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Eris, a goddess always eager to stir up strife, went to Helen disguised as one of Hektor's pretty sisters. "Come quickly, Helen, the war may soon be over, and you must see how it ends. Paris will duel Menelaus, and you'll be wife to whomever wins."
Badly frightened, Helen choked back tears. Her earliest memories were of Menelaus, for he'd courted her from the time she'd been a child. She had hurt him deeply by leaving Sparta for Troy, but her love for Paris had been all that had mattered to her then. The two men despised each other, and it was certain to be a furious and bloody fight, and the very last place she wished to be.
Aethra, Helen's long time companion, took her elbow. "You must go, child."
With the little woman leading the way, they soon reached the Scaean Gate. The white bearded venerated elders of Troy were seated high above them in the main tower. Their warrior years long over, they came each day to observe the battle playing out on the Scamander plain below. As Helen passed by, they were stunned by her beauty and sighed for their own lost youth.
"Is it any wonder the men of Troy and the Greeks have battled so long for such a woman?" one asked. "She resembles the radiant goddess Aphrodite."
Another leaned forward to whisper in awe, "Beauty, terrible beauty."
A more practical chief murmured, "She has caused far too much bloodshed and sorrow. Let her return to Sparta today."
Standing nearby, Priam called to her. "Come sit in front of me where you can see your kinsmen and your husband of long ago. I've never blamed you for this war, when surely it was the gods who brought this scourge to our shores."
Helen climbed to the tower and slipped into her place. "You have been so kind to me, my lord, but I regret the day I left Sparta with your son. The cost in blood has been far too high. It would have been far better for you all had I died."
"Hush, child, for the gods delight in playing with our fates, and we're only characters in their endless play." He surveyed the gathered armies. "I'm struck by the regal bearing of the man standing there. Is he a king?"
She followed his gaze. "Yes, that is Agamemnon, both a mighty king and adept with a spear. We were kinsmen once."
"Who is that man ramming his way through the ranks of warriors?"
"Odysseus from Ithaca. He's quick witted and not above treachery."
"Ah yes," Priam replied. "I remember him now. He came with Menelaus to ask for your return. I recall the depth of his voice. He was more eloquent than your Greek husband, but I would never have sent you back. Who is that tall man who towers over all the others?"
"Ajax. Menelaus often hosted him in his palace in Sparta. He has the size of a god and is a bulwark for the Greeks."
Heralds, breathless from running from the plain, reached Priam. "They are calling for you, sire, both your stallion breaking Trojans and the bronze-clad Greeks. They wish you to seal their oaths. Paris and Menelaus will fight with spears and Helen and her riches will go to the winner. The outcome of the duel will be an end to the war and bring a peaceful truce on both sides."
Priam leaned down to kiss Helen's cheek before summoning his chariot. She watched the dear man go and wondered if this would be the last day she would spend in his lovely realm. He had treated her so well, and she could not bear the thought he might lose his much beloved Paris. Tears rolled down her cheeks, for there would be unbearable sorrow no matter which man lost his life. There was the hope for peace, at long last, and the thought was all that kept her breathing.
When Priam's royal chariot reached the ground separating the two armies, Agamemnon greeted him with Odysseus by his side. The Greek high king acknowledged Priam with a nod, lifted his arms to pray to Zeus, god of glory, and to the sun, rivers and earth to bind their pact. They sacrificed the lambs, and drank from a great gold bowl filled with wine from both sides and poured it out on the ground in a solemn libation.
Unable to watch the deadly duel, when Priam knew Zeus h
ad already chosen the winner, he returned to his chariot and rode swiftly back into Troy. Rather than return to the tower to watch what would surely be a ghastly spectacle, he went on to the calm of his palace. He would pace and worry alone there, but he gave no thought to the gods when his prayers were unlikely to sway them.
Hektor and Odysseus measured the ground for combat. The warriors on each side moved back to allow ample room for the fight. Two stones were used for lots, a light colored one for Paris and a dark hued one for Menelaus, and they were dropped into a gleaming bronze helmet. Hektor gave the helmet a hard shake, and Paris's lot leapt out. He would be the first to throw his spear.
With the first chance to wound his opponent, Paris's spirits soared, and he grinned at Hektor. He quickly checked his armor. The bronze greaves covering his shins had silver ankle straps. His breastplate fitted him well, and his plumed helmet protected his head and neck. He slung his silver handled sword over his shoulder, picked up his sturdy shield and finely sharpened spear. Battle ready, he stared at Menelaus, who was equally well armed. They began to circle each other round and round, their locked gazes deadly. Both Greek and Troy troops broke into war chants, and the low rumbling threats echoed all around them.
Seizing a chance to win by surprise, Paris hurled his spear with brutal force, but the spear bounced off the center of the Greek's round bronze shield. With the point bent, it fell useless on the ground. Menelaus laughed and sent a prayer to Zeus for revenge against the man who had betrayed his kindness and defiled his wife. "Let me crush this bastard beneath my feet!" He took careful aim, and his spear pierced Paris's layered bull-hide shield, cut through his breastplate and even tore his war shirt. But Paris had swerved before he suffered a wound.
Menelaus charged him and could taste victory as he smashed his fine sharp sword down on Paris's helmet, but the bronze blade shattered into jagged pieces and flew from his hand. Without a weapon, he cried to Zeus and hurled himself on Paris to wrench him to the ground. Getting the better of the Trojan Prince, he grabbed the horsetail plume on his helmet and with furious strength, stood and with a great heave pulled Paris toward the Greek ranks. The raucous cheers from his warriors were deafening.
Stunned by the sword blow to his head, Paris fought to break free, but he choked on the helmet's braided chinstrap, and couldn't catch his breath. Aphrodite noted his dire straits and would not let her beautiful daring prince die. With power streaming from her outstretched hand, she snapped the chinstrap to free him and the helmet came away in Menelaus hand. The sly goddess then wrapped Paris in a whirling mist and sped him away to the safety of the palace.
Menelaus flung the empty helmet into the roaring crowd and grabbed his warrior's spear to continue the fight, but Paris had vanished. The Greek lashed his spear and turned around, seeking him out wherever he hid, but no one had seen him leave the battleground. Enraged with frustration, he shouted for Paris, but there was no answer.
Agamemnon rushed forward to seize the moment. "Hear me, Trojans! Menelaus has clearly won the duel, and Helen's fate has been decided. She must be surrendered to Menelaus before the day is through!"
Menelaus wiped away the sweat pouring into his eyes and gazed up at Troy's main tower. He wondered if she'd been watching from that height. He hoped she'd seen her lover turn coward and run. He raised his spear and shook it. "Helen!" he shouted. "You are mine!"
* * *
Once Aphrodite had Paris safely tucked in the palace, she hurried to the tower to summon Helen. "Come quickly, Paris awaits in your chamber."
