Beauty's Daughter: The Story of Hermione and Helen of Troy (26 page)

“Hermes would surely tell them we’ve come here.”

“But suppose they’ve already gotten to Mycenae and they’re on their way here and we suddenly find a boat to take us to Athens and we miss each other completely!”

We argued among ourselves, pulling first in one direction, then another. Only Asius seemed to have no opinion. He merely shrugged his great shoulders and agreed to do whatever we wanted. “Maybe we should divide,” he suggested. “Half take the overland route, and half find a smaller boat and go by sea.”

The mood grew tense. Zethus changed his mind and favored going by sea. Ardeste, who disliked traveling on a ship and had been so miserable on the journey from Krisa to Corinth, insisted that she would go only if we went by land. Soon she and Zethus were barely speaking.

Then one afternoon when sunlight glittered on the water like gold and the air was soft and sweet with the coming of spring, a small ship, larger than a fishing boat but not as large as a merchant vessel, sailed into the harbor. I was walking on the beach, gathering shells, and stopped to watch the bearded captain let down the anchor stone. He carried a little boy down the rope ladder, waded ashore, and set the child on the beach. The boy burst into tears when the man turned to leave, but the man stooped down and spoke to him, and left him with a kiss. Reassured, the boy squatted on the sand to wait. The captain went back to his ship and helped a young woman climb down the ladder. They waded ashore hand in hand, picked up the little boy, and began to walk up the beach.

As soon as I recognized them, I was running toward them, shouting. “Leucus! Astynome!”

Our problem was solved. I would ask Leucus to take us to Athens.

THAT EVENING WE CELEBRATED
and stayed up late talking—we wanted to hear all that had happened since Leucus left us at Mycenae and began his long walk to Sparta.

“But why have you come to Nauplia?” Ardeste asked. “Where are you going?”

Leucus explained that they were on their way to the island of Sminthos, where Astynome had been born, to introduce little Chryses to his grandfather. “And Astynome has agreed to marry me,” Leucus added as the two gazed at each other.

Another pair in love! I was destined to be surrounded by lovers, while my own love was still far away. No doubt Electra felt much as I did, longing for Pylades as I longed for Orestes.

Astynome told us about the terrifying storms that plagued the journey from Troy and carried Menelaus and Helen to Egypt, followed by the long, meandering trip from Egypt back to Sparta and the news of the shocking murders at Mycenae that greeted them.

“The king and queen were kind enough to take me and my son with them after Agamemnon sailed for Greece without us. But Queen Helen does not much care for me.” She glanced at me apologetically. “I don’t wish to speak ill of your mother, Hermione. To King Menelaus she is still and always will be the most beautiful woman in the world, but her concern is mostly for herself.”

Astynome was right. My mother was indeed a selfish woman, but despite her betrayal my father was still in love with her. I was her only living child, but I had heard nothing from her since I married Pyrrhus. I sometimes wondered if she ever thought of me, but I already knew the answer.

“Who can ever make sense of the way men and women treat each other?” I mused, but I knew the answer to that as well:
No one.

“If Agamemnon had taken me with him as he’d promised,” Astynome said, “I, too, would have been murdered. The gods were protecting me, but at the time I didn’t understand that I was destined to find true happiness with my wonderful captain.”

Leucus beamed, showing his gap-toothed grin.

“All is well and good that everyone is finding happiness,” I said—sourly, I’m afraid—“but we must now devise a plan to reach Athens and find Orestes.”

We sat talking on the beach long after a cloak of darkness had fallen softly around us. Clouds skittered across the night sky, veiling the moon and stars, then letting them shine again. Electra had traded a silver toe ring for fish and bread and jars of wine. We ate and drank and discussed how best to proceed.

“We brought four passengers with us from Gythion,” Leucus said. “And there was plenty of room. But now you’re speaking of adding a donkey, two horses, and a chariot.”

“And a Cyclops,” Asius added.

“The chariot and the animals could be sold,” Zethus suggested, looking to Electra, to whom they belonged.

“Or we can buy a second boat. I have enough jewels to pay for it,” Electra said.

I was relieved to hear that, for I had only a few gold beads left to trade.

The only one not in favor of this plan was Ardeste. She said nothing, but I could see her face in the firelight, and I knew she was unwilling. “You said you’d never go onboard a ship after our journey from Krisa to Corinth,” I said, “but it’s the best way. And then I promise, you won’t have to do it again.”

Ardeste excused herself and rushed off. “Even speaking of a sea voyage makes her ill!” Electra said, but I had guessed another cause. Ardeste was pregnant.

OVER THE NEXT FEW
days, Zethus and Leucus prepared for the voyage to Athens, trading two of Electra’s gold armlets and the last of my gold beads for a second boat, large enough to accommodate the chariot and horses and extra passengers. The two men hired rowers and brought aboard the necessary provisions. Leucus had decided to follow the shoreline, rather than making a straight line across the Saronic Gulf to Piraeus, the port of Athens. It would take longer, but it would avoid open sea and keep Ardeste happy—or at least less miserable.

Our two boats set out with good weather, steady winds, and a willing crew, with the exception of two rowers who arrived drunk and had to be sent away. For several days the boats stayed within sight of each other, letting down their anchor stones in the same coves at sunset and spending the night. One day as the sun burned directly overhead, Leucus led the way into the great port crowded with grain ships and merchant ships from countries surrounding the Chief Sea. For some of us, the journey was nearly over. Leucus and Astynome and little Chryses would continue on to Sminthos.

“We’ll leave you here,” Leucus explained, “but when the moon has waxed and waned three times, we will come back to Athens and find you and serve you any way we can.”

We embraced them and watched them sail away. Zethus hired porters to unload our boat in Piraeus and carry our goods inland to Athens, a half-day’s journey. I made offerings to thank the gods for our safe arrival and prayed that I would find Orestes here.

30

THERE HAD ONCE BEEN
a contest between Poseidon, god of the oceans, and Athena, goddess of wisdom. Both wanted to be the patron of the beautiful city ruled by King Cecrops, who had decreed that each must offer a single gift and let the citizens choose. Poseidon struck the ground with his trident, and a spring flowed forth, symbolizing the power of the sea. Athena planted an olive tree, a gift that would provide food, oil, and wood, symbolizing peace and prosperity. The people wisely chose the olive tree and named their city Athens in her honor.

I loved that story, told to me when I was a child at my father’s knee. Now we arrived in the gleaming city that had previously existed only in my imagination. Athens lay in a fertile valley green with olive groves, vineyards, and fields of grain. Within its thick walls Athens appeared well kept and prosperous, unlike Mycenae, where a pall of death now lay over the city.

We were immediately caught up in a swirl of activity in the agora, the sprawling marketplace. Vendors stood by their small booths with folded arms and wide smiles, inviting prospective customers to purchase baskets of barley and jars of wine to offer the gods. When a grizzled old fellow approached us with cages made of twigs and filled with songbirds, I recognized Hermes.

“King Menestheus knows you’re here,” he said. “You’ll receive a warm welcome from him.” The messenger god/bird seller disappeared, leaving the twittering birds behind.

The Acropolis, a sheer-sided rock plateau, rose starkly above a sloping hillside. Carrying the bird cages and offerings of barley and wine, we climbed a steep path and long flights of stairs that brought us finally to an enormous double gate and guardhouse. At the shrine of Athena in a large open square Ardeste unlatched the cage doors, and the birds flew off in a flutter of wings and feathers. We tossed handfuls of grain into the air and tipped a few drops of wine on the ground, praying for the safe return of Orestes, Pylades, and Iphigenia.

The royal palace stood outlined against the startling blue of a cloudless sky. Heralds announced our arrival to King Menestheus, and a handsome man with a dark beard trimmed to a point came out to greet us. “Hermione of Sparta! Electra of Mycenae! It was my honor to call myself friend to both your fathers and to serve with them in Troy as commander of the Athenian fleet. And I remain a great admirer of your mother,” he added, embracing me warmly as though we were already well acquainted.

The king led us through the magnificent megaron painted with lively battle scenes and into a smaller room opening onto a broad terrace. Fruit trees displayed new blossoms. Thick carpets covered benches and chairs, and servants poured wine from golden ewers and offered platters of sweets. It had been a long time since I’d enjoyed such luxury. I felt embarrassed by the condition of my well-worn peplos.

The conversation proceeded pleasantly, avoiding all serious subjects, until Electra, her palms pressed together, bent toward King Menestheus and spoke earnestly for us both. “We’ve come to Athens with the hope of finding my brother, Orestes, and his friend, Pylades,” she said. “They’ve been sent by Apollo to retrieve an image of Artemis from the shrine in Tauris where my sister Iphigenia has been kept for years by the Taurians. We pray that she’ll be rescued and they’ll bring her here. Have you had any word of them?”

The smiling Menestheus also turned serious, drumming his fingers on an ebony table. “I know about this. Orestes and Pylades stopped here on their way to Tauris.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised in a question. “I take it you have more than just a cousinly interest in Orestes? I remember seeing the two of you often in each other’s company in the encampment at Troy.”

I felt myself blushing and lowered my gaze. “We planned to marry.”

“But Menelaus had other plans for you, am I correct? And married you to Achilles’ son, Pyrrhus?”

“He did, against my wishes. But Pyrrhus insulted the oracle at Delphi, and he was killed by one of Apollo’s priests.”

“I know about that, too. Sooner or later we learn about everything of importance that happens in Greece. But Orestes has been driven mad by the furies, his mind destroyed. He’s become a different person from the young man I knew and admired at Troy.”

“It’s true,” Electra said. “He might not even recognize Hermione.”

“But I believe that once I see him, my love will restore him.” I covered my eyes with my hands, unable to continue.

“So you believe in the curative powers of love!” Menestheus sighed. “I don’t doubt that you can do that. But first he must return here to Athens with the sacred image, and—we hope—with Iphigenia as well.”

“And Pylades,” Electra murmured.

“Of course, with Pylades. A brave man. His mother was determined that he would not go to Troy and risk death. He walks with a stick, but that hasn’t diminished his courage. I loaned them a ship and fifty oarsmen and sacrificed three fine oxen to Apollo for their expedition. And now all we can do is wait.”

“You are most generous, my lord! But have you heard anything since they sailed from here? Any messages, or word of any kind?” I cried. “Because, as you said, sooner or later you learn everything that happens in Greece.”

“Perhaps this is still ‘sooner’ and we must wait a while longer for ‘later.’”

“Would it be possible to send another ship with a few men onboard,” I asked desperately, “to offer help, if it’s needed?”

“I can’t risk any more men or ships against the Taurians, Hermione. They’re a cruel people.”

I heard the slight impatience in Menestheus’s voice, but I could not give up, even at the risk of annoying him. “We came here in a small boat, not big enough to undertake such a long voyage. But if you would agree to lend me a larger ship and enough rowers, I’m sure my friend Leucus would serve as captain when he comes back from Sminthos. He was a captain in Pyrrhus’s fleet, and he’s been a great help to me. Zethus, too, would be willing to sail to Tauris, and Asius, who was once Orestes’ charioteer. That would be enough, surely!”

It seemed so clear to me what should be done—why couldn’t Menestheus see it as well? But his answer was no. I tried every way I knew, but I couldn’t shake him from that decision.

He did, however, offer the hospitality of his palace. “It would be my pleasure for you and Electra and your friends to stay here as guests of my wife, Queen Clymene, and me for as long as you wish. And I promise to do everything I can to get news of Orestes and Pylades and Iphigenia.”

My friends and I settled into a separate wing of the beautiful palace overlooking the city. Queen Clymene, a woman with a warm heart and a homely face, did everything to make us comfortable. I wondered at first how Menestheus could have married such a plain-looking woman—square jawed, her small eyes set too close together—when he’d once been in love with Helen of Sparta. But perhaps he’d been wise enough to recognize early that a warm heart is worth far more than all the world’s beauty, and I admired him all the more for it.

Queen Clymene furnished us with looms and shuttles, and during the cool mornings her daughters and daughters-in-law joined us with their servants to spin wool while children raced in and out, shouting noisily, or played quietly beside us. In the afternoons Electra and I made the long walk from the Acropolis down to the agora. We wandered through the marketplace, examining scarabs from Egypt, wine jars from Canaan, tin ware and other goods brought by ship to the port of Piraeus. Sometimes we visited the Kerameikos, where the potters produced their excellent wares, and we always made offerings for the safe return of Orestes, Pylades, and Iphigenia at the shrines on the banks of the Eridanos.