The Princess of Sparta: Heroes of the Trojan War (7 page)

“You share it with another?” The prospect of that intimacy was both tantalizing as it was shocking.

“If the soul is your match, yes.” The priestess answered. She tossed a tightly bound bushel of herbs into the brazier, a leaf Helen didn’t recognize. Thin tendrils of smoke trailed upwards, and the priestess breathed of them deeply, her eyes rolling back in her skull. She seemed utterly at peace until she lurched forward in a violent jerk.

“
Ask what you will, Blessed Daughter. I am here.
”

Helen’s eyes shot wide. It was no earthly voice. No living creature could produce such an awesome mixture of melody and vibration. Tryphosa, the mortal, had vanished. The person sitting before Helen was a rigid shell, the mouth for the Goddess who spoke through her lips.

Helen leaned forward, drawn towards that force like a cub to her dame.
Ask
, she had offered. Helen’s mind swirled with the many faces of her suitors. But her curiosity, as always, got the best of her. “Is it true-” she hesitated, hating the question but desperately needing its answer, “Is it true that men are ignorant of love, real love?” She didn’t want to believe Nestra, but her sister had been married three years. She had seen much of the world. Helen’s knowledge of men was nonexistent. What little she’d seen had done nothing to convince her Nestra was wrong.

“
There are some, both male and female, who are ignorant of my love.
” The Goddess intoned. “
But I am not so fickle to deny them that bliss. They
choose
the cold solitude of a shuttered heart.
”

“But why would anyone choose that?” Helen frowned. A world with no compassion, no care, no love...? That gaping chasm opened itself before her. It made her want to cry. What God would be cruel enough to let their people suffer so?

The coals sparked and the priestess lowered her white gaze on Helen, making Helen shiver despite the sweltering heat.

“
The love that you receive is equal to the love you give.
” Her white-lidded eyes bore into her. “
And for those rare souls who give with no thought of receipt, on those I bestow my special favor.
” The Goddess’ voice rose in volume, cresting in ecstasy. “
Only they are worthy of the eternal love; the force that breaks bonds of brotherhood, that transcends the vagaries of pride and ego, a binding of souls that endures across the Ages.
”

“
...soul mates.
” Helen whispered. Was it possible? She had thought such tales were fabrications by the bards who sang for their suppers. The original Man was neither male nor female, the legend went, but a perfect balance of both parts, a creature so whole and happy that the Gods looked down from Olympus with envy. And so Zeus, in his jealousy, struck Man down with a bolt of lightning, severing its soul in two. And thus mankind was doomed to roam the earth, searching in vain for their other half.

Helen’s heart skipped a beat. Why was the Goddess telling her this? “Am I...? Are you...?” her feeble tongue choked on the words.

The brazier blazed to life, flames leaping five feet into the air. Tryphosa rose to her feet, her perfect features aglow with a burning power.

“
You, Helen of Sparta, will have the greatest love that ever was, is, or is yet to be. Your love will rock the foundations of this earth.
”

Helen didn’t breathe. She didn’t even dare move. A clamoring bell of alarm rung loudly in her mind. Her father was choosing her husband on the morrow and none of her suitors invoked the feelings the Goddess described. “How will I know?”

“
It is a power undeniable, a force stronger than the turning of the tide. You cannot mistake it, for the visage of your other half will be as familiar to you as your own. You will know.”

Tryphosa lurched forward, her arms flopping at her side as though someone cut the cord that made them function.

“But how!”
Helen leapt to her feet, desperation lending her strength.

“
Follow your heart.
” The Goddess’ heavy words drifted away as though sucked back into the priestess’ quivering throat. “
It never lies.
”

An enormous gust of wind rushed through the temple, lifting Helen off her knees. It seemed a living entity, this wind, a ghostly touch of some unseen power. It wove around the priestess, her limp and lifeless body held tight in its embrace. Tryphosa’s arms spread wide and back and her head tipped up towards the heavens. In a rushing vortex, the gust crested to the sky and vanished. Unsupported, the priestess collapsed to the ground.

The room was utterly empty. Not a trace of incense remained, and the brazier coals burned low, its heat replaced with a bone chilling cold. The magic woven by the Divine Presence was gone.

Helen rushed to Tryphosa’s side, lifting her head as the woman’s eyes rolled back into place. Helen soothed her brow as she regained her bearings, the priestess moaning as though she were entangled in a lover’s embrace. As an open vessel to the Goddess, Helen supposed she might have been.

Slowly, her breathing calmed and Tryphosa’s luscious smile returned. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, her round eyes watching Helen with a naked expression of fear and awe.

“A child no longer.” She trembled, pulling away from Helen’s touch.

Helen shivered, equally frightened by the Goddess’ powerful foretelling. She had come seeking a solution to her marital dilemma and was now more uncertain than ever.

“All things must end.” Helen whispered with a touch of remorse, her tremors tripping her voice. And tomorrow they
would
end, soul mate or not.

“They must.” Tryphosa agreed, kneeling before her. “But they must also begin.” She raised Helen’s hand to her lips. “Long may you reign, My Queen.”

Chapter 5

The Oath

MORNING CAME all too soon for Helen. She waited outside the megaron, exhausted from her ordeal in the temple. She had hardly slept. What precious moments she claimed prior to dawn were robbed of her as Aethra stormed her apartments with an army of chambermaids. The world would be watching her today, and the princess must look the part.

The matron had outdone herself with her preparations. Helen’s hair was gathered up into a pile of small coils draping over her bare right shoulder. A crown of parsley leaves and white blossoms of heliotrope lay atop her brow. Her ivory chiton had sashes of vermillion and rose criss-crossed over her torso and down the pleated folds of the dress. A net of hammered gold links rested on her collar, the adornment chiming ever so softly whenever Helen turned her head. The matron even pressed lavender oil to Helen’s lobes and wrists. Helen knew the effect must be dazzling. Still, she feared this armor of grace and beauty would not be enough protection in the battle ahead.

Follow my heart?

Those words played over and over again in her head. It was a simple instruction, but one she could not fathom. Her traitorous heart pulled in several directions, none of which aligned with the suitors gathered on the other side of those double doors. She was drowning in worry that the wrong path would be chosen, that she would prove herself unworthy for Aphrodite’s blessing.

“I missed you last night.” Clytemnestra spoke softly beside her, a faint hint of hurt in her tone. Nestra had the uncanny ability to walk soundlessly when she wanted, and was equally talented at spotting anyone trying to sneak up on her. Their father could never catch her unawares.

All of Helen’s frayed nerves seemed to explode at the sight of her lovely sister. Clytemnestra, looking every inch the queen, was resplendent in a heavy chiton of gold and saffron red. Helen impulsively wrapped her arms around her twin, a small sob escaping her lips.

“Helen?” Nestra’s hard facade broke, real concern pouring out of her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

But Helen couldn’t find words for what plagued her. The pressure of the imminent betrothal weighed down on her like the burdens of Atlas. She must uphold the honor of her father, of Sparta, of the Goddess, and in some small portion, her own heart. “I’m...
scared
.” She finally admitted out loud.

“Shhhhh.” Nestra held her tight, soothing her shaking arms. “There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll walk inside. Father will make his decision, and it will be over. There’s nothing more to say or do.”

It sounded so easy when Nestra said it. Helen simply had to accept her fate, and go to whichever future shores the Zephyrs chose to send her. But something inside her rebelled against surrender. Down that path, she was noting but a prize to be handed out by others, not a person worthy of great love.

“It will all be over.” Nestra cooed, wiping away Helen’s tears. “And you’ll find a way to be happy.”

“But Tryphosa—“

“The priestess did this to you?” A crease of anger shot across Clytemnestra’s face. “Helen, she’s nothing but a drug-addled zealot. You can’t take her advice to heart. You’re going to be queen, not some village house wife.”

Clytemnestra’s words were harsh, and they cut right through the fog that paralyzed her. “That’s blasphemy, Nestra.”

“That’s
reality
, Sister.” Nestra countered. “There’s a real world out there, filled with men, and kingdoms, and wars. And you and I have
real
responsibilities in it. You cannot be so easily manipulated.”

Was I?
Helen played through the events at the temple, looking for any instance where Tryphosa tried to influence her. She shook her head with the effort. There was none.

“You’ll have to trust me.” Nestra asserted, holding Helen’s hand in a death grip. “
‘Where you go, I follow’
, remember?”

Nestra was so certain, so strong. With no real guidance from the priestess or her father, such confidence was a relief. Clytemnestra had survived her own betrothal and marriage. She knew,
intimately knew
, the path Helen would soon be forced to walk. Facing that unknown future, Nestra was the only person she could trust.

“I remember.” Helen’s resolve returned, a warm wave of relief flooding over her. She clung to her twin’s hand, a lifeline in the torrent of her fears. Together, she felt strong. Together, she was safe.

A great fanfare of horns trumpeted from inside the megaron. The double doors flew open and a pair of heralds stepped forward, both wearing the colors of Sparta, the same saffron red of the carpets beneath their feet. They carried polished wooden hoplon shields, their surface plated with a thick layer of bronze. In their other hands, the heralds lifted two long ox horns decorated with flags of ochre red and brownish yellow. They pressed the horns to their lips and trumpeted two short blasts, the regal notes hanging in the air, an invitation for Helen’s entrance.

Inside, a crowd of dignitaries, both citizens of Sparta and Suitor alike, spread apart, carving a clear path for her to travel to the throne. Their heads bowed forward, each man and woman eager to catch a glimpse of the princess.

Helen steeled herself. A confidence that previously eluded her snuffed out her fears. She lifted her chin, a defiant glint in her eyes.
Fear does not exist. It will not be my master
.

Clytemnestra moved to disengage herself, but Helen held her fast. “Walk with me.” She placed a gentle hand on her sister’s forearm.

Nestra’s smile was unforgettable. Reaching out, she tucked a stray hair out of Helen’s face. “I envy the man who lays claim to your heart. He will possess riches beyond the wealth of this world.”

If Helen’s heart had wings it would have fluttered away. Together, they faced the megaron and began the long walk to her future. She set a stately pace.

A solemn hush fell over the crowd as they passed. Fevered whispers of awe and admiration rose to the rafters. Her suitors could barely contain themselves. For a moment, Helen feared their aggressive behavior would return, but something more powerful held sway in the hall. Some crossover of her regal bearing fused into the men. They held themselves straight, more than one with a touch of embarrassment on his face for past behavior.

Tyndareus faced the gathered men from where he sat upon his throne, his visage akin to engraved stone. Both she and Nestra curtsied low before him, and his stern eyes softened when they fell on her.As Helen straightened, her sister finally released her arm and took her place beside her husband in the front row. Helen waited for the crowd’s murmuring to lessen, and then walked up the raised dais to joined her noble father. When she finally settled beside him, he began to speak.

“Honored guests!” His strong voice rang out across the hall. “You have come here, to glorious Sparta, seeking the hand of my daughter, Helen, blessed of Zeus and Aphrodite. Over the past week, you have displayed your prowess in feats of strength. You have impressed this king with your courage and fortitude. But in the end, only one man can claim Helen as his bride.”

The crowd shuffled, the nearness of the announcement stirring them like the winds of Aeolus. Helen bristled as the entire room laid eyes on her. It was unsettling to be the center of so much attention. She turned to her sister for support, locking eyes with the queen. That was when she noticed Agamemnon whispering discreetly into the ear of King Odysseus. They were the only people in the room not wholly focused on Tyndareus words.