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He'd had such little practice at overseeing another's work, he doubted he'd ever command as much respect as Priam's other sons, but he would remain sober and provide a good example. "A fierce
glance should be enough to keep the men eager to do their share of the work."
"Yes, a stern expression is vital. Make them earn a smile."
Paris thanked his father for his sage advice and bid him, his mother, and the royal entourage farewell early the next morning. A fine breeze billowed their huge red sail emblazoned with the emblem of Troy, a rearing white stallion. He gazed up to thank Aphrodite for blessing the voyage.
A fanfare of horns blared and Priam led his assembly in a farewell anthem. The song stirred Paris's heart, and he wished he knew all the words. He'd never been on a sea faring ship, let alone a royal flagship and while he'd heard warnings he might become ill, he thrived in the salt-scented air. Certain he'd been born for adventure, he could barely contain his excitement as they crossed the wine-dark Aegean Sea. Yet nothing he had dared to dream or imagine had prepared him to meet Helen.
PART III
Chapter 18
Sparta
The palace of Menelaus
Oron, the stable boy who'd come from Theseus's fortress years ago, ran to meet Helen after her morning ride. "My Queen, Menelaus has returned home!" he yelled.
Her day now ruined, she wheeled her high-strung gray mare in a tight circle and rode away. There were a dozen different directions in which to go, and she chose the solitude of a trail she seldom rode. There had been no recent deaths from the plague, so his sacrifices in Troy must have won the god Apollo's sympathy. Unfortunately, he hadn't won hers.
She'd chosen Menelaus to be her husband, and their years together had been remarkably free of strife until.... She refused to even think the girl's name. He'd complained he'd been in a drunken stupor and scarcely remembered the night, but she refused to accept such a miserable excuse. He'd never gotten lost on the way to her room on any other occasion, so why would that one have been any different?
Perhaps it hadn't been, and he'd often prowled the palace and come to her from a slave's bed more times than he could recall. Had the twin boys not been so obviously his, he might never have admitted how deeply he'd betrayed her. That he'd carried the secret for so many months had left her feeling unclean and no amount of perfumed baths had eased her disgust. Other kings might have favorite slaves and spawn bastards by the number, but she'd never thought Menelaus could behave in such an unconscionable manner. He had not been gone nearly long enough for her to miss him, and now that he'd come home, the sorrow of the very sight of him would be renewed.
* * *
Menelaus carried their daughter Hermione into Helen's bedchamber. The little girl's arms were tightly wound around her father's neck. He stopped at a safe distance before speaking. "I missed you."
Helen turned away from the window overlooking the rolling golden plains. She couldn't find a smile. "Did it surprise you?"
"No, not at all, but I'd hoped you'd miss me as well."
She had been unable to feel anything more than the breeze brushing against her skin on her daily ride. She changed the topic rather than insult him in front of their daughter. "The plague hasn't spread, and many who were ill have recovered their health, so your trip to Troy assuaged Apollo's anger and provided as great a benefit to Sparta as you'd hoped."
"That's very good news." He kissed his daughter's cheek and set her down. She ran to her mother, and Helen scooped her up into her arms and hugged her. He remained where he stood. "A Trojan prince, Alexandros, has accompanied me home for a visit. He's a very earnest young man. He's brought presents for us." He extended his hand. "Come, I want you to meet him. He's a fine horseman, and you might even find the Trojan amusing."
Helen doubted it and shrugged. "Possibly." She placed Hermione on her feet and took her hand. "Let's meet our guest, Dewdrop, we're expected to be cordial. Smile so he'll see how pretty you are."
Menelaus brought Helen's hand to his lips before lacing his fingers in hers. "Hermione looks so much like you as a child."
"Does she?" Helen responded. "She's much sweeter, and you'll never find her playing in the dirt with warriors and horses made from rope and sticks."
"I'd be enchanted if she did, just as I was with you."
Helen recalled the day vividly. He'd interrupted their play, and she'd been annoyed rather than impressed by him. She'd known nothing about the world then, and now she knew far too much.
* * *
As Paris waited for the royal couple, he compared the throne room to King Priam's. It wasn't nearly as large and lavish. Instead of a gold and ivory throne, there was only a stone chair, although it was handsomely carved. Rather than the beautiful frescoes of prancing horses and the horse-taming men of Troy, here the walls were decorated with scenes of warriors following Ares, the god of war, into battle.
* * *
Menelaus and Helen made their way to the megaron where a handsome, dark-eyed young man with a charming smile awaited them. The fire from the central hearth made his face glow. The leopard skin thrown carelessly over his shoulder added a dashing wild touch to his demeanor she rather liked.
"Do you enjoy hunting?" she asked, her voice a soft melody.
"Yes, my queen. I brought my bow and spear hoping for just such an opportunity."
