Helen of Sparta (3 page)

“You’ve been gone for over a year, Menelaus.” It hurt me to say it, and it would hurt him, too, if I went on. But I had to. I would not give him any encouragement. “Things have changed. You’re different now, and I
am, too.”

His brown eyes sharpened, his gaze moving down my body before flicking back to my face. He stepped closer, and I realized how truly I had spoken. This was not the boy who had been kind to me because I was a child, or treated me with the fondness of a little sister. This was not the boy I had counted as my close
st friend.

“Are you?” He kept his voice soft, but there was a determination beneath the words that I had never heard before. “How differen
t, Helen?”

My face burned again, and I had to look away. I should never have said it. With Clytemnestra shouting her change from the highest windows of the palace, I would not be able to keep my own a secret for much longer. My sister was mad for a husband, but the sooner I married, the sooner the visions would come for me. The sooner the stranger would come to take me away and mountains would be built of
the dead.

Menelaus took my chin in his hand, lifting my face to his. “Even if you have changed, Helen, I haven’t. Not in any way that matters to you. I am still you
r friend.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, grasping for any excuse to leave him behind. Not even Menelaus would risk Leda’s ire so soon after his return. “Mother says I am too old to have friends who are men. Not
even you.”

Menelaus dropped his hand as if I had burned him, and I turned away before I could see the pain in his expression. I left him beneath the wall of the palace and did not dare to
look back.

CHAPTER TWO

I
stood before Tyndareus’s throne in the megaron, the raised central hearth too hot at my back. A skylight above me lit the room with bright sunlight, making me even warmer. During the feast, the gallery overlooking the hearth would be filled with children and young women not permitted to attend. Long tables had been set and benches and stools brought out to seat our guests, but the food had not been laid out yet, nor would it be before these household matters were addressed. The megaron was not just our banquet hall, nor even just a center for ritual. As Tyndareus’s throne room, it was where Spartans could come with petitions and the nobles gathered when he called a council, but family affairs always c
ame first.

Gray flecked Tyndareus’s black hair at the temples where there had been none before, and the lines in his face cut deeper around his eyes and mouth. The war for Mycenae had aged him, and I felt ashamed for behaving as I had. His homecoming should never have been ruined by my dis
obedience.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Helen?” he asked, his voice soft. Tyndareus did not seem upset, but he rarely did, dismissing most of our misbehavior as childhood mischief. Mine mo
st of all.

Leda stood beside him on the dais, her skirt tiered in shades of red. Now that Clytemnestra and I had seen thirteen summers, my mother did not believe we should be treated as children anymore. She raised her chin, her eyes as cold and flat as the great bronze-colored eagle that stared down on us from the wall behind the throne, flanked on either side by mustard-yellow
griffons.

When I had managed to climb back in through the window, tripping over a stool and nearly falling over a table, my mother had been waiting for me. A servant had seen me talking with Menelaus and Pollux, and said as muc
h to Leda.

“I am sorry for leaving my room. I only wanted to see your return to the city.” I bowed my head, trying to ignore my father’s guest. Ajax the Great stared at me beneath hooded eyes, and I wished I did not have an audience for my
disgrace.

“But you do not apologize for speaking ill of
the gods.”

I glanced at my father’s face, trying to judge his mood. His expression was empty of emotion, a perfect mask for a king. Pollux sat on one of the low benches skirting the interior of the megaron. I was not sure why, or what he had said to Tyndareus, but after this afternoon, I did not trust that he would keep my secret for mu
ch longer.

“I only said that they were fickle.” I raised my chin to match my mother’s. This much, I did not deserve punis
hment for.

Ajax’s roar of laughter startled me into stepping back. He leaned against a pillar painted with lightning bolts, one of four central columns set around the hearth, each with the symbols of a different god. He was so immense a man that I wondered the stone did not move from the weig
ht of him.

“You would have her punished,” he gasped between laughs, “for speaking so plain a truth? One every child should grasp at the earl
iest age?”

Tyndareus rubbed his forehead. He studied me for a long moment, waiting for Ajax to regain himself. His eyes were tight and dark, his expression weary. He dropped his hand back to the arm of his chair a
nd sighed.

“Knowing this and proclaiming it are two different things, I fear. Can you not see, Helen, how this might offend them? We should not criticize the gods in any small way. Your mother and I know this better than most.” He took Leda’s hand, and I looked away from the intimacy of th
e gesture.

“I cannot put my fate in their hands, Father. I cannot tr
ust them.”

“I do not blame you for your fears, Helen, and Ajax is right that I cannot punish you for speaking honestly. But nor will I turn a blind eye to insult beneath my roof. You will make an offering to Zeus directly after the morning meal, begging his for
giveness.”

“But my
lessons—”

“Alcyoneus has taught you quite enough.” And I knew then that he had guessed where I had learned how to make the dye. “One day missed will hurt
nothing.”

I bowed my head again. “Yes
, Father.”

“Let me see your hai
r, Helen.”

I swallowed hard, glancing quickly at Ajax, who had straightened and fallen silent at my father’s words. At least he was not the other Ajax, from my dreams. Even the thought of standing in the same room with Ajax of Locris made my stomach twist i
nto knots.

I unwound the scarf from around my face and hair, staring hard at my father’s sandaled feet as I did so. Tyndareus rose, coming toward me. He took my chin in his hand and raised my face to his, giving me no choice but to look at him. His mouth formed a thin line, and his brown eyes narrowed. The way he looked at me, inspecting the damage I had done to my beauty, reminded me of Agamemnon’s touch in my dreams. But Tyndareus, my true father or not, would neve
r hurt me.

“I do not think I need to ask why you have done this, Daughter, but it grieves me all the same.” He met my eyes, and I could not look away. “I am sorry that you have been driven to this, but I did not think there was purpose in sheltering you from the truth of your birth and the danger of your beauty. I would not see a daughter of mine kept in ignorance and shadow. You deserved the light of k
nowledge.”

“I just wanted to be free,” I said. Tears burned behin
d my eyes.

I had not expected his understanding, his grief. Disappointment in me I could have lived with, but I could see he blamed himself for the second rape my mother had suffered by Zeus, from which I had been born, and for the future my beauty threatened. Tyndareus did not just fear the men who might abuse me, but the god
s as well.

“I’m sor
ry, Papa.”

He squeezed my shoulder and let me go. “For disobeying your mother, you will be forbidden from the feast. A servant will bring you dinner in your room, and this time, you will not leave it. Do you under
stand me?”

I nodded. It was a much kinder punishment than I deserved, and I saw Leda glaring at me over his shoulder. She did not think it severe enough, either, but would not contradict Tyndareus in front of his guest. Perhaps that was his purpose in keeping Ajax near. If so, I was
grateful.

“In the morning, you will allow your mother to cut your hair. I will not tolerate any further trouble in this regard, Helen. You must accept who you are, and learn to live as the gods made you.” He turned from me, toward the dais. “Pollux, escort your sister. She is to go directly to the women’s
quarters.”

“Of course, Father.” Pollux came forward, waving me ahe
ad of him.

“Even with the ruin of her hair,” I heard Ajax say before I left the megaron, “she is still beautiful, Tyndareus. She would make any man a f
ine wife.”

“She would make any man a fine queen, my friend,” Tynda
reus said.

Then the door closed behind us, and Pollux and I w
ere alone.

“Tyndareus was very kind to you,” my brother said, “but you should have told him t
he truth.”

“I will.” I glanced up at his face. He walked stiffly beside me, eyes straight ahead. “But you can hardly expect me to confess my nightmares in front of Leda and Ajax the Great. It is a private matter, for his ea
rs alone.”

“And what of
Menelaus?”

I frowned, trailing my fingers along the painted oak branches on the wall as an excuse not to look at him. We’d had this conversation dozens of times. “You heard Tyndareus. I’m to remain in
my room.”

“Helen, you can’t really be serious. Rejecting Menelaus’s friendship, hiding the truth. If the dreams reveal your fate, he is to be your
husband!”

I whirled, grabbing him by the arm, but I pulled him to a stop only because he let me. He was so strong, now, so adult. The next time Tyndareus went to war, Pollux would go with him. And the time after that, he and Castor would lead the soldiers themselves. Would he lead men in the burning city for Menelaus as well? Would my brothers die there, with all t
he others?

“Promise me you will not
tell him!”

Pollux searched my face, but he did not repl
y at once.

“Promise me, Pollux! Whatever happens, I must not marry Menelaus, and if he knows, it will only encourage him to
love me.”

He sighed. “Helen, with your marriage goes the kingdom of Sparta. Tyndareus will not choose a husband for you based on love. The best you can hope for is a friend. A man who will respect you. Menelaus will be that man, and he will be a good king for our people. You cannot ask for more t
han that.”

“I can ask for peace. I can ask for war to be averted. There are other men,” I said. “Greater men than
Menelaus.”

Pollux shook his head. “You sound like Leda. To hear her talk, you would think the great hero Heracles or King Theseus had already asked for your hand. There is no shame in an alliance with
Mycenae.”

I flushed and began walking again. We were not far from the women’s quarters, and Pollux would not be able to follow me there. Only the king could walk within that part of the palace; all other men were forbidden. When I saw the curtained entrance, I ran
toward it.

“Hel
en, wait!”

I glanced back over my shoulder as I pulled open the curtain. “Enjoy the banquet, Brother.” And then I let the fabric drop, cutting off
his reply.

The stranger holds me by the hand, drawing me past stalls of colored fabrics in brilliant purples and blues, even the rarest greens, and stands that overflow with finely wrought gold and silver in quantities that make even Agamemnon seem poor. The people around us smile, bowing as we pass, and the merchants call to us, waving their goods in the air. He looks back at me, grinning, his pale brown eyes alight with joy, and my breath catches. For the space of a heartbeat, I wonder if I came with him
willingly.

The thought startles me, and I try to pull my hand free, but he does not let go. His smile fades and he tugs me closer, his fingers twining through mine. For all that he laughs and smiles, his grip is too tight, as though he fears I will free mysel
f and run.

“Is my city not beautiful?
” he asks.

We stand at a jeweler’s stall. The man lays out a variety of gemstones before us. One is an emerald larger than my thumbnail. The jeweler grins, holding it up. “To match your eyes! Any setting that you desire, I
can make.”

I shake my head with a smile and
step back.

“It is very beautiful,
” I agree.

“All of it can be yours, Helen.” The stranger pulls me into his arms, and the heat of him burns through me. “If you will be
my wife.”

I look back at the merchant with his emerald, at all the bright colors, and all t
he people.

It turns to ash before me. The reds and golds and purples flame into smoke and shadow and darkness, stinging my eyes. I cough and push the stranger away, but he will not let go. He buries his face in my hair, his arm around my waist holding me firm. His lips move against my neck and throat, trailing fire with kisses, while the world is torn with screaming women and crying children, running through th
e streets.

“Helen,” he murmurs, as though we are lovers
. “Helen.”

“No.” I shove at his chest, but he does not move. “No! They’re dying! Can’t you see? Everyone
will die!”

“Helen?” This time the voice is louder, no longer a whisper of passion. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and try to knock it away. I have to get free. I have to hide. Ajax will find me. And then
Agamemnon—

“Helen,
wake up.”

My eyes flew open, and I screamed at the shape leaning over me. A hand clapped over my mouth, half suffocating me, with a hissed plea for quiet. The form bent closer, and I struggled to free myself, biting the hand and digging my nails into the arm
behind it.

“Hel
en, stop!”

I stilled at once, blinking. My vision cleared as the tears slipped down my cheeks, and I could see Menelaus’s face, the red of his hair shining copper in the moonlight. He sat on the edge o
f the bed.

“It was just a dream,” he
murmured.

He waited another moment after I quieted, then removed his hand from my mouth. I stared at him, my heart racing, and pulled the blanket up over
my chest.

He brushed the moisture from my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to frig
hten you.”

“What—” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. I must have been screaming in my sleep. The noise of the banquet floated through my window, drunk men laughing and singing and stumbling through the courtyard. “What are you do
ing here?”