And if he has, will that not bring an army to our door as his ally? Surely they will march by the Isthmus road to Thessaly, and just as surely you will wish to stand in their way at Eleusis or Megara, and they will turn south toward Athens instead. Atreus always coveted these lands, and by all accounts Agamemnon is much his fath
er’s son.”

“If they do, they will break upon the Rock,” Theseus said, keeping his tone firm. Just as the Amazons had failed, so long ago, so would Mycenae, regardless of Agamemnon’s greed. But he hated to even think of Antiope in the same breath as Helen for fear of giving the gods the reminder of the blood-price they had taken then. He forced it from his mind and met Menestheus’s eyes. “And Corinth would not allow Agamemnon to overreach, besides. But Pirithous has sworn his innocence before the gods themselves. Helen of Sparta is not in h
is hands.”

“If she were, you would still defend him,” one of the younger men c
alled out.

“Pirithous of the Lapiths is our closest ally and friend.” Theseus searched the assembly as he answered, but he could not identify the speaker this time. It hardly mattered. He could not censure the man for speaking the truth. “We will not turn our backs on an honorable friendship. King Pirithous would come to the defense of Athens without hesitation, and we will do
the same.”

The older men nodded their agreement, for honor meant much to them, and he could see the younger men smiling at one another. Conversation broke out among the assembly. Theseus waited for another moment to be sure no one else had anything more to say, but it was only a susurrus of noise, now that their concerns had been addressed. Better for them to blame Pirithous than to realize Helen lay in his bed beneath th
eir noses.

Menestheus grunted. “A shame the king of the Lapiths did not steal her, a
fter all.”

Theseus shook his head. “War will come in its own time without our helping it along, Menestheus. And if it does, we will all be grateful for the overabundance of young men looking to prove themselves in battle. There’s no use in wasting their lives with
out need.”

“But surely with Aphrodite’s own
blessing—”

“Aphrodite’s blessings do not guarantee peace. Where she walks, Ares is quick to follow, and I will not risk the prosperity of Athens without need. Certainly not for the pleasure of a woman in my bed, no matter how b
eautiful.”

“But it is not only her beauty, is it?” Menestheus pressed. “It is said once a man looks upon her, he will never be satisfied by any oth
er lover.”

Theseus snorted. “She is hardly some Medea, seducing men to her side only to see them suffer. She is just a girl, Menestheus. A young woman determined to serve her people as well as she is able. Noth
ing more.”

“I will be sure to pass on your reassurances to the palace women.” Menestheus bowed, excusing himself. “You are welcome home,
my lord.”

Theseus watched him go. He had not thought of the palace women until that moment, and the reminder from Menestheus’s lips made his blood run cold. They would notice the change in his habits, even if no one else did. Not only would they notice, but they would also complain bitterly to one another, and worse, to any man whose attentions they sought. Menestheus may have been bold, but he was not foolish. If Theseus chose not to take any women to his bed, the man would wonder at t
he reason.

But Menestheus had already found a reasoning he liked—this curse of Helen’s. Perhaps it would be enough. At least for now. He had to hope, for even if he had desired it, he could not in good conscience take the pleasures those women offered. Not as long as Helen
was caged.

Theseus turned to his throne. He had never liked to climb the dais and take that seat, knowing it would mean entire days wasted while he listened to the imagined slights of men who had too little to keep them occupied. But now it was even worse with Helen waiting for him, locked away in
his rooms.

If she could not be free, he had no wish to b
e, either.