The Princess of Sparta: Heroes of the Trojan War (28 page)

“Where was that elephant hunt?” Brygos slurred, lurching for the skin, the dancing light of the fire making the thick man look more wild than usual.

Ariston groaned, knowing where this story was headed. As the youngest member of their crew, the jibes of his naivety were almost as common as those regarding the fuzz on his cheeks. Fortunately for Ariston, he had a natural talent for the sword and usually made his tormentors suffer in the practice ring.

“The Kassite lands, on the Euphrates.” Iamus shouted helpfully. After a stern glare from Glaucus, he passed the skin by without partaking. The sandy-haired sailor was on notice for his love of drink. Glaucus had a strict regime for any of his men who over imbibed that involved ice baths and salt water flushes. Iamus was the only warrior Paris had met who suffered through that regime over ten times. From the green-tinged cast to Iamus’ face, he was probably going to add to that record number.

“Yes, in Babylon!” Brygos continued on with his story. “Our prince was the guest of that puppet king... Kad... Uh, Kur...”

“Kudur-Enlil.” Paris helped the poor man out. Brygos was already red of face. He was likely to have a stroke if he forced his brain to work any harder.

“Yes, His Grace Kudur-Enlil, thick of gut and skull! How could I forget?”

“Is that a real question?” Dexios laughed, shielding himself from the spray of dirt Brygos kicked in his direction in response.

“I was saying... The elephant hunt.” Brygos’ grin spread another two inches. “The entire court had taken to the king’s reserve, and this bugger—“ he pointed a wavy finger at Ariston to a round of heavy laughter, “had a fancy to impress a pretty little skirt in the king’s harem.”

Ariston suffered through a round of kissey-faces from his brothers-at-arms. “Oh, piss off, Brygos. Shurusha was no ‘pretty skirt’. She had eyes the color of a sunset at sea, and hair more fine than spun silk.” He sighed wistfully, all to another chorus of laughter.

“SO,” Brygos raised his voice to cut off the din, “he thought it was the Fates shining down on him, blessing his quest, when he stumbled across the albino pachyderm, the beast so miniature he could trap and net it himself.”

“Wait,
albino elephant
?” Dexios questioned. “Isn’t that—“

“Aye.” Brygos winked. “Our little lover bagged the king’s royal pet. Which he found out quick enough when he proudly displayed his prize to the court.”

Ariston blushed. “It’s not funny, Brygos. They almost took my head for that.”

“If you had your way with that woman, Kudur would have chopped off more than your head.” Brygos chortled between gasps. “You’re lucky our prince has a silver tongue and saved your neck.”

Paris inclined his head, acknowledging the round of thanks each man sent his way. They might tease the lad, but he was a sworn member of the royal guard, and that fraternity was bound with ties of love and duty.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Brygos.” Paris tossed a handful of hay into the bonfire, watching the strands spark and lift into the night sky as they caught fire. “What man here hasn’t fallen victim to Eros’ arrows? You’d act the fool if the right girl crossed your path.”

That, of course, set up a challenge amongst his troops, each man revealing his biggest love, both won and lost. For Dexios, it was a raven-haired beauty in Ugarit. Iamus had a strawberry kissed lass in Troy, a brunette in Aleppo, and a fisherman’s wife in Thebes. He would have continued the list if Brygos hadn’t cut him off. When it was his turn to share, Paris decided he had enough of story time.

“I’m off. Get some rest, boys. The festival starts tomorrow. With the crowds inside the palace grounds, the opportunity to get a knife in the ribs triples.”

A loud chorus of groans followed his announcement. Brygos in particular, was not happy with being put off his quest for embarrassing information. “A name, My Prince! Surely there is one bright-eyed beauty who’s put your heart in a flutter.”

Six sets of eager eyes watched him, begging for an answer. Most of these men had travelled with Paris to the far reaches of empire. They knew there was no lover he left behind. But sailors lived for their stories, and they’d make one up for him if he did not satisfy their curiosity.

“You want a name?” he toyed with his men, waiting for their renewed chants to reach a boisterous level. He waved down the ruckus and, ignoring the worried look on Glaucus’ face, he whispered, “
Aphrodite.
If you are going to lose your heart to a dame, you might as well aim high.”

Amidst a new level of lustful cheers, he retired to his rooms.

Chapter 17

The House of Atreus

PARIS LAY awake most the night. It was not Helen’s lovely face that banished sleep from his grasp, but the knowledge that Agamemnon was manipulating him, and that Helen was certainly part of his plan. Hyllos had informed him about Tyndareus’ Oath last night, a commonly told tale in the taverns of Mycenae. Any threat to her marriage could unite the Hellas. Agamemnon used her as bait, a delectable treat to tempt Paris and enrage his berserker brother. And now that Paris knew the trap was set, he could not willingly walk into it.

He gave a brave face to his men the night before, but he was no luckier in love than young Ariston. For Helen, he had played the fool, and he could not afford to play that role any longer. This impulse, this
infatuation
, would destroy them both. And surrendering to it meant betraying their families, a stigma Paris had defied his entire life. He had to banish her from his heart and mind.

The grey dawn came with storm clouds in the eastern horizon, a stone colored sky to match the stony resolve in his heart. “We’ll need to give a donation to the temple. A few amphorae of our best wine should suffice,” he told Glaucus shortly after the kitchen staff cleared their chambers of the morning meal. He tied his sword belt over his fresh tunic, determined to not go without a weapon for the remainder of his visit. “But wait until the plateau fills with pilgrims.”

“A gift is not a gift if no one sees the giving.” Glaucus nodded appreciatively. “And what of you, today? Many of the courtiers have been sending invitations to luncheon with them.”

Paris pulled a hand through his hair, trying to get his weary brain to function. “Have we determined which house is Agamemnon’s chief adversary? I don’t want to waste my time dining with sycophants.”

“I’ll have to check with Hyllos. He was keeping track of the court maneuvering.” Glaucus rose to his feet as though he meant to see to the matter immediately when a sharp knock came from their door. He cast a wary eye to Paris. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Paris shook his head, but composed himself for any contingency. He leaned against one of the tall-backed chairs in the greeting room, a casual hand on his sword hip. He had a good view of the hall as Glaucus opened the door.

Helen stood on the other side, her grey-haired matron behind her. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her lovely gold-spun hair was limp, falling loose around her shoulders. Despite her unkempt appearance, she was still the most beautiful woman Paris had ever seen. Glaucus took a step back, allowing her into their chambers.

“Your Grace,” she curtsied low, the move giving him an uncomfortable view of her bulging bosom. The chiton she wore criss-crossed in vibrant colors, but the neckline was immodestly low, even for Paris’ liberal tastes.

"Princess.” He forced any trace of emotion from his tone. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

She saw where his eyes landed and blushed furiously, pulling her shawl closer for a modicum of cover. “The king wishes for me to finish our tour. There are a few items of interest he does not want you to miss.”

Paris shot a wary glance to Glaucus. If Agamemnon had sent her, any manner of surprise could lie in wait at their destination. “I’d be obliged, Princess, but I have so much to do today. For the festival...” It was a lame excuse, but he couldn’t put himself at the king’s beck and call. Not after that gauntlet was dropped yesterday. The man who blinked first would lose. And Paris was far from ready to surrender.

But Helen’s face creased with panic. She forced a timid smile as she turned to Glaucus. “Captain? I need a word alone with the prince. Do you mind waiting in the hall with my matron?”

“Of course.” Glaucus bowed stiffly. He was out the chamber with the door shut behind him in a matter of seconds.

“What are you doing here, Helen?” Paris turned to her, hating the cold edge that laced his words.

As the latch clicked shut, Helen’s shoulders sagged, the life drained from her bones. She gazed up at him, her sad eyes lidded with thick coal-black lashes. She didn’t speak, her mouth seemingly unable to work. After two failed attempts, she rushed into his arms and buried her head into his chest.

“
Helen?
” His stately reserve was burned away in worry for her. She clung to him fiercely, her small body wracked with sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “You don’t deserve how they are treating you. And yesterday, with Menelaus... I was so worried he would hurt you.”

Paris pulled her off his chest, trying to soothe her shaking arms. She was near beside herself with worry.

For me?
It seemed impossible. No one had ever shown such concern over his welfare. Even Hector only protested his poor treatment—it never unmade him.

But that was exactly what was happening to Helen. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, helping to support her. “He didn’t hurt me. He
can’t
hurt me. Look for yourself. I’m fine.” He placed her hands on his chest.

Her shaky hands roamed his uninjured frame, a look of relief overtaking her. “Thank the Goddess,” she whispered, her hand coming to a rest over his heart.

She was so close. He could see the rosy stain to her cheeks, the wet pool of tears caught in her lashes. More so, the floral scent of her perfume filled his nostrils. Her lips parted, welcoming him.

It took all the effort he could muster to pull away from her. He had made the decision to put these feelings aside. He would not act the fool before Agamemnon and his court. The decision stung all the more, because—with Helen before him, so soft and caring—he didn’t care if a thousand Agamemnons tormented him. She was worth every barbed injury. She was worth death itself.

Helen seemed as affected as he. She wiped her tears away with the corner of her fringed shawl, a haunted shadow still hovering over her face. Then it dawned on him. She asked if Menelaus had harmed him, but she was the one who shared his bedchamber.

“
Did he hurt you?
” The words ripped out of his lungs like an avalanche.

“N-n-no.” she stammered, unable to meet his gaze.

“But he has before.” He completed her unfinished thought. He should have recognized it. He had met many women whose lords beat them. In some countries it was commonplace to punish the woman for the crimes of the lover.

I should have let the pig skewer him
.

Her eyes did not refute him. There was a sad resignation in their deep blue depths. “Agamemnon is far worse when he does not get his way.” Paris’ blood ran cold with her dispassionate words. “Please do not refuse me today. There is something you have to see.”

And therein lay the danger. He could refuse her nothing. “Lead on.” He finally acquiesced. “Wherever you go, I will follow.”

After a quick stop at the stables to pick up their chariot, Helen instructed Paris which direction to head. They took off down the Grand Walkway and out the Lion Gates, Glaucus and Aethra trailing behind them like before. Helen insisted he drive, and Paris thought better than to ask her the reason why. Her melancholy demeanor seeped into him, and they travelled mostly in silence, save when she guided him towards the correct path.

They turned down a new road, one that lead away from the flat lowlands of the city proper. This road was wide, made of rubble smoothed over with a white plaster. It showed very little wear and Paris judged its construction no later than five years hence.

“It leads to Corinth.” Helen answered his unasked question. “One of Mycenae’s ancillary cities. The roads ensure Agamemnon’s tribute is collected on a regular schedule.”