Helen of Troy
T
he chariot wheels rattled over a wooden bridge and then tore across the large grassy plain surrounding the city. Menelaus stared ahead, never losing sight of the walls for a moment. In contrast, my brother looked about, taking in anything that might be useful to him later.
When we rode closer, Trojan soldiers marched out of the city gates to meet us.
“They’re only an escort,” Odysseus said quietly.
I stole quick glances at the soldiers as they surrounded our chariots and then divided like the sea before a ship, to march on either side of us. The Trojan weapons looked familiar: swords, round shields, spears and men with bows slung over their shoulders. To my inexperienced eye there seemed no real difference between Greek and Trojan soldiers, except for the designs on their shields and the style of their helmets.
But we have Achilles, I told myself.
And then the nagging doubt: they have the walls.
The escort leader brought us to a halt outside the first set of gates. He was a tall man, clad in bronze armour, with a sword belt slung over his shoulder. I noted his neatly trimmed beard, and as he swaggered over to us and gripped the side of our chariot, I saw his clean nails and smelt his perfume. Despite his tight-lipped expression and austere voice, this man cared more about his appearance than most Greek men did.
“Leave your men and chariots here. They can find water for the horses, and themselves, at the well. You will proceed on foot.” He started to walk away, but then added, as an afterthought, “Your men will be safe and ready for your return. And the lady, do you wish her to walk with you or ride alongside me?”
“Walk, I will walk,” I decreed.
Odysseus nodded. “Thank you, soldier. My sister will walk to the palace.”
We were marched into the lower part of the city, where we were surrounded by voices in strange languages and an air heavy with perfumes and spices. Near the gate, a group of women in long robes and veils glanced around at us, but quickly lost interest and continued with their conversation. The soldiers led us through the main street and I caught glimpses of stalls with unusual fruit and others with bright fabrics and linen. Everywhere there was colour and fragrance.
Once through a large courtyard, we headed towards the massive fortress that circled the upper city. I glanced at Odysseus; he nodded but said nothing. Eventually, the markets were replaced by mud-brick houses and workshops, some tradesmen working on the flat roof of their homes, just as Ithacans did.
A well-dressed man walked past us. I stared at his heavy gold bangles and earrings. Then I noticed his carefully curled beard. Odysseus grinned at me. It was all just a bit too gaudy for Ithacan taste.
The soldiers led us along the track at the base of the walls, towards the large oak gates. I craned my head and saw the soldiers on the battlements. Odysseus nudged me and pointed to several blocks of stone, engraved with the shapes of deformed creatures with grotesque expressions.
“Standing stones of their gods, placed by the gates to protect the city,” he explained. “I’d guess the one with the sun disc is Apollo.”
But their Apollo looked so different. We saw the sun god as a young man, exceptionally handsome and athletic. Here he was squat, with a wide, leering mouth and short legs. Everyone knew the gods were vain and easily offended, so surely they would prefer the Greek picture of them rather than these strange creatures?
I turned back to the gates and found a barrier of sentries ahead of us. They moved aside at the command of the leading soldier and we marched through the heavy gates into a shaded passageway.
“A clever design. Invaders getting this far will be trapped in the narrow alley, fully exposed to the archers up there,” Odysseus murmured, raising his eyes to the watchtowers.
Trojan bowmen stared down at us. I tried to look disinterested, as if such defences were something I saw every day, but I shivered when we stepped into the citadel and prayed no Ithacan soldier would ever have to attack these walls.
Odysseus took me by the elbow and hurried me along. “Keep up with me.”
“They’ve got jewels in the street,” I whispered.
“They’re just stones that glitter.”
“Well, it’s still beautiful.”
Odysseus frowned. “Don’t admire the enemy.”
“They’re not our enemy …”
“Shhh,” Odysseus hissed, as an elderly Trojan walked towards us.
“Welcome to Troy. My name is Antenor, advisor to King Priam,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Let me assure you that if you’ve come peacefully, searching for an agreement that avoids war, I’ll support you in our assembly.”
Menelaus strode forward. “I am Menelaus, King of Sparta. Helen is my wife. I believe you hold her in the city.”
Antenor bowed his head. “Welcome, King Menelaus. Helen is indeed here in Troy and I am pleased to report she is in perfect health.”
“Then I come for her, to take home.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, at least not unless King Priam permits it. First we must submit your case in the assembly hall.” Antenor glanced at my brother and spoke quietly. “You will be King Odysseus of Ithaca? You’ll need to persuade King Priam, three of his sons and a military advisor. The task is not an easy one, though Prince Hector is prepared to see reason.” He looked at Menelaus again. “Please follow me.”
Antenor led the way up a set of stone steps.
“Three of Priam’s sons,” I whispered to my brother. “Will one of them be Paris?”
He took my arm again. “Probably, but all is not lost if Hector will listen. And you keep quiet, understand?”
I nodded and followed Antenor, all the while wondering why he’d singled out Hector as listening to reason. Did it mean the other men would not? We climbed higher and higher, until we stepped onto the walkway around the battlements. My hair blew across my face and I clung onto Penelope’s cloak.
“So it’s true what I’ve heard about the winds of Troy,” Odysseus cried.
Antenor turned back and smiled slightly, unable to hide his pride. “Yes, refreshing in the summer and bitterly cold in the winter.” He glanced at me. “You like our view of the sea? Come, if you look out from the east wall, you will see Mount Ida.”
He guided me to the opposite side and I saw the mountain, so high that its peaks were in the clouds. “People say Zeus himself likes to sit on the summit and watch all that happens in our city,” Antenor said.
I smiled as I pictured Zeus sitting on top of Mount Ida, seeing nothing but the clouds that blocked his view. It felt safer that way. Menelaus coughed his impatience. Antenor bowed his head and mounted the last few steps towards the shrine at the very top of the citadel. I paused to look at the large building, but Menelaus and Odysseus strode ahead to the palace gates and I had to run to catch up. Then we were through into a paved courtyard, Odysseus flashing me a look, a look that reminded me not to be so friendly with Antenor. I tried to think of the old man as our enemy, but it was difficult to feel threatened when he was eager to share the wonders of his city.
In the entrance hall, servants stood aside, bowing their heads in respect for the elderly official. He led us down a long corridor and eventually stopped in front of a pair of ornate doors. I held my breath as an attendant pushed them open, so that together they swept inwards into the large assembly hall.
The herald stepped back when Antenor himself continued to lead us to the opposite side of the hall. I lowered my eyes as we approached a platform. Without looking up, I glimpsed the king sitting on a throne, with four distinguished-looking men standing at his side. Antenor announced us formally, showing me the courtesy of stating my name and not ignoring me as many Greek officials would have done.
Priam studied us in silence and I snatched a closer look at him. He was white-haired, his face heavily lined. He took up his sceptre and pointed it to the nearest of the men at his side.
“This is my son and the heir to my throne, Prince Hector of Troy,” the king declared. “He is known as a great war commander amongst allies who have required our military support.”
Black-haired Hector examined us all with dark, intelligent eyes.
“And this is Paris, my second son,” Priam continued.
Fair-haired Paris stepped forward and gave a smile that lit up his handsome face. It was the same charismatic smile that must have charmed Helen, and led her to forget her home, her husband and her young daughter. Standing only six paces from this man, I almost understood why Helen had run away with him. Quickly looking away, I concentrated on the third man.
“And now, my third son, Prince Deiphobus.”
Deiphobus had a look of Paris, though he was thick-set, not slender like his brother and his face was marred by the downturn of his mouth. He stared at us and made no attempt to smile.
Then Priam turned to the short, stocky man of about forty, who stood impatiently behind the three princes. “This is Antimachus, my loyal advisor for twenty years. And you have already met my senior advisor, Antenor,” he said. He leaned forward and looked at Menelaus with intense grey eyes. “So tell me, Menelaus of Sparta, what is it you seek from us?”
Menelaus took the sceptre from Priam and recited the introduction that he’d practised with my brother. “Odysseus and I are unarmed and come with his young sister, to show we wish to make a peaceful settlement with you. We are here to right a great wrong done to me by your son, Paris, Prince of Troy.”
He paused for a breath, then looked Priam in the eye and spoke the words that were etched in his heart. “The prince was an honoured guest at my palace in Sparta. I greeted him like a friend and held feasts and celebrations in his name. We exchanged gifts. We talked of increasing trade between our two great kingdoms and of friendship between our families, even the possibility of marriage between my only daughter, Hermione, and one of your younger sons, Prince Troilus or Prince Polites.
“After nine days of entertaining him, I was called away to Crete to attend the funeral of my grandfather. I would never leave an honoured guest like Paris, except for such an important duty. I was forced to leave Helen, my wife of seven years, as hostess to the prince. I’ve been criticised for leaving such a beautiful woman alone with Paris, but she was surrounded by officials and advisors, and I’d no reason to doubt either my wife or the prince.” Menelaus turned to face Paris, his voice trembling with emotion. “I showed you nothing but kindness and generosity and regarded you as an ally. If you had come to me with a wife, I’d have treated her with respect, whatever my desires. I would have protected her from kidnappers, not been a kidnapper myself.”
Paris smiled and folded his arms.
Menelaus stared at him for a moment. “When I returned home four days later, I found my wife gone and many palace treasures taken. My five-year old daughter was wandering through the palace looking for her mother. You had stolen my wife, my daughter’s mother and my gold. It is an insult to me and my kingdom, but most of all it is an insult to the god Zeus, who lays down the laws of hospitality.”
Paris interrupted, “This is irrelevant. The important fact is Helen wishes to stay with me. She has formally divorced you according to our laws and married me. As for the gold, she took that as her dowry and therefore it’s rightfully mine. We have committed no offence against you or Sparta.”
“Silence, Paris, you do not have the sceptre. You will have your chance later,” Priam said.
Menelaus thanked the king and continued to speak to Paris. “This divorce and Trojan marriage you speak of are not binding in Sparta. It has no authority and Helen remains my wife. Therefore, I demand her return, along with the stolen gold. If you do this, I ask for nothing more and will leave in peace. By asking for no further retribution, I show my wish for peace between our lands.”
Their eyes met for a moment before Paris shrugged and looked away. Menelaus turned to the king and finished with the words he’d been taught by Odysseus. “I come as an honest man who has no desire to wage war with your city. I am giving you an opportunity to avoid that war, but do not confuse this with weakness. If you do not return Helen and the gold, a Greek fleet of a thousand ships will attack your city and take Helen by force.”
Menelaus handed the sceptre to Odysseus. Odysseus looked down at the sceptre and then at the men from Troy. My brother was shorter and not as physically impressive as Menelaus, but his voice was as soft and clear as the fall of winter snow and the Trojans were compelled to listen. Antenor gave a small nod of approval when Odysseus talked of avoiding war, though I noticed Paris glance anxiously at Antimachus.
There was whispering from a corner of the hall and I glimpsed a girl pointing at me and beckoning. I hesitated. Odysseus was presenting his argument and the other men were absorbed in his speech. The girl still gestured to a door. When I moved towards her, she slipped back into the shadows.
“Helen wants to see you,” she said, in excellent Greek. “She’s been listening to Menelaus and wants you to take him a message.”
I glanced round at the men, but no one had noticed me move away.
“Come, Helen is waiting,” the girl urged.
“Where is she? I can’t go far.”
“She’s very close.”
I followed the girl through the open doorway. Suddenly Helen stood in front of me. I stared at her. They were right. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her blonde hair shone like gold and hung in glossy curls down to her waist. Her skin was perfect and glowed with health. No wonder they said she was the daughter of Zeus.
“So you’re Odysseus’ sister,” she said, her voice light and musical. “Yes, I see something of him in the colour of your eyes.” Then she smiled, touching my hair. “Dark, not red. Not altogether the same. Can I trust you?”
I nodded, too stunned to speak.
“I want you to inform Menelaus I came to Troy willingly and wish to live here, as Paris’ wife. It is important he understands Troy is now my home. Menelaus is to return to Sparta and forget all his ideas of taking me back.”