The Princess of Sparta: Heroes of the Trojan War (15 page)

“Don’t concern yourself with the foibles of feminine feeling.” Agamemnon chided, thoroughly enjoying Trojan’s mistake. “We know you are weary from your travels. Rest. We will rejoin in the morning.” He clapped his hands together, signaling the end of the audience. The crowd erupted in chatter as Paris and his retinue excused themselves.

As he turned to go, Paris glanced one last time to the mysterious princess. His body ignited at the sight of her. He felt inexplicably connected to the woman.

A married woman
, he reminded himself. Somewhere in the heavens the Gods were having a fantastic jest on his behalf. With great effort, he turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

Chapter 10

A Game of Stones

AGAMEMNON WAITED for the hall to empty out before retiring to his private antechamber. He quickly dismissed his staff, leaving only his family behind. Once alone, he pulled the Trojan dagger from his belt and inspected the weapon again. The craftsmanship was superb. The gold filigree on the sheath must have taken weeks to complete. It was a kingly gift, one he could bequeath to his son, and his son’s son thereafter.

This was one item from Troy’s treasure trove. One example of the wealth they possessed, wealth he hungered for. Agamemnon’s subjects excelled in works of clay and bone, but metal was the province of Old World smiths. He had amassed an arsenal of bronze weaponry, traded every scrap he could to gain more. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that whichever kingdom mastered the manipulation of metal would rule the world. There was no reason it couldn’t be Mycenae.

“I do not trust him, My Lord.” His queen continued her harping. “Every word he spoke was veiled in double meaning and innuendo. He is here for a purpose he does not state.”

Agamemnon studied his wife. She was intelligent for a woman, a fact he would only admit when they were in private. “So what if he is? I hardly see the danger in letting him converse with peasants and travel the countryside.”

He had already deduced the Trojan’s presence signified something greater than mere trade relations. The young prince played a game of wills. He was quite good at it, in fact, with a few minor exceptions. But his skills paled in comparison with Agamemnon’s own. Agamemnon was content to let the game play out and see if the Trojan had more to give than just decorative swords.

He settled back in an armchair, and watched his family come to their own conclusions. Menelaus paced by the door, frowning irritably. His aloof behavior here, and in the megaron before, broadcasted Menelaus’ resentment loud and clear. He hated politics, preferring instead the thrill of battle and sport.

Agamemnon sneered. His brother claimed the rights of a king but behaved like a petulant child. “Is there somewhere else you’d rather be, Menelaus? Or do you have something to contribute to the conversation?”

Menelaus grimaced, swallowing the insult like a bitter tonic. “I agree with the queen. The Trojan could be spying on us, scouting our perimeters, checking for weaknesses.”

“For certain,” Agamemnon mocked his brother. “Priam sends a beardless boy to scout out our defenses. The perfect ruse.”

Menelaus scowled and turned away, continuing his antsy pacing beside the door. Agamemnon disliked this ill-mood. First Clytemnestra, and now his own brother. They were jumping at shadows. This prince was no threat. He could not even be an accomplished ambassador. Mistaking a queen was the mark of an amateur. No true ambassador would have been so clumsy.

Agamemnon frowned. Was that a message Priam made? That Mycenae was important enough to treat with but not enough to send their best? Or did he think Agamemnon would be wooed by a visit from a pampered prince and a set of pretty soldiers?

Only Helen seemed immune to the invading paranoia of his council, her gentle eyes lost in thought. “And what say you, Sweet Sister?” She startled as he addressed her. “Do you preach caution as well? Do you believe the prince is all that he seems?”

“No...” she stammered, drawing the ire of his queen and her husband. “What man can be known after such a short audience?” Her confidence grew as she steadied herself beneath their judgmental stares. “But one thing I am certain of, My King—if he is looking for weaknesses, he will not find any.”

Agamemnon laughed. What a spirit she possessed. Such sweet innocence mixed with unquestionable loyalty. It was a pity she was not born the elder. His poor brother had no idea how to savor this treasure.

“Well said, Sister. He can’t find weakness if none exists. The only tales this Trojan will spread will be of our courage and strength. Mycenae is as powerful as the Empires of Old.”

And my kingship rivals any they hold.

“Be wary, Husband.” Clytemnestra warned again. “No king willingly gives away prestige. The prince said, ‘through Troy does our influence grow’. King Priam would make you his vassal.”

“I would die first!” Menelaus spat. “We bow to no foreign power.”

“You will if he brings an army to our shores!” she fired back. “Or blocks our trade? We’d wither away if that happened. He is a danger!”

“Settle down, both of you!” Agamemnon shouted at his brother and wife alike, pushing Clytemnestra behind him. “I will not respond to a royal messenger like a paranoid barbarian.”

“My Lord?” Clytemnestra continued, unfazed by his stern glare. “There is something false about this man. I can sense it.”

Agamemnon groaned. Clytemnestra would always advise to strike first. It was a Spartan frailty. She lacked the patience to be subtle. But not so her sister....

“And what if he speaks the truth?” Helen countered, staring her sister down. “What do we lose by acting in good faith? What have we to fear?”

Helen crossed the room and addressed him directly. “Let him see Mycenae. And in return we are afforded the same opportunity to study him. We should seize this moment so we might better understand Troy and her intentions.”

Agamemnon stroked his beard, considering the move. To let the watched become the watcher? It had a devious flare that would make men whisper of his cunning. This foreign knowledge might be exactly what he needed to convince the other Greek kingdoms to unite behind him.

“You are wise, My King, to not overreact.” Helen lowered her head demurely, though there was no retreat in her eyes. “If we are not servants to a distant land, than we should not cower like one.”

A fire burned in his belly with her words, her challenge laid bare.
Are you a king worthy of great glory, or a pretender clamoring for attention at the edge of the world?
One look to Menelaus was all the reminder he needed of how much he detested that comparison.

“Welcome him,” Agamemnon decided. “Show him the glory of Mycenae. He has full immunity.”

“Brother!” Menelaus protested.

“Do it!” he glowered at the puerile man. It was one thing to advise, but Agamemnon would not take outright rebellion in his own house. “Whatever he asks, whatever he requires, you give it.”

“No.” Clytemnestra’s cold refusal shocked him to his core.

“
What did you say?
” He felt the rage building up inside him. Defiance? From his woman?

Clytemnestra stuck out her jaw, refusing to back down. “You want to show him our greatness? Do not put your queen, and by proxy our king, at the beck and call of this ambassador. We do not kowtow to a visitor who lands on our shores unannounced. Send Helen instead.”

Menelaus choked. “Absolutely not. You saw the way he looked at her. I don’t want that Trojan within ten yards of my wife.”

Agamemnon took a closer look at Helen. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy red, her beauty undeniable. What better an envoy to strike jealousy into a rival’s heart?

Yes
. Let Troy envy Mycenae’s might
and
her beauty.

“You worry too much brother.” He pushed Menelaus back. “Only a boy-sick fool would not be touched by your wife’s grace. We can use this to our advantage.”

Helen blinked, sweet confusion on her face. “My King?”

“Get to know him, Helen. Make him fall in love with the city and our people. Get him to confide in you. And when he does, you report back to me. Can you do this?” It was fitting that she challenged him before. He could now return the favor.

Are you a daughter of Tyndareus? Does the fierce spirit of Sparta still run in your veins?

There was cold fire in Helen’s lovely blue eyes. Her barely contained anger made his cock grow hard. Nothing could provoke Helen more than questioning her honor, and that obsessive virtue made her easy to manipulate. She was different from his queen in so many ways.

Helen raised her chin. “As you wish, My King.”

Chapter 11

The Familiar Stranger

AGAMEMNON’S STEWARD, Nextus, showed Paris to his guest quarters shortly after they exited the throne room. The stoic man barely said a word, even when given a direct question. After a few failed attempts at conversation, Paris fell silent. Thus far, the Mycenaeans seemed as chilly as their cold stone halls.

After a short walk down several narrow corridors, they arrived in the eastern wing of the palace where the royal apartments were housed. His chambers were accommodating but snug, its walls built in the same thick defensive style as the rest of the palace. Paris was given a main room with two connected sleeping chambers. The suite had an open-air balcony that looked over the inner courtyard one story below. By the lack of adornment, he suspected the rooms typically housed non-royal visitors or vassal leaders. Definitely a strange choice for an ambassador who was usually afforded a ruler’s best.

A small repast was set for him in the apartments, a haunch of roast mutton and a decanter of mulled wine. Sparse, but satisfying. After his cool reception in the harbor, he wondered if Agamemnon was purposely restricting his hospitality, or if Paris’ visit had really taken the Mycenaean by surprise. If the king was truly motivated by greed, it was logical he would not waste his finery on others. But if the snub persisted, Paris would have to take counter measures. Priam had been explicit—this wayward king would not disrespect Troy with impunity, and that included disrespecting Paris, himself.

He hoped Agamemnon didn’t make his last excursion more painful than it needed to be, but only time would tell. Paris needed to be wary, but not overtly sensitive. In his experience, if you went searching for insult you will eventually find it, whether intentional or not.

Don’t make snap judgements. What feels like disregard is usually a cultural misunderstanding
.

It was quite possible these apartments actually
were
the king’s finest, and the hot meal a courtesy an unexpected guest should be grateful to receive. It was too early to be jumping at shadows or losing sleep on this assignment.

Paris decided to keep Glaucus nearby, giving the captain one of the sleeping chambers for his own, while the rest of the Trojan guard took housing down the hill in the royal barracks. Glaucus joined him for the meal. They both ate heartily, reclining on the thick pillows lining the sitting area of the main chamber.

“What do you think of the Hellas thus far?” Paris stretched, feeling the ache of his travels catching up to him. He took a long pull from their skin of wine, savoring the faint taste of nutmeg and elderberry.

“I like the scenery.” Glaucus snorted, the sound of a man who’d seen too many distant shores.

Paris frowned. “And which scenery is that?”

“The same one you’ve been admiring. Gold spun hay, clear blue skies, rolling contours of hill and vale. The Gods couldn’t paint a prettier vista.”

Paris stiffened. Glaucus wasn’t talking about landscape. The princess’ beauty wasn’t far from Paris’ mind either, try as he might to distract himself with his father’s task. Every line of her perfect face was forever etched into his mind: the arc of her high cheekbones, the delicate button-chin on her heart shaped face, her jewel eyes a deeper-than-lapis blue framed by coal black lashes. She was breathtaking. In all his travels, Paris had never seen her like.