Helen Had a Sister Page 4

Later I lay in bed beside Helen, in a room overlooking the courtyard. The men still caroused below. They were singing now – barrack-room songs with easy tunes and filthy lyrics.

  Later still, I heard an anguished scream. “Nooooooo!” followed by hysterical sobbing before it went quiet.

  I rolled over and turned my back to the window in an unconscious gesture of rejection. I saw Helen was awake, her eyes wide in the gloom. I wondered suddenly whether I should say something to her, perhaps explain matters. She was, after all, only twelve years old.

  “We aren’t going to Athens, to kill Theseus for revenge, are we?” she asked. “Not now you’ve got me back.”

  “No,” I said, grateful she hadn’t asked me to explain the scene outside our window. “No point.” There was a pause.

  “So Theseus and Pirithous will get off unpunished? Even though they stole me from my father’s kingdom?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “Aethra didn’t know anything about my abduction, you know. Theseus just turned up here yesterday afternoon and told his mother she had to care for me until I was old enough for a wedding.”

  “You had chains on your wrists,” I said. My anger at the sight flooded through me again.

  “She couldn’t say no,” said Helen. She always had been stubborn, and she spoke now with conviction. “She’s his mother. She didn’t have a choice.”

  I said nothing.

  “Why is it that the men who abducted me and hurt me are getting away with it, and the women who did nothing are the ones getting punished?”

  “It’s the way of things,” I said curtly, although I really had no answer.

  We lay in silence for quite a while.

  “Aethra and Phisaides are also the daughters of kings,” whispered Helen eventually. “Could this happen to us as well?”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. Her questions were making me cross; they echoed those in my own mind, and I couldn’t afford to be gentle.

  The silence was fraught. I could sense Helen’s distress.

  “Look, they will be well looked after when they reach Sparta,” I said at last. This was true. No slave of Leda’s was treated with anything other than courtesy and kindness. I couldn’t remember any time my mother had beaten a slave.

  “Go to sleep, Helen. We travel tomorrow, remember?”

  We burned the homestead the next morning, piling the bodies of those we had killed onto the fire to turn to ashes in the conflagration. We had neither the time nor interest to bury the dead. I noticed Aethra standing stony-faced while her erstwhile home burned to the ground.

  Phisaides’ face was swollen and marked with tears. She moved with the stiffness of a crone. Aethra put her arm around her shoulders in comfort. The men rounded up the few cattle, sheep and goats from the farm and sent them on the road to Sparta.

  It took us several days to reach home. Messengers had been sent ahead to let Leda and Tyndareus know the news of Helen’s rescue. For the rest of us, the journey turned into a holiday. We covered miles each day but at a much slower pace. The stock moved at their own speed, which kept us to their rhythm. The two wretched women, tied to a cart, trudged in the dust behind the cattle. I refused to feel compassion for either of them. Every time I thought of Helen in chains I felt a surge of murderous rage. It wasn’t Castor’s intent, but he had been kinder to them than I would have been.

  There was time in the chariot for Agamemnon and me to talk.

  He told me his dreams of reclaiming his kingdom. I began to understand the depths of frustration he hid from us all. Years had gone by, and usurpers still sat on his father’s throne. Why had I never realised his anger was so intense? His brother Menelaus was a happy-go-lucky type, just grateful for a warm billet and a group of supportive friends.

  Menelaus could be happy anywhere, but I began to understand that Agamemnon would never be happy or content while he felt humiliated. I also began to understand how easy it was to generate that emotion in him.

  I felt a deep sympathy. If I had dreaded being shipped off to a husband in a distant and different land, how galling must it be for a warrior to have to patiently endure exile while another took his place on the throne? I hoped there would be some way for Agamemnon to achieve his destiny.

  Not all our conversations were serious. We fell into an easy way of talking to each other, which was flirtatious and enjoyable. He called me ‘little cat’.

  “I think you’re insulting me,” I complained. “I’m a warrior woman, but you make me sound like a tame pet.”

  He laughed out loud. “Maybe you’re a wild mountain cat, a little lioness.”

  “Well, if I’m a cat, what does that make you?”

  He thought for a while. “A boar,” he said at last.

  I was surprised. I had imagined a wolf, or maybe a bear.

  “What makes you say that?”

  He gave a smirk. “Because the boar is the most dangerous animal in our forests. It’s quick, clever and just as likely to kill the hunter as to be killed itself. If you wound a boar it will come after you for revenge, and it can have a very long memory.”

  “Surely it can’t be safe for a cat to travel with a boar?” I asked.

  He gave a thoughtful pause and then laughed. “I think conflict between a mountain cat and a boar might be about equal. They’re both very dangerous.”

  “So you declare a truce?”

  “Let there be truce then between us,” he agreed and grinned at me.

  I was flattered, amused, and his attentions spurred me to being quicker, cleverer and wittier than was usual for me. I believe I gentled his angers. He was never anything but kind, amused and affectionate towards me.

  We only once referred to the mission we had been on.

  “Your sister is likely to pose a few problems over the next years,” he remarked.

  “Oh? Why?”

  He looked at me sidewise as if unsure how to proceed. “Your sister is going to be very beautiful, and her rescue from Theseus is only going to add to her reputation for desirability,” he remarked. “If I was your father, I’d get her betrothed as soon as possible.”

  I stared at him in surprise and some indignation. “She’s only twelve,” I said. “Spartan girls don’t wed until they’re eighteen or more. That’s years away for Helen.” I didn’t add my equally clear thought that, for me, it was only two years away.

  Agamemnon pulled me towards him suddenly in a close hug. “You know, you’re a very unusual girl. Any other would have been furious I said your sister was attractive. You’re just concerned that she would be too young for a betrothal.”

  I said nothing, but his words gave me pause. Of course Helen was beautiful. So was I. Leda had given each of us a portion of her beauty. I glanced at my sister riding in a chariot with Pollux. The twins made a very attractive pair with their wheaten hair and warm-toned skins. Menelaus had pulled up beside them. He must have said something funny, for Helen’s head was thrown back, laughing at some shared joke. It showed the long, pale line of her throat.

  Was there something special about Helen’s looks? I had seen her only as my little sister.

  Now it seemed men saw something else.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  OUR VALLEY RETURNED TO SOLITUDE. THE men were back in barracks and training, and Helen and I returned to our studies. My lessons had become more demanding. At the age of eighteen, every Spartan girl is examined in physical fitness, dance, music, rhetoric and philosophical thought. This is the single key to our future. Pass, and we become full citizens of the state of Sparta. Fail, and we are relegated to the perioikos, the middle classes, never to be a true member of the state.

  I am a princess of Sparta, but I would get no special treatment. If anything, I had to meet higher expectations. The thought of failure was intolerable.

  Dance was my favourite subject, but now we were drilled to uniform perfection. Every girl moved in unison to th
e movements and the music. Every arm and placement of the foot precise.

  I trained, until even my calloused hands blistered. I was more than competent with javelin and bow, but the sword had always been my weakest weapon. Now I worked through the drills for hours.

  Sometimes Agamemnon would spar with me. Our movements became a complicated dance. I had been trained to look into the eyes of my foe, to predict their next move. When I gazed into Agamemnon’s, what I saw invariably distracted me. His dark brown eyes gave me no indication of intent. The emotion – I later identified it as lust – drew me into its dark portals. I desired this man, I hated this man. In particular, I loathed losing to him because I knew some part of me wanted to yield.

  I woke in the mid-reaches of the night and lay thinking of the match we would have the next day. I imagined thrust and defence for hours, until I fell into an uneasy sleep just before the horns blew to separate us from our beds.

  I worked hard to achieve it, but one day a lucky stroke managed to get through Agamemnon’s guard. He was gracious in his defeat and bowed to me with no irony.

  “I was lucky to walk away from that last attack,” he said. “A real foe would have had me butchered for a barbecue in seconds. You’ve improved, little cat. Each day you become more effective. If we ever go to war, you could be my shield bearer.”

  I gave him a slight smile, accepting the compliment, but wondering what had made him so abnormally careless.

  * * *

  Two weeks later I was in the palace with Leda. I resented the time spent learning silly domestic duties, but I was fed up with my studies and it did provide an opportunity to hear gossip which never made it as far as the barracks.

  “Agamemnon must be looking forward to the coming war,” said Leda.

  “What war?” I asked. I hadn’t heard any talk of war around the barracks, and Agamemnon hadn’t said anything to me directly.

  “Why, the invasion of Achea, of course. He’s been talking with Tyndareus, and they’ve been planning it for weeks. They haven’t released it to the men yet, just in case word gets out prematurely, but I believe it’s planned for the next full moon.”

  Leda paused to examine a tunic in a pile of laundry. “This needs darning,” she said and clicked her tongue in irritation.

  I had been mulling over her words. “I suppose Agamemnon is wise to be careful. Many Myceneans followed him when he came here. Some may not be so loyal if he invades land where they still have family.” I stopped to think through the implications.

  A maid entered the room bringing chilled wine for us.

  Leda showed her the tunic. “Why hasn’t this been mended?” she asked.

  “Sorry, mistress.” The girl flushed and picked up the tunic.

  “Go through the lot, and make sure you check properly this time.”

  The girl retreated with her pile of mending.

  “Really,” said Leda in exasperation, “we’ve got a houseful of slaves, and I still can’t trust them to be reliable unless I’m there to supervise.”

  She poured us both a glass of the wine.

  “When Helen returned safely, Tyndareus decided it was time to give Agamemnon the help he needs to win back his kingdom. The boys have been here long enough, and fought bravely for us. Also, your father thinks it would be good to have a future ally in Achea. Agamemnon has made him realise that Sparta could benefit from being more open to trade.”

  “He didn’t say anything to me,” I said. Surely Agamemnon should have known I was on his side, that he could trust me with his secrets. I was hurt.

  “Your father? Well, he probably hasn’t had the chance. Anyway, he wouldn’t necessarily consider it women’s business.”

  “Not father,” I almost shouted in my exasperation.

  There was silence, quite long enough for me to consider what I had inadvertently revealed. I looked up to see my mother staring at me with a stricken look.

  “Are you saying that you expected Agamemnon to have confided in you?”

  “No,” I blustered.

  She stared me down with the steely glare only she could muster.

  “Well, maybe I thought he would have,” I muttered eventually.

  “Darling, are you saying there is something between you and Agamemnon?” Her voice was soft enough, but I could tell she disapproved.

  I started to deny it, but she overrode me.

  “Nestra, we’ve never talked about these things, but maybe we should. You are a grown woman now, and soon you’ll be thinking about betrothal and marriage. Don’t set your heart on Agamemnon. You are worthy of a much better man.”

  “How can you say that?” I was stung by the comment. “What’s wrong with him? He’s a prince. You’ve just said he’s going to fight to get his throne back. Maybe he will be a king. What’s wrong with that?”

  I watched as Leda gathered her thoughts. She was a cool woman, my mother, not given to blurting out whatever first came to her mind. I saw her pause to form her argument.

  “I want you to be happy,” she said at last. “I want you to have as good a marriage as your father and I have had.”

  I nodded. Well, any mother would want that for her daughter, wouldn’t they? I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Agamemnon has been sleeping with Clymene,” she said. “You know, Clymene, my maid?”

  I felt a surge of anger wash through me. How dare a maid enjoy what I was denied? I knew Clymene as a perfectly pleasant young woman in my mother’s service, but hearing she slept with the man I wanted made me hate her with an explosive anger.

  “So?” I said, as arrogantly as I could to hide my pain and shock.

  “He hits her,” said Leda urgently. “I’ve seen her with a black eye. It may have happened more than once.”

  “She’s a slave,” I said. “She probably deserved it. What do you expect? If she didn’t enjoy it, she wouldn’t sleep with him.”

  Frankly, if I could have got my fingers on Clymene at that moment I’d have given her something a good deal worse than a black eye. A flogging at the very least.

  Leda’s voice hardened. “She’s also a woman, which is something you would do well to consider. She probably had no choice in the matter. As you say, she’s a slave, and though I try to keep them safe, I can’t protect my maids against every man who orders them to their bed. He’s a prince. How could she refuse? The point is, a man who hits one woman will go on to hit another. Nestra, please don’t be blind or stupid about this. I want you to have joy in your marriage. You won’t find that with a man who uses his fists on you when he gets frustrated.”

  I was furious. Why was my own mother so stupid she couldn’t understand that I loved Agamemnon? He would be different with me. How could she rate a slave’s welfare above my happiness?

  We continued folding linen in silence. I thought I heard Leda sigh, but was in no mood to listen to anything else she had to say. I was happy when I was able to leave her and be alone to mull over the relationship between Clymene and Agamemnon. It had never occurred to me to be jealous of a slave before.

  When Agamemnon joined me the next day I asked about the plans. I was hurt he hadn’t seen fit to tell me himself. My feelings must have showed in my face, because he beckoned me to sit beside him on the wall surrounding the training ground. I glanced at him. His head was bent, staring at the engraving on the hilt of his sword.

  At last he lifted his head and looked at me directly.

  “Whatever happens, this attempt will define mine and Menelaus’s entire lives,” he said. “If I can defeat or kill Thyestes and Aegisthus, then I will have a kingdom of my own. I will inherit my father’s crown, have status and a place among the kings of Greece.” He made an odd little grimace. “If I fail, I remain a refugee. I will be a homeless mercenary doomed to wander Greece as a warrior for hire. I will have nothing to offer a wife.”

  I was about to say he would always have a place in Sparta, but stopped myself. Agamemnon needed
no platitudes from me. We were taught from birth that death is better than dishonour. I was warrior trained myself and born to be the mother of warriors. I understood how galling it must be for him to live as a guest, however welcome.

  “This is my test, Nestra,” he said soberly. “Just as you must pass your exam to take your place in Sparta so, too, must I pass mine. If I succeed, I rule Mycenae; if I fail, I have nothing.”

  I nodded. We sat together quietly in the warm sun. I wondered whether to ask Apollo to stop time at this moment, when all was still hopeful and possible, or let it run on towards a dangerous, unknown future. I gave a slight shiver and decided it was time to break the mood.

  I stood up. “Just as well you can practise with me then,” I teased. “You are going to need to be at your peak when the battle starts.”

  He laughed and joined me on the grounds. We sparred, matching drilled move for drilled move. I thrust, he blocked. He returned my thrust and I spun sideways. There was a deadly intensity to our match. I thought I’d fought hard and well in previous bouts, but this was fighting above any level I had encountered before. Neither of us was prepared to lose. The pace grew faster, the blows heavier. My arms ached, the muscles at the back of my calves cramped with the constant movement and I had no breath left in my lungs. A god must have been with me, for none of this affected me. All I saw was Agamemnon. Each feint, each attack, lifted my skills to a new plane.

  It had to end, of course. I had just blocked a particularly vicious attack on my offside and was spinning out of range when I became aware we had an audience. The sound of clapping and cheering penetrated my concentration. In that single instant Agamemnon swept forward and twisted the sword from my grasp. I looked down at the weapon on the ground then looked up at Agamemnon. He stared back at me. Suddenly a big grin split his face.

  I was furious he should gloat over my defeat. Without thought I bent, picked up my weapon and leapt forward with vicious intent to stab him. I saw the flash of alarm in his eyes as he jumped to the side.

  “Whoa!” he called. “Enough. Nestra, enough, we’ve finished.”