Helen of Sparta (29 page)

There was no fire more sacred than the hearth within the megaron, the heart of the palace itself, and in times of need or great distress, only the queen could make the proper offerings to the gods. In Sparta, it was believed that the gods would not hear the petitions of any other, if the queen did not do her duty first, but in Athens, it was different. There were some rites and rituals only a woman could perform, and Aethra saw to those mysteries still, but the king did not need a queen to speak to the gods, no matter the circumstances. Whether it was because Theseus was known as Athena’s champion, or because of some king before him who had received the favor of the gods, I did
not know.

I knew the ritual well, for Leda had made me follow her every gesture since I was old enough to hold my own cup. I poured the wine into a kylix from the small jug on the offering table, and then raised the two-handled cup high, taking my place before the fire, with the throne behind me. It was not that I wanted to pray, to beg for help from the gods who had caused my distress from the start, but rather, I could not shake the fear that every offering Theseus made might go unrecognized because I had not done as I ought. Because I had not done my duty first,
as queen.

“Dionysus, hear us,” I began, pouring a sip of the wine into the fire. “We are the vessel, and you are the wine. And so we drink to you, of you, with you, that we might know you, and you might know our hearts and prayers, and carry them up, to Olympus, to Zeus our king of kings, and Hera our queen in all things, that we might be heard and
answered!”

And then I drank. One sip, then two, before I circled the hearth, pausing between each of the four pillars, to raise the cup again and drink, giving thanks to Dionysus with every touch of the wine against my lips. When I reached the position before the throne again, I finished what remained in the kylix and dropped to my knees before t
he hearth.

“Accept our offerings and all our prayers, we beg of you,” I finished, lifting my arms and throwing my head back. My eyes closed. “Accept us as your servant, your vessel,
in this.”

“I had not realized the Egyptians worshipped Dionysus,” a voice said, and my eyes snapped open, my head turning toward the door. Menestheus stood at the entrance, a clay tablet in his hand. “Forgive me,” he said, a small smile curving his lips, “but I heard voices, and I wanted to be certain all
was well.”

“As you see,” I answered, rising to give myself time to gather my composure. The second jug on the offering table held water, and I used it to rinse the kylix, then drank that as well, before replacing the cup. I felt as though I had been jarred awake fro
m a dream.

“Dionysus is a son of Zeus,” Menestheus said, still standing in the doorway. There was only one entrance into the megaron. “Or is he something else to you
r people?”

“I am Athenian now,” I told him, keeping my voice even and cool. “Theseus’s people are my people, his gods become my gods. And I will serve them as an Athenian queen should. It is a mystery you should not h
ave seen.”

“But it has been my understanding that it is Aethra, still, who serves as high priestess i
n Athens.”

I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze, too sharp upon me, too focused. My hands shook, and I closed them into fists to hide my weakness. It was a Spartan ritual, and if he recognized it—oh, I had been a fool to come alone. If I had asked Aethra, she would have helped me. She would have joined with me in the ritual, and what Menestheus had seen, he would not have questioned. Nor would he have dared to interrupt. I raised my chin, drew myself up, and looked down my nose
upon him.

“Some rites yet belong to the queen. She has taught me what I must do, and I have done it. Do yo
u object?”

He pressed his lips together, tilting his head to the side, like a bird examining a worm upon the stone, far from the safety of its burrow, unsure whether it should strike, or whether it was yet some trick. I held my breath and my gaze, refusing to look away first. Meryet or Helen, Egyptian or Spartan, I was queen, and he had no right to qu
estion me.

“You must forgive me,” he said, offering a bow at last. “My curiosity has ever been a weakness. For a moment I feared—” But he smiled, stopping himself. “It is only that Theseus has devoted himself to you so utterly, or so his women tell me. I had not expected love from such a match, or at least not found so soon. But you are right, of course. It is not
my place.”

My heart twisted, even as relief flooded through me. I allowed myself to soften, and held out my hand to him in forgiveness. “I cannot be angry with you for loving your king,” I said much more warmly. “But you need not fear for him. The love and affection we share is no bewitchment, unless we are both bespelled by the gods th
emselves.”

Menestheus bowed again over my hand, kissing the back of it before he left with a mumbl
ed excuse.

At least in that much, I had not need
ed to lie.

My spirits lifted after that, the burden of guilt falling from my shoulders. I had done my part, my duty, and I had no need to fear that Theseus’s offerings would
be wasted.

“You worry too much about me, Theseus,” I told him when he planned another sacrifice to honor Hera. We were alone in his room. “I am well, your baby grows, and your father himself has blessed us. What more could you
wish for?”

His hands warmed my shoulders, then slid down my arms to take my own. “You are young enough to think yourself invincible, I know. And as a daughter of Zeus, perhaps even more so. But I have seen women die to bring children into the world, and I do not mean to see you suffer the s
ame fate.”

“You worry too much,” I said again. It was not my life that mattered, and I would have traded it gladly for our child’s if it would not have caused Theseus grief. “I’m young and strong, and even Aethra has said my body is made for birthing
children.”

“There is nothing else for me to do but this.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “The risk of a child is not an enemy I can fight. Let me have this small comfort, that by some action of mine I might help keep
you safe.”

I sighed. Hera would never love me. I was a daughter of Zeus and proof of his faithlessness, but if it reassured Theseus to pray to the goddesses, I should not argue. And while he was on his knees, I could make my own offerings. For since we had seen the dolphins, and I had performed the ritual in the megaron, a thought had come to me. Just like Theseus, I had no wish to overlook any opportunity that might guarantee us peace, and there was more yet I might do about my dreams. But better that I not go about it without his help. Menestheus might not be the only Athenian worried I was some
sorceress.

“I wish to offer a bull to Poseidon,” I said, “for his protection and to thank him for his blessing. Even if he will not speak to you, perhaps he will answer me now that I carry your child. I would honor you
r father.”

He pulled back, searching my face. He knew me too well, I feared, to think this came from nothing. I only hoped he would not press me for the reasons. “I will find you a black bull, then, and let it go consenting. Would you have a feast day
as well?”

I shook my head. “If it is a feast, the people will expect the sacrifice by your hand, and I wish it to be mine. This is between me and
the god.”

His forehead creased, and his eyes crinkled in long-absent lines of concern. “You have had some sign
from him?”

“It is not that.” And I promised myself it was not a lie, for I did not know who sent my dreams, or why. “But if we are to be a family, I would not have strife between you and your father. Aethra has told me of Poseidon’s kindness to her. Perhaps my beauty will serve us here. Give me this, and let me do
it alone.”

“You do not know what you ask, Helen.” His hands fell from my arms, and his blue eyes darkened. “You might be safe enough from Zeus as his daughter, but Poseidon will have no reason to stay his lust. Are you so willing to give you
rself up?”

“I have done it before,” I said, though the reminder of Menelaus pained us both. “And for peace, I would do it again.” For the child Theseus had given me, I would give myself up to the god and more if it meant protection from Zeus. “Please, Theseus. I do not mean to tempt him, and surely he would not betray his own son in such a cruel way. Poseidon is not Aphrodite, to spit
e you so.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “You are de
termined.”

I touched his cheek, turning his face back to mine. “The last thing I was so set upon was my marriage to you. You trusted me then. Trust me in this
now, too.”

Theseus pulled my hand away and turned his back on me, busying himself pouring wine. I waited, even so slight a rejection stinging my heart, but it would not serve me to press him further. He set the jug of wine back on the table, the movement slow and careful, as if he feared he might shatter it with his hold. I had only seen him so cautious once before, after he had turned the handle of a water jug into dust at the banquet in Sparta. If he refused me, I would go to Aethra, but I did not want to act any further in secrecy than I al
ready did.

“There is a shrine I know, dedicated to Poseidon Earth-Shaker,” he said at last, his voice low. “A half day’s journey from here, near a shepherd’s fold belonging to one of the men who went with me to Crete. If it must be done, let it be done there, where it will truly be between you and the god if he claims more than the bull you would
give him.”

“Will you take me?” I asked, hoping he would see it as a compromise. “At least to the shepherd’s fold, if not to th
e shrine.”

He offered me the wine cup and met my eyes, his own still dark with emotions I could not name. “I would trust no other man with your honor, Helen. We will leave as soon as the bull can
be found.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

F
or the journey, by chariot, with the bull plodding beside, I wore a simple shift, so as not to ruin fine fabric with the dust of the road. Theseus kept me before him in his arms, as he had during those first days after our marriage, his body tense behind mine. He said little, and even if we had not had the bull, I do not think he would have hurried the horses to anything faster than a trot. Nor would I have wished him to, for I needed the time to prepare myself for what I me
ant to do.

In a basket lashed to the chariot, I had finer clothes—a flounced skirt in shades of blue and brown for the sea and the earth, and a fitted underdress that covered my breasts, embroidered with horses along the edges. Theseus had made no comment on my choices, though Aethra had assured me I would not dishonor the god. I would change in the wood before entering the shrine, while Theseus tied the bull to
the altar.

It was not only that Poseidon might want my body, but Theseus feared for the strength of the bull, which might fight me during the sacrifice. If the beast did not consent, I would have a hard time of it, to be sure, but Theseus had chosen the mildest animal he could find, and if I never trusted a god again, I must put my faith in Pos
eidon now.

Theseus muttered a low oath, just before the sun had reached its zenith, and drove us off the road. He leapt from the chariot before it had stopped and stormed toward a grove of ol
ive trees.

I caught up the reins, tying the horses to a small oak nearby, then fol
lowed him.

“Theseus?”

He swore something I didn’t hear, and his fist slammed into the thick trunk of an olive tree so hard, the wood cracked and olives rained down over his head. I stopped then, for I had never seen him strike at anything so violently, and I had no wish to test his
restraint.

“You ask me to give you up to my father. To let you suffer another rape, if the god demands it! For what? My father’s favor, when the child is born? His forgiveness? It is not worth such a pric
e, Helen!”

“You do not know that he will ask it of me,” I said quietly. “And it is worth it to me, to see our child safe from the other gods who might hope to do him harm. After everything you have told me of your past, how can you begrudge
me this?”

He laughed bitterly, raising his head to look at me. He gripped the bark of the tree so hard, it broke off in his hand, turning to splinters and dust. “You should not have to sell yourself. Is that not what I said, when you came to me in Sparta? That I would not have you sell yourself for peace or protection. Not to any man and not to
any god!”

I went to him, cautious but determined, and stroked his cheek. “In this, perhaps I must, but I do not do it lightly, and I do not wish for it. Don’t you see? Poseidon is our best hope—” But I swallowed the rest of my words before the dream slipped from my tongue, and I hid my face in the curve of his shoulder. “Theseus, I must believe he will be your father now, and grandfather to our child. I must believe he will be more than just a god, this day. Please, do not make it an
y harder.”

His arms wrapped around me, drawing me close, and if he held me tighter than I might have liked, I refused to complain. He buried his face in my hair, and then his lips found my neck. The roar of the sea filled my ears, and I felt his body hard against mine. My fingers coiled into his hair, holding him fast. If I must face the god today, I would go to him a wife. I would go to him with the feeling of Theseus’s kiss still on my lips, and my body still aching for my husban
d’s touch.

Theseus loosed the belt at my waist and pushed the fabric from my shoulders, letting the shift fall. Only then did he step back, gazing at me as though I were water in the desert and he near perishing from thirst. I let him drink his fill, first with his eyes, then with his mouth, before stripping him of his tunic and taking my turn at
the well.

The spilled olives were crushed beneath our bodies, oil staining the fabric he spread to protect me from rocks and twigs. He teased me with clever fingers and urgent kisses until I writhed, moaning, and begged for his body inside mine. He did not answer me at once, but took
his time.

“Look at me,” he said, for my head had tipped back, my eyes closed with pleasure as our bodies joined at last. I met his eyes, then, and wrapped my legs tight around
his waist.

“Love me, Theseus,” I said, pulling him closer. “Make
me yours.”

I did not need to say anyt
hing more.

Theseus pressed a kiss to my forehead, holding my hands in his. We had come to the shrine just past midday, and the bull waited for me in the grove. “I will wait for you, near enough that if you shout for me, I w
ill hear.”

I squeezed his hands. “Only come if I call your name. I will try not to shout otherwise, but I can make no promises that my temper w
ill hold.”

He smiled at that, some of the shadow leaving his eyes, and kissed me again before going. I waited until he had left my sight, then smoothed my skirt over my hips and took a deep breath to steady myself before stepping forward into the grove. It had been years since I had sought the favor of any god, and I could only hope this would not end poorly, if it accomplished anythi
ng at all.

The bull cropped the grass around the stones, and Theseus had left the knife and bowl for me on the worn altar. This shrine, Theseus told me, had been ancient when he was young, and he had seen it kept up since his return from Crete. I knelt in the grass and bowed my head. My knees
trembled.

“Lord Poseidon, father of Theseus, I come to give you thanks for your blessing, and beg your grace and protection for the child in my body. Accept this bull as my gif
t to you.”

I realized then, it was not my knees that trembled; it was the earth, and when the sound of footsteps came, I held my breath, not daring to lift my head. It could be Theseus, still, come to check on me. The bull snorted, hoof scraping over stone as it pawed the ground. I waited, listening, but when no voice spoke, I be
gan again.

“Lord Poseidon, lover of Aethra, father to my husband, forgive us for any offense we have given. Grant us the promise of peace in our future, and protect us from my fath
er, Zeus.”

“A bold request, daughter
of Zeus.”

I swallowed against the thickness in my throat, and kept my eyes upon the earth. The footsteps sounded nearer, but I did not wish to show him my face. I had promised Theseus I would do nothing to tempt the god, and to look upon one in the flesh—for one, sharp moment, I resented that Poseidon had come at all when my father had abandoned me so completely fo
r so long.

“You offer this bull as gift rather than sacrifice. Do you think I am so easily trapped by sacred laws? I am not a king that you can make me your guest-friend and bind me to your pr
otection.”

“I come to speak to the father of my husband, my lord, not to
the god.”

“And yet, it is the god’s favors you ask for.” His sandaled feet were tied with seaweed instead of leather, so dark a green they looked black. He offered me his hand, and I had no choice but to take it, or risk giving offense. His fingers closed over mine, warm and dry and well calloused. “Rise, daughter of Zeus, ill-gotten wife o
f my son.”

I did as he bid, keeping my gaze averted from his face. He wore a sailcloth kilt the color of sea foam, wrapped around his hips and tied carelessly with thick ropes similar to those I had glimpsed on the deck of Theseus’s ship, but his chest was bare, and he stood taller than his son by a head or more. He was as brown from the sun as any oarsman, his body so thick with muscle, he made Theseus look spar
ely built.

“Make your sacrifice, Helen, fo
r you surely need the god’s favor more than the fathe
r’s love.”

Poseidon led me to the bull, his thumb caressing my knuckles. I snatched my hand away as soon as I could, feeling his laugh through the soles of my feet, more than hearing it. My hand shook when I took up the knife. The bull stood placid, Poseidon’s hand on its shoulder. It tossed its head, but the movement was lazy. A good sign. I stroked
its nose.

“Forgive me,” I murmured, for even with the god beside me, the waste made my stomach churn. “Lord Poseidon, accept this s
acrifice.”

The god said nothing, but his hand did not move from the bull’s shoulder, as though he held it still by his touch. I set the bowl on the ground beneath the victim’s neck where I thought the blood would flow, then sliced i
ts throat.

Hot blood covered my hands, sticky and wet. The bull dropped to its knees as its eyes dimmed, nearly knocking over the bowl. I picked it up to catch the rest of the blood, stepping around the bull’s head so it would not fall upon me. Poseidon said something I did not hear, but the bull shuddered once more and toppled dead. When the flow of blood became a trickle, I set the bowl upon the altar and bowe
d my head.

“You begrudge us even this much,” Poseidon said at my back. “Why should I grant you any reward in
exchange?”

“For your son’s sake,” I said, closing my hands into fists. “And for h
is child.”

Poseidon took the golden bowl from the altar, filled with blood, and set it before me. “Wash yo
ur hands.”

“They have already been washed in blood,” I said, unable to bring myself to look into
the bowl.

“Wash your hands,” Poseidon said again. “Or will you refuse to obey your gods even in so small
a matter?”

I pressed my lips together and dipped my hands in the bowl. Instead of warm, sticky blood, I found cool water. My face flushed, and I scrubbed my hands clean without comment. When I had finished, Poseidon threw the water away into the trees and tossed the bowl back to the altar with
a clatter.

“You try my patience, Helen. And your father’s, besides.” Poseidon gestured for me to rise again, and I did, though I kept my gaze upon the altar. “Look at
me, girl.”

I lifted my face, forcing myself to meet his eyes, ocean blue and liquid as the sea. I could almost see waves crashing against the shore inside them. I understood now, how Aethra had known Theseus as Poseidon’s son. But Poseidon lacked his son’s warmth when he loo
ked at me.

“Your child belongs to Zeus,” he said. “Not to Theseus, and not to me. Just as Hippolytus belonged to
Artemis.”

“But you are Poseidon the Earth-Shaker, lord of the land and the sea. Surely you have the power to claim the child of Theseus as your own. Surely you have the right
to do so.”

“Perhaps I would, were the child’s mother not a daughter of Zeus, and Theseus not fool enough to steal you from Sparta.” His gaze traveled over my body, his eyes narrowing. “Though I cannot say I blame him for losing his head. I would have taken you myself this day, but for the babe already in your belly. Later, perhaps, after it
is born.”

My stomach twisted and my face flamed. “I am your so
n’s wife!”

Poseidon arched an eyebrow. “Not for long, if you continue in this fight against your father. Do you think he will leave you unpunished, insolent as you are? What will you do then, with Theseus’s life traded for your child’s, when Mycenae comes in t
he night?”

“I would have both,” I said, raising my chin. “Theseus living, to care for our baby under your protection. I would have them live
in peace!”

“It is no small favor, even for the sake of my son, and Zeus is de
termined.”

“My lord, in this if nothing else, I am my father’s daughter. I will have my way, even if I must sell myself to Hades. Will you have it said that your brother stood against Zeus when you would not? That the lord of the Underworld has more courage than the god of all the lands
and seas?”

The ocean roared in my ears, and the ground shook beneath my feet. The gold bowl fell from the great stone altar, ringing loudly against
the rocks.

“So be it.” Poseidon spat the words, fury turning his eyes to hurricanes. “If my son will be bound by this, they will both have my protection. But when the day comes that your child is born, and Zeus’s wrath falls upon you, do not call to me again, Helen, for you will have no more of my
kindness.”

Before I could respond, the god
was gone.