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Paris hated to tell his father farewell, and yet he itched to go. He promised to return whenever he could and led Kastros and Orthis to Oenone's home. She was working in the garden, and looked as startled to see him as she had been on his last visit. He noticed Orthis looking past her for Chrisoula, and understood why the man had been in such high spirits that day.
He dismounted and carried the ribbons to Oenone. "Your garden looks especially full this year."
"It will keep us well-fed," she responded.
He leaned close to whisper. "It appears one of my warriors was hoping to see your aunt. Is she here?"
Oenone rested her hoe against the cottage and went inside to fetch Chrisoula. The redhead soon appeared brushing flour from her hands. "How good to see you again, Paris," she called. She looked up at Orthis, who promptly dismounted and clumsily removed his helmet to talk.
"Come with me." Paris took Oenone's hand and led her away from the others. "I brought some ribbons for your hair. Is there something you'd like me to bring for you on my next visit?"
She took the pretty package, but left the ribbons tightly wound. "I'm surprised you've come back twice," she answered.
He turned to walk backwards and face her. "Why do you think so little of me now?"
She looked down at her bare feet. "You've become a prince of Troy, a different man, and I'm the same simple village girl."
"Don't you remember my saying that you're prettier than the girls in the city?"
"I might recall it," she hedged. "Aunt Chrisoula made me promise to tell you that if you're ever hurt, you must send for me to care for you. No one else will be able to heal your wounds. Promise me you'll remember her warning."
Taken aback, he stared at her a long moment. "Troy is enjoying a lengthy peace, so I'm unlikely to be gravely wounded, but I'll call for you if I am. Now let's not be so serious. Have you heard a new song or tune?"
She laughed. "The entertainments in the village aren't nearly as exciting as they must be in the palace. If you'd heard a new song, please sing it."
"I've heard so many," he confessed before realizing how small it would make her world seem. "I'll learn the words to my favorites and sing them to you someday soon."
He meant what he said, and this time when he rode away he turned back to wave. Oenone was standing with her aunt, and the breeze ruffled her curls, but she didn't smile.
Chapter 17
Paris listened more than he spoke, but when there was so much to learn about the life of a prince, he continually felt at a disadvantage. He stayed on the outer edge of any gathering and did his best to melt into the shadows. He avoided controversy by refusing to take sides no matter what the issue, but still drew more darkly skeptical glances than smiles. Undiscouraged, he worked hard to master a warrior's skills and Kastor and Orthis proved to be patient instructors. The bronze sword grew no less heavy, but as his stamina increased, he could swing it more nimbly and use the deadly weapon for longer bursts of power.
Lonely, he lay upon his bed at night with his hands propped behind his head and ached for home where every sight was familiar. He'd noticed more than one pretty slave girl glancing his way, but thoughts of the beautiful woman Aphrodite had promised him kept him from inviting any to his chamber. Thoughts of his promised love filled him with an unending joy. She might be petite, or tall and slender. Her hair might be black or golden blo
nde, and her eyes could be blue or green.
He could imagine the light touch of her hand on his bare chest, or how her whisper would tickle his ear. He was certain her voice would be low and sweet, and every word that past her lips memorable. Hermes had urged him to go to Troy to find her, but he was growing very tired of the lengthy wait. Perhaps she wasn't even in Troy, but in another city where their paths would eventually cross. If she were the most beautiful woman in the world, she must already have many suitors. He hoped they were a dumb ugly lot, bald, or missing blotches of hair, with broken flattened noses, and chipped teeth. He laughed at his own talent for imagining the worst, and often fell asleep happier than when he'd gone to bed. He hated having to wait, but believed the lovely woman he'd been promised must arrive soon, and she'd be worth every day of the wait.
* * *
Menelaus arrived at Troy with a dozen ships. King Priam had not expected a royal visitor, but hastened to make him feel welcome. He sent members of the house guard to invite the Spartan to the palace, and Menelaus came with a train of men bearing armloads of gifts for the Trojan king.
A handsome man with red hair and a neatly trimmed beard, Menelaus accepted the Trojan king's hospitality, but he'd come on a pilgrimage to visit the tombs of Lycus and Chimaerus, sons of Prometheus. "A plague has swept Sparta, and the Oracle at Delphi has sent us to make sacrifices on their tombs to bring an end to the grievous sickness."
"I'll provide escorts," Priam volunteered. "You must dine with us tonight and set out for the tombs at dawn."
Paris had only dreamed of other lands such as Sparta, and the visitors fascinated him. They spoke the same language and wore similar dress, and yet there was something about them that set them apart. He sat closer to King Priam than he usually dared to overhear as much as possible. Apollo spoke through the Oracle, so the cure he'd offered would surely end the plague and health would be restored throughout Sparta.
He slept very little that night, and early the next morning, he was ready to accompany Menelaus to the tombs. He'd become known as a fine horseman, and his presence caused no curiosity or alarm. Menelaus rode the stallion he'd been loaned with an easy grace, and Paris admired him all the more.
"Tell me more about Sparta," Paris asked as they rode along.
Menelaus regarded him with an indulgent half-smile. "It's a gorgeous land with majestic mountains and valleys lush with grain. Our olives are delicious, our wine beyond compare, and the women the fairest ever born. The gods blessed me with a wife often called the most beautiful woman in the world."
Latching onto Aphrodite's phrase, Paris leaned forward. "What makes her such a beauty?"
Menelaus laughed at the innocence of his young companion's expression. "She's a daughter of Zeus, with curly blonde hair, eyes of a vivid green, and beautiful beyond description. She's angry with me for a dalliance with a slave girl, but I hope she'll have forgiven me by the time I return home."
