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"Yes, and this is the first time I've shown them away from my own palace. They are not only remarkably handsome; they rival the wind for speed. You're standing near the end of the race, and you'll see."
Helen drew her cloak closer around her shoulders. "You mustn't tell anyone that you've seen me."
"And risk having men surround you and shout their name? Certainly not." He leaned close to kiss her cheek and strode off toward his chariot.
Omalu shifted the bow and quiver in her arms. "I've always liked him."
Helen looked over the other men milling about before the chariot race. Most were tall with glossy long hair and trim like Menelaus, while a few had burly builds. She'd looked forward to the chariot races, but she dreaded the thought of marriage. She hugged herself to stave off a sudden shudder.
"What's wrong?" Omalu asked.
Helen refused to give her fears additional weight by voicing them. She gazed up into the oak. "We might be seen standing here, and the branches will be easy to climb and provide a better view. Hang the quiver and bow on the lowest branch and follow me."
"I've never climbed as well as you do," the maid called, but she managed to stand upon the lowest branch and hang onto the tree trunk. Shielded by dark green leaves and clumps of acorns, they did have a far better vantage point. "This is high enough for me."
Men were gathered around Menelaus's team, and Helen wondered how he'd kept others from knowing he owned such a magnificent pair. The sleek horses tossed their manes, pranced in place and looked eager to run. Only a few men could race across the flat plains at a time, or collisions between chariots could cause horrible injuries, if not death, to both men and animals.
Menelaus steered his chariot to the starting line and waved in Helen's direction. Curious, other men turned to see who he might be saluting, but saw no one standing in the shade of the old tree. Helen held her breath until the men refocused their attention on the race.
If Menelaus were killed in a foolhardy attempt to impress her, she would never forgive herself. Many of the men already proudly sported scrapes and bruises from wrestling or falling while running, but a chariot race was a far more dangerous sport. Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn't look away. The course was a wide circle that would end close to where they hid near the royal fountain, but now feeling sick to her stomach, she'd only watch this one contest and return to the palace where she'd be shielded from calls of triumph or anguished pain.
Forgetting she was standing on a branch, Omalu jumped as the race began and then had to catch hold to keep from falling. "I can't see anything for the dust!" she cried.
Farther above the ground, Helen had an excellent view as the teams flew across the dusty plain. A man with a pair of grays burst ahead. Running a close second, Menelaus held back his team and let his rival lead for half the race. Then with a shout and a slap of the reins, he urged his horses into a wild gallop, and they flew as though they had sprouted divine wings and flashed across the finish line first. He turned his chariot away from the track and again sent Helen a jaunty wave.
She clung to the tree and drew in deep breaths rather than shout words of praise along with the cheering men. Menelaus had won such a clear victory, she doubted anyone would challenge him to another race, but she had seen more than enough for one day. She and Omalu reentered the palace with the same stealth they'd left, but Leda saw them discard their dusty cloaks and knew where they had been.
"Does the roof not provide a good enough view for you?" she asked.
Helen hid the bow and quiver behind her back. "No, I needed to be closer to watch the chariot races, but one was enough. I'll rest the remainder of the afternoon and see you when we dine tonight."
Omalu ran after her mistress, and Leda went up on the rooftop terrace to see what could be seen of the chariot races. It was a glorious day, and she recalled how excited she'd been when it had been her time for such a lively competition. Helen had been robbed of the innocent joy she'd experienced as a bride, but she prayed her daughter would still be happily wed to a man who understood her.
Chapter 11
Tyndareus grew weary of the competition. The noise of the games in the day blurred into drunken shouts at night, and he longed for a moment of blissful quiet. He'd had an ample chance to observe men he barely knew, and while some had impressed him as good men, others had revealed themselves to be unworthy fools.
They dined that evening in the megaron, seated around the estia, the great round fire hearth. Odysseus approached Tyndareus and put his fist to his forehead in a proper salute. "You appear preoccupied, my lord. Have you come to a decision?"
Sorry his expression had revealed so much, Tyndareus dipped his head. "There are many men here who'd make an excellent husband for Helen."
"I hope you count me among them."
"I do, but she's a strong-willed girl, and it could swiftly prove to be an unfortunate match. What I fear now is a riot among the others when I name the winner."
Odysseus rocked back on his heels. "The man will be much envied."
"Envy doesn't concern me. I'm more afraid of mayhem and murder."
Odysseus laughed then caught himself when he realized Tyndareus was sincere. "Why not ask every man to swear eternal allegiance to the victor? Then they cannot go back on their word and attack him."
Tyndareus regarded him with a slow smile. "It's an intriguing idea, my clever one, but it must be done before the winner is announced. It calls for a sacrifice so the men can swear in blood."
"You're very wise, my lord" Odysseus replied.
"It's always my hope." Tyndareus went directly to the women's quarters. He first thought of sending Aethra away, but he'd grown used to her pithy comments.
"The men are all in such high spirits," he began. "I've become concerned the winner of the competition might be abused by those who are rejected."
