Daughter of Sparta

Part X

Menaláos sat still, hidden in the darkness and the garden's dense foliage. His face was calm, only his death grip on his sword revealed the king's inner turmoil.

Will I never be free of my past? What sins have I perpetrated against the gods to deserve this?

Menaláos closed his eyes and sighed heavily as he buried his face in his hands.

So Aegisthus still lives. And he is now the single greatest threat against Helen and our future children.

The calamitous warning by the priest reverberated in his mind.

"The wrongs committed against old blood will taint the new."

When Menaláos heard the words hissed through the priest's parched lips he instinctively knew who the old blood was. It all made dire sense; Aegisthus would never forgive Atreus or his sons for the atrocities they inflicted on his family and would seek the most violent form of revenge against his enemies. What more harm could Aegisthus wreak out against his cousin than to kill Menaláos' new wife and his heir?

I cannot let harm befall on them. There must be a way to shield them. Not all prophecies become truths. Menaláos thought feverishly. Surely Helen is protected for her father would not let harm befall on his beautiful child. So, I must find a way to shield my children.

It took Menaláos almost full ten days before he metered out an intricate plan with Euneon's help, one he hoped would protect his family. However, he kept the plot secret from his wife for the king feared losing Helen's love and trust above all else, even the lives of their children.

Helen was well aware of her husband's agitation but mistakenly believed it was due to the imminent birth of their child. She thought pregnancy itself was mild compared to horror stories the palace women seemed gleefully determined to terrorize her with. So, it wasn't long before Helen sought out the no-nonsense and comforting presence of Agafia as her only source of female companionship. The nursemaid was only too happy to be once again serving her charge and the old servant ran many errands in order to ensure Helen's continuing good health.

Because of the ease of Helen's pregnancy, Menaláos gambled on a visit to Amyclae to oversee the final construction of the outer walls. He was halfway in his travel when a rider from Sparta caught up with him.

Menaláos didn't have to ask, the messenger's haggard face told him much.

"There is problem with the birth; Agafia requests that you return to Sparta immediately."

Menaláos didn't hesitate and swerved his mount to return to Sparta. His soldiers had difficult time keeping pace with the panicking husband and within two days Menaláos rode unescorted On the third day he entered the gates of his palace to find everything in chaos. Agafia was notified of his arrival and rushed to meet him.

"Where is she? What has happened?" Menaláos asked, paling noticeably when he saw the woman's bloodstained robes.

"She lives," Agafia quickly explained, "But she is losing too much blood. The birthing began the day you left and the child is still in her womb."

"There must be medicine to help Helen give birth!"

"She refuses to take any, she believes it might endanger the child's life."

"Let me see her. I can convince her to abandon this madness."

"You cannot; you know it is not allowed for a husband to see his woman or touch her while she gives birth!"

"I will do as I wish!" Menaláos snarled and marched into the inner sanctum of the palace.

He found his wife surrounded by large group of midwives. The scent of blood overwhelmed his senses for a moment, and Menaláos' panic fluttered past his control. He couldn't lose her, the throne of Sparta meant nothing without Helen by his side.

"Leave us!" Menaláos shouted, unsheathing his sword in case there were any recalcitrant who would dare to disobey his command.

The servants ushered passed him, whispering fearfully amongst themselves for they had never seen their king look so savage.

Helen opened her eyes and said, "You are home."

"What have you done?" Menaláos said, "Why will you not take the medicines? Do you not understand the danger you are in?"

"I won't harm my child," Helen answered.

Menaláos gently caressed the tired face. "And what good will it do for our child to grow up motherless? You, who suffered such deprivation, will you damn your own child to the same misery?"

Helen's eyes welled with tears of pain and doubt. Menaláos felt his heart wring itself in equal fear and said, "Do not abandon me, Helen. I cannot be a king for our people if you are not queen. Take the draught, a third of it if that amount will ease your mind but do not harm yourself any longer. You do not have any strength left ... please, Helen, for me. For Sparta."

Helen finally acquiesced and Menaláos quickly ordered the drink to be given to his wife. Only after seeing the cup drained did he discreetly withdrew to the bathing chambers where he washed off his wife's blood from his body. He knew that with the medicine Helen would soon give birth, and whether the heir was living or dead, Menaláos, as the King of Sparta, must make tributes to the gods and present his son to his people should the babe live.

He had finished dressing when a piercing cry ripped through the air.

"Helen..." Menaláos whispered and felt all his strength drain from him. The crown dropped noisily onto the floor as another, more terrifying scream followed the first. He was almost to the doors of his wife's chamber when they slammed closed on his face.

Menaláos, now totally overcome by his fear, banged on them, screaming for the servants to let him in. But the midwives would not obey for it would be blasphemy for a man to witness the actual birth of his child. The cries died out and was replaced by a weaker one belonging to a newborn. Menaláos stepped back as he heard the doors unlock.

Agafia stood proudly with a bundle in her arms, "King, your heir..."

Menaláos shoved the woman and her precious offering aside and ran to his wife, falling to his knees when he reached her. "Helen?"

She opened her eyes and smiled, "What do you think of our son?"

Menaláos turned to Agafia who patiently waited for him to take notice of the newborn. He took the squirming baby from her embrace and stared at the child.

"He is both strong and handsome," Menaláos said.

"You are a terrible liar," Helen said, laughing.

Menaláos finally managed to smile, "I am a terrible liar, but I am sure he will grow up to be both."

"An heir, Menaláos." Helen said. "A son."

"For us, for Sparta. Thank you." Menaláos placed a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead. "And now you must rest. Please, Helen."

She gave a small sigh of contentment and closed her eyes while her husband watched. Menaláos waited until he was sure Helen had fallen asleep before he left her side. The King of Sparta marched through the corridors with his palace guards escorting him. He heard the roar of the waiting crowd, most who had been present at the palace's front gates ever since the news of Helen's labor reached them. Menaláos walked up the same steps he took over a year ago when he married Helen and proudly stood at the rampart. He raised his son over his head and shouted,

"Here is your future! Here is the blessing of the gods! Here is Helen's gift and proof that Zeus favors us above all for I have a mighty son!"

The roar of the crowd was heard by shepherds guarding their flocks in the hills surrounding the city.

"There is a messenger from Sparta demanding audience?" King Priam echoed the servant's announcement, his surprise plain for all of his guests to see.

"How novel!" King Eetion exclaimed. "We finally have the chance to see a fabled Spartan! Priam, let him enter, please!"

Andromache blushed at her father's forwardness but refrained from correcting his manners in front of so many honored persons.

Priam gave a regal nod and the servant disappeared into the waiting room. The Spartan messenger entered and many in the throne chamber gasped in wonder and surprise. The soldier was dusty from harsh travel and he did not bear any of the royal marks of Menaláos. However, he stood a full head taller than Priam's personal guards who surrounded him and they were wearing helmets while he was bare headed. And his personal carriage was awesome to behold for if his clothing did not betray his importance, the proud and scarred visage did.

"King Priam, I am honored to share most joyful news." The soldier proclaimed, "The throne of Sparta has an heir."

"Helen gave birth?" Hector asked, sitting up from his palette, unaware of the knowing looks traded by the women surrounding him. "Is she well?"

The soldier was taken back by the earnestness of Hector's question and paused to consider what information he could rightfully reveal without betraying his duties. He finally said, "The Queen is well. The birthing was difficult for it took five days for the prince to be born."

"Five days?" Hecuba echoed, shocked by the length of the labor. "And she lives?"

"The Queen is recovering quickly, praise the mercy of the gods." The soldier said, his personal relief evident.

"Your king must be very proud," Priam said with cautious enthusiasm. "And the prince's name?"

"Athanasius is what the people have chosen to call him."

"A goodly name and a holy one." Hecuba complimented. "Forgive me, is it tradition for the people of Sparta to choose names of their rulers?"

"No, it is not. King Menaláos preferred one and the Queen wanted another. So..."

Priam laughed softly, "I see, so they let the people decide. Who chose Athanasius?"

"The Queen," the soldier answered with something faintly resembling a sheepish smile. "She was mighty pleased when the final tally was had."

"I am certain she was," Hector said, his eyes dancing with restrained amusement. "What is your name? And know that any soldier of Menaláos may safely rest within the walls of Troy. If you wait and refresh yourself from your travels we would be honored to present gifts..."

The soldier shook his head and said, "I am called Hieronim and I have served Sparta since I was seven. I thank you for your gracious hospitality but my King had strictly forbidden his messengers to take any offerings, no matter how well the intentions. I am charged to present the news and his gift to you, Prince Hector."

Without warning Hieronim unsheathed the dagger from his belt and so swift was his movement the guards didn't have time to restrain him before he broke their circle. Hieronim marched to Hector and kneeled, presenting the weapon. The prince of Troy took it with a gracious nod and noted the blade of the knife was of the cleanest metal and the handle of the purest ivory. On the face of the blade was carved the newborn's name.

"It is a telling gift," Hector said. "Tell your King I understand his message, fully."

Hieronim bowed even deeper, "Our General King does not forget those who have honored him as you have done, Prince Hector." He stood up and bowed to Priam and said, "May blessings continue to shower your house, King of Troy."

The soldier left without being dismissed and as soon as he exited the room, conversations burst forth from everyone.

"It is a telling gift indeed," Priam said as he examined the dagger.

"Do not worry, father," Hector said. "Menaláos means to honor us with this knife. By giving it to my person, I am now symbolically armed with a Spartan weapon. And by the looks of it a deadly one."

Eetion glanced at the weapon and shuddered, "To celebrate the birth of their babe by giving out such things as presents! How barbaric."

Andromache said, "Their firstborn is a boy ... Queen Helen must be very pleased to present her husband with a son. I cannot help but think she'd be relieved also."

"It wouldn't have mattered to Menaláos," Hector said. "He would have been pleased to have a daughter as a firstborn, and that goes doubly so since the mother is Helen."

"True," Cassandra said. "And even if the child were a daughter, as long as she was blessed with half of her mother's looks Sparta could only benefit when she weds."

"But a son," Hector whispered softly, "A son possessing his mother's face and his father's mind for leadership. It would do well for Troy if we were to ... establish a more intimate relationship with Sparta in the near future."

"I was coming to the same conclusion," Priam said with a crooked smile. "I cannot help but wonder what Agamémnon thinks of all this. He has been so long the first son in everything, and now his younger brother is gaining in both wealth and power."

"Then let us send gifts to them anyway," Paris said quietly. "To remind them of the good alliance forged by my brother while he stayed in Sparta. If we are to occupy their thoughts, let them think of Troy favorably."

Andromache saw Hector nod in agreement and lowered her gaze. How quickly she and Thebes were displaced when Helen and Sparta entered Hector's thoughts!

"Do you really want to associate with such creatures?" Eetion asked. "Are you not repulsed by their attitudes?"

"Not in the least," Hector said promptly. "Especially if Troy benefits from such ties."

"Besides, it is proper decorum to present a new mother with some gifts," Hecuba added to her son's argument. "Good manners demand that I do at least that much."

"A son," Paris asked, "Do you honestly think the boy is as handsome as his mother is beautiful?"

"That I have no doubt," Hector answered. "Leda was famed for her beauty as is Clytaemnestra, and Helen possesses greater face so imagine what her children will look like."

"I wish I could see her," Hecuba said. "If only to satisfy my curiosity."

Eetion finally noticed his daughter's unnatural silence and correctly guessed at the cause. He half suspected Andromache would fall in love with Hector; many women had done so in the past and his daughter was not immune to the prince's numerous charms. However, the King of Thebes did not expect for Andromache to feel so strongly for a man, even one the likes of Hector, in such short time. They had spent only six days in Troy and already Andromache would shadow Hector wherever he went. Her behavior would have been immediately realized by others had Hector not been hounded by so many eligible daughters -- all accompanied by parents determined to match their beloved children to the most eligible bachelor of Ilium.

"Then the King of Sparta is doubly blessed," Andromache said. "To be made king by marriage and to a wife whom he treasures above all, and now with a son. Father, we should also make our good wishes known, if only to reinforce King Priam's designs."

"It is a wise decision," Paris said and stood up, "Forgive me but I must go to the stables."

"Still at it, I see." Hector teased good-naturedly. "Be careful, it would be a sad day for mother should you break your skinny neck trying to saddle the monster."

"I will try my best not to get killed."

Paris gave an elegant bow, made more elegant by his godly looks and inhuman grace. During the time he spent with his true family Paris had grown both in height and stature until he was equal to Hector at least in looks.

Paris retreated to his own chamber, making sure there weren't any servants or spies performing their usual function within the palace walls. He knew Cassandra did not trust him and was informed by more than one serving maid that she had spies pinned on his person. Paris opened his private chest where he kept some of his old clothing and artifacts from his life as a shepherd. He found his dagger and unsheathed the weapon. He tipped the scabbard and a small white stone fell into his palm.

Paris curled his fist around the ordinary rock and closed his eyes. Finally he was allowed to grieve and tears fell as he wept noiselessly.

She was promised to me. How could this happen? Paris' thoughts roiled like waves in a mid-summer storm. I vanquished Hera and Athena for you, Aphrodite! I risked my life when I gave you the golden prize, earning their undying enmity because I wanted what you offered me. Love, you said, true love of the most beautiful woman in the world. I chose love, above power, above wisdom. That was why I left the mountains and came to Troy. And that is why I remain in this chained life as a second son to Hector, loved by few and envied by many including my siblings.

After his tears dried Paris stepped onto his balcony, his eyes feasting on the vast mountains that greeted him, taunting him of freedom he surrendered to chase a dream.

I can still run away, disappear into Ida. Not even Priam can find me there if I wish to remain undiscovered. Paris sighed and shook his head; in spite of the fact that Helen seemed further out of reach than ever, he could not surrender the slim hope that Aphrodite would keep good on her promise.

Menaláos is old, Paris told himself. Old enough that in a few years Helen might survive him. And since he is also the general of Sparta he will be forced to fight numerous battles, so often that a stray arrow or an ambitious soldier might transform Helen into a widow. But then would Hector not be the logical choice? Surely father would hoist his favorite above the likes of me.

Paris then remembered Andromache and the sad looks she bestowed upon his brother whenever Hector was in her presence, which was quite often. He steadied his breath and closed his eyes. Paris could not question the goddess' intentions now; it was too late for him to turn back -- he had made too many enemies both mortal and immortal to return to his easier if simpler life as a shepherd. So, he steeled himself to the monumental tasks looming ahead of him. First, he must somehow match Hector to a suitable wife and make him ineligible to marry Helen if she became husbandless. As for the King of Sparta himself, Paris had to believe the Menaláos' marriage was a sham if he were to place hope on Aphrodite's promise.

Somewhat strengthened by these thoughts, Paris swore he would devoutly pray that the truth be revealed to Helen and that Menaláos' life be curtailed. Soon.

"I won't permit it!" Helen yelled tearfully. "How can you ask me to do this?"

Menaláos retook his wife's trembling hands into his own. "It is the only way we can protect our son."

"I am his mother! I can see to his safety, you said so!"

"Athanasius has your blood flowing in his veins; you will be his mother no matter where he is raised. But as long as he stays with us his life will be in great danger."

"How? How can..."

"Helen, were you not snatched within the mighty walls of Sparta?"

Helen's eyes flooded with tears as she stared beseechingly at her husband. Menaláos felt his entire being ache with tremendous guilt. He was so close to revealing his true fears; that Aegisthus was clever enough and certainly determined enough to slither his way into even the kingdom of Sparta to kill the newborn prince. But if he told the truth Menaláos would also have to reveal the dirty family secrets he successfully managed to hide from his wife for so long. He could not bear the thought that she would think less of him because of what Atreus had done, and what he was forced to do in order to carry out his father's filthy plans.

"He is my son," Helen whispered. "I cannot let him go, Menaláos. Why can you not see how painful this is for me?"

"I can see and I also feel the same pain, Helen." Menaláos whispered and tightly embraced his wife. "But if a plague were to break out or some misfortune fell on the palace or the city, both you and Athanasius will be in danger. And I ... I will be torn if I had to chose between you and him. Helen, he will be raised in safety and will reach manhood in health and good nature. I plan to place him where no one will know his true identity. Not until we can have him return to us."

"Twelve years is so long," Helen sadly whispered.

"Nay, it will be short. I promise."

"Will this happen with every child I bear?"

The silence was enough of an answer and Helen wept openly on her husband's shoulders. Menaláos held her until her tears dried, not bothering to hide his. The grief they shared made them even more intimate with each other, in a way enforcing their marriage.

"Who will take care of Athanasius?"

"Euneon."

Helen's eyes widened, "I thought he had perished..."

Menaláos shook his head, "No, we planned for his disappearance some time ago, in case I needed an agent to carry out my plans. After all, who suspects a dead man?"

"But he is a man without wife."

"Eunoen has a sister who has been long widowed. They made a home within Taygetus; it is far enough that there isn't a chance Euneon will meet anyone who could recognize him. Nobody will suspect, Helen. It will be a secret between the three of us only."

"Twelve years..." Helen whispered forlornly and Menaláos knew he had won this most important battle against his wife.

"Euneon will send us missives, and when Athanasius is old enough Euneon will teach him how to write."

"But I can't read," Helen said in a small voice.

"Then I will teach you," Menaláos said. "It will make time go by faster. And you will witness with your own eyes how our son grows through his words. And when he enters Sparta as the rightful heir, he will be magnificent. Imagine, he will grow strong in the mountain air, and Euneon will make sure Athanasius have the proper martial training so that he will be able to protect himself."

"When will you send him away?"

"As soon as possible, even this coming dawn if you will allow it."

"Then ... can I bring him to our bed? So that Athanasius will rest with us until morn? I want him to remember something about his true parents."

"Of course, Helen. Dismiss the servants and bring our son to bed. We will whisper stories to him and fill his mind so that our voices will echo in his memories for years to come."

Menaláos watched his wife depart to fetch their son and sighed in relief. It is a small schism, nothing more, he thought. It could have been much worse; at least she has the sense to see why we must do this. And, in time, she will come to accept my reasons as her own. Twelve years is not long, not long at all. I must make sure she is occupied with many tasks; and if she has a daughter we might be able to keep the girl with us. I must pray hard for such mercies.

Part XI

Three years after Athanasius' birth, another heir, Nicostratus, was born. However, unlike his older brother Nicostratus came into the world with little fuss and a charming if slightly bemused look on his face. The second son also bore striking resemblance to Menaláos for he was blessed with his father's pale locks along with his mother's dark complexion; a combination which made it even more difficult for his parents to send him away to be raised in relative safety.

After his second son's secret departure Menaláos kept constant company by Helen's side, anxious to have his wife recover from her depression. He filled her time with escorted outings to the outskirts of Sparta, successfully distracting Helen from her loss. Though her freedom was limited to the palace during her childhood, Helen managed to learn archery and riding, and like most Spartan women Helen was remarkably athletic. Menaláos quickly learned to appreciate these qualities and the two made a striking couple whenever they were seen by the free citizens. Before long the royal couple became the major subject of gossip, and the talks quickly spread to other nations.

Troy received all such whispers, and Paris felt disheartened as the years passed and his rival remained alive and married to the woman promised to him. Nevertheless, the young prince remained faithful to his hope that the promise will be fulfilled. He lit the prayer fires dedicated to Aphrodite before dawn and prayed faithfully during sunset. This behavior earned him further mockery from his siblings and detractors who thought him a weakling. Even Hector thought such constant devotion was beneath a son of Priam and on many private occasions he gently tried to persuade his brother to lighten his time spent in the goddess' temple.

His insistences were kindly rebuffed by Paris and, as time passed Hector surrendered all hope of influencing his brother's behavior. However, Hector came to appreciate the fact that once his mind was set, Paris' course remained true and unswerving. And to Hector's delight the young shepherd was gifted with both bow and sword, though his riding abilities were woefully lacking. Hector made it his personal responsibility to train Paris until the adopted shepherd was as a fine a horseman as any Trojan warrior of royal blood.

As Hector became close with his brother, his relationship with Cassandra deteriorated. The princess found herself becoming more unpopular as her opinions of Paris became darker and more scathing. Even Hecuba openly berated her daughter for her attitude towards Paris but Cassandra would not soften her low estimation of the newest Trojan prince. It was this behavior which convinced Paris he will need allies in court and the brother patiently set out a campaign which won him many, the strongest being Hector.

However, it was Andromache and her father, Eetion, whom Paris openly curried favor and the two Thebans found themselves invited back to Priam's home on many celebratory occasions. Soon, Andromache was accepted into Priam's household as if she were his own daughter and the guest found herself spending more time in Troy than at home. This did not upset her much since she now had open excuse to be in Hector's company.

Paris, fully realizing Andromache's unfulfilled desires, quietly whispered her virtues to Hector's ear, making sure he never bored or annoyed Hector with his talk. Steadily and with great cunning Paris managed to convince Hector that Andromache was a woman worthy of being called wife and, more importantly, deserving of such title since she was not only the most beautiful woman in Thebes, but also the most virtuous.

Hecuba, though not fully aware of the reasons behind Paris' schemes, fully supported them for she found Andromache to be a true noble not only of blood but also in decorum, and an honest compatriot in a life filled with betrayers and sycophants. So, it was Hecuba who expressed favorable opinions about Eetion's daughter to Priam's ears and soon the king of Troy found himself in an unwitting alliance to match his firstborn to Andromache.

With such forces at work, Hector did not have a chance of withstanding the onslaught and within two years he was matched with Andromache. Trusting more in the opinion of others than those belonging to himself Hector was fortunate enough to find his family correct in their estimation of his bride. Andromache did not only fulfill the duties of her new position as his wife and future queen, she was also fiercely intelligent and endlessly devoted to his needs. Soon after their arranged marriage Hector found himself reciprocating her love and the two made equally happy counterpart to Sparta's ruling couple.

"There is news from Troy," Menaláos said.

Helen looked up from her loom, "What has happened?"

"Hector has wed a Theban noblewoman."

Helen's smile was sincere and heartfelt, "I am so glad. Do you know if the marriage was of his choice or arranged?"

"Arranged but according to both the groom and bride's wishes." Menaláos explained, relieved to see his wife genuinely happy for the wedding.

"We should send them an offering. They have done so with the births of our sons."

"Perhaps one of our foals. There is one whose bloodline is noble enough for our own children."

Helen gave an absent nod, her attention already returning to her work. Menaláos didn't further the conversation since he began it only to gauge his wife's reaction to the news. In his weaker moments Menaláos wondered if Helen did not regret her choice of husband though she never gave cause for him to doubt her loyalty to him and to their marriage.

Feeling a great burden has been lifted from his mind, Menaláos slyly added, "I have more news if you're not too preoccupied."

Helen looked at him with cautious eyes. She knew her husband all too well and his many mood swings.

"Athanasius has written us a letter."

Helen's mouth opened in shock as Menaláos revealed a scroll. "But he is still a child ... barely six..."

"Euneon has already informed us that our son is a great scholar."

"But he is only a babe! Menaláos, do not tease me so!" Helen exclaimed as she leapt to her feet.

Menaláos raised his arm over his head so Helen was unable to tear the scroll from his hand.

"Give it to me!" Helen cried as she frantically tried to take possession of the scroll.

Menaláos finally relented with laughter and the two collapsed onto a settee as Helen read the labored and childish writing.

"Mother," Helen said, "I am hungry..."

"I hardly doubt Euneon is starving the future king of Sparta," Menaláos dryly commented.

"But uncle feeds me well." Helen finished the statement with a tearful smile. "I am learning to swim and uncle tells me when I am tall enough I will have a pony. I want a white pony. Please tell father about the white pony. Everyone has brown pony. I want a white pony."

"I think that can be arranged." Menaláos said, earning a quick jab at his ribs.

"Please tell my brother to learn fast so I can write to him and he can write to me. Does he look like me? Uncle says he does. Can I see him when I see ... you."

Menaláos embraced his wife and whispered, "Soon, it will be soon. Only six more years and we will have Athanasius with us forever."

Helen rested her head on her husband's shoulder, "So long, six years is so long."

"It will seem shorter now that he's writing to us. You will see him grow and when he finally joins us, you will know the wisdom of raising him away from here. But there will still be enough youth left in him for us to mold, to foster, and to love."

Menaláos felt his wife's noiseless sigh tickle his neck and tightened his embrace. He knew Helen felt her loss very keenly though she took it as stoically as any Spartan female. Once again Menaláos sent a prayer to the heavens for a daughter. Even though the child will be sent away like her brothers, Menaláos planned to have the girl return to the palace when she reached the age of four. He smiled at the thought of reuniting his family and the joy Helen would feel on the day when she held all their children in her arms.

Priam heard the nimble footsteps and immediately knew who was approaching him.

"Paris, is that you?"

The footsteps came to an abrupt halt and the familiar dark head peeked around the corner.

"King Priam," Paris said with a deep bow of reverence.

"Attending to your duties at the temple?" Priam asked with open amusement. "Pleasing the goddess with your presence?"

"As always, father," Paris answered.

"Are you so desperate to find a wife?" Priam asked. "Because if you are, I can name you good twenty women who would like nothing better than to call you their husband."

Paris shook his head, "I fear none of the women whom I met are pleasing enough for me to make wife."

"Well, you still have your youth to excuse such an opinion though I think it will change soon enough. But, Paris, tell me -- this devotion ... why?"

"Because I wish to wed not only well but wisely."

"Wisely?" Priam echoed.

"One day in the future Hector will receive the crown of Troy and he will be a great ruler, as prophesized. And I, for one, believe the priests. All I can contribute to her welfare is to ensure that whomever I wed will bring blessings to our world. I wish to forge a powerful alliance with my bride's family -- one that will put an end to Agamémnon's raids on our ships and any plans he might have put into motion against Troy."

Priam threw back his head and laughed, "My dear boy, the only way to curtail Agamémnon's petty ambitions is to put him in chains! And the only army capable of doing it is being led by his only brother!"

"You speak of Sparta."

"Yes, I am," Priam said. "And the last I heard, for a man his age Menaláos' health is outstanding. His men have taken to calling him the White Bull behind his back."

Paris shrugged, "What the gods give, they can take back. King, I must go and attend to my duties."

Priam motioned for Paris to leave, "You have wild ambitions, I did not realize that."

Paris gave an innocent smile before departing for his duties. Priam stared after his son, his eyes narrowed in speculation and amusement. He surprised me, not an easy feat by any measure, Priam conceded if only to himself. I still see him as that naïve shepherd who came to rescue his stolen bull. How many years has it been since I've discovered Paris? Too long, it's been too long.

Priam shook himself out of his dark reveries and returned to his walk of the palace grounds.

Paris lit the scented oils and closed his eyes as he inhaled the smoke. The conversation he shared with his father unnerved him as he never did closely examine his desire to marry Helen.

Why did I say I wish to forge an alliance? Is that why I have been faithful for so long? Not for love but for power? Has my heart's desire been tainted by my stay here? Have I become so used to politics and its intrigues that they have poisoned me without my notice?

Paris opened his eyes and stared at the dancing flames in front of him. Even with his eyes open Paris could clearly recollect his dreams, and the inhumanely beautiful face that taunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

If I truly loved her, should I not rejoice in her good fortune? That she has a husband who truly loves her? Instead of praying for Menaláos' downfall, should I not pray for the opposite, if only to ensure Helen's welfare? Should I not move forth from this hopeless quest to pluck a fruit from another man's orchard?

Paris closed his eyes as tears fell. Enough. The time has come for me to let go of my obsession. Too long have I wasted my breath and dreams on her. On a promise that will never be fulfilled. Years I have spent praying and wishing and to what avail? My rival lives, and his bloodline flows through the three children Helen bore him. Their daughter, Hermione, is already legend for taking after her mother's fair face and she is still a baby. A baby I will never call mine.

Paris leaned forward and deliberately blew out the flames until he was ensconced in darkness.

Farewell, Helen. I hope never to see you because I will break if I do. I hope the goddess will be more merciful to you than she was towards me.

Paris raised himself from his kneeling position, his mind's eye slowly letting go of all his hidden dreams of Helen and himself, and a union that seemed all but impossible as he finally conceded defeat to Menaláos -- a rival he once believed unworthy competition and husband.

Paris was nearing the exit when he heard a roar explode behind him. He whirled around to see every prayer basin set afire with enormous flames that lit the entire temple as if the sun was housed within its walls.

My prayers have been answered. Paris realized as he felt cold numbness creep into his very marrow even as the heat from the flames brought forth sweat from his brow.

What have I done?

Euneon saw the body floating in the river but refused to believe the sight laid out in front of him. So the old soldier stood on the bank, his face a slackened work of fear and disbelief as Athanasius' body slowly drifted by him. Not long after, his sister found them and it was she who dove into the water, screaming with grief and pain as she pulled the tiny corpse from the leeching bank weeds.

Nicostratus' nursemaid anxiously watched as her husband placed the young boy on the pony's back.

"See?" Teukros said to his worried wife, genuinely annoyed by her overprotective behavior towards their charge. "The boy is a natural horseman, like his father. Besides, it's time for Nico to learn how to ride."

Nicostratus gave a toothy smile and waved at the woman. Then he adjusted himself in the saddle, unconsciously mimicking Teukros' movements. It was then Helias saw the snake winding itself to strike. Before she could cry out a warning the horse reared on its hind legs, throwing the boy off the saddle.

Teukros tried to catch the child as he became airborne but he wasn't fast enough and Nicostratus hit the ground with a soft thud. Helias rushed to the boy and carefully lifted him into her embrace, whispering his name. Only when Nicostratus' head was raised from the ground did Teukros see the bloodied stone.

The second prince never gained consciousness and passed his final breath as the sun fell on Sparta.

Menaláos could not breathe, and felt he had no need to. In one afternoon he was left almost childless.

"Hermione..." Menaláos whispered tearfully as he watched the sunrise lighten the palace garden.

"I forfeit my life, General," Euneon said, his voice reflecting his broken soul. "Do with it as you wish. I only ask that you spare my sister for she was nowhere near the river."

"How ... I thought you said Athanasius was a good swimmer."

"For a lad his age, your son was a great athlete. I cannot explain what had happened -- only that the misfortune ... seemed almost preplanned."

Menaláos took a deep breath. "Aegisthus, that viper..."

Euneon's eyes hardened, "Do you think it possible that he is behind the deaths?"

"One death, yes, I can accept," Menaláos said with labored breath, "But not two. Never two. Two princes, living two separate lives, neither knowing where the other is and both are murdered on the same day?"

"Wasn't Nicostratus' death attributed to a snake?"

"Or so Teukros claims," Menaláos said. "Perhaps he was speaking the truth, but do you honestly believe the deaths to be coincidences? If you consider Helen?"

"Zeus would not look away from his grandchildren." Euneon said slowly.

"No, but who is to say the god was not distracted? By a foul prayer and even fouler craft?" Menaláos said. "And I know Aegisthus is more than able to perform such dark acts against his own blood."

"He must be hunted down, General. He must be caught. If anything happens to Hermione, your wife will perish from the grief."

Menaláos nodded, "You must find her. Bring her to safety - a temple would be the best sanctuary, and you must guard her until I find my murderous cousin. And when I do, I will gut him with my bare hands and feed his entrails to my hounds -- only then will I be satisfied."

"Will you tell your brother?"

"No, I will not reveal this tragedy to anyone, because if Helen finds out ... you already said it, Euneon. She will die."

Euneon's mouth dropped open in disbelief, "General, surely you do not plan to keep this a secret from your own wife! Funeral arrangements must be made, prayers must be sent. She is their mother!"

"Listen to me! I am the King of Sparta because she wed me, Euneon! If Helen dies, the people will no longer see me as their leader but the man responsible for the deaths of two princes and their goddess! A second prince of a foreign land who slowly but surely worked his poison into Tyndareus' palace until nothing but bloodbath could cleanse the curse that is Menaláos from Sparta. Then the man who takes my place will declare war with Mycenae and whoever sides with Agamémnon, which might very well be Odysseus because we know Penelope will not stand to see her only surviving cousin in danger."

Euneon lost all sensation to his legs and crumpled to the floor, his imagination finally recognizing the threat Menaláos was all too aware of.

"There will be nothing left," Menaláos continued. "Ithaca ... Mycenae ... Sparta, we will burn until only ashes and widows' tears remain. All this will happen if any harm comes to Helen. You did not live within these walls as I have. I have witnessed the people's devotion to her, Euneon. Even the slaves work harder when they are made to realize the bounty of their labor benefits her. Her statue stands next to her father's in his temple, Euneon. In his temple."

Menaláos leaned over and helped his faithful soldier to his feet, "I need you to protect Hermione. I need you to see her to safety and keep her out of harm's way while I hunt after my cousin. Do this, for me, my old friend."

Euneon gave a bow, "My life is yours to do as your want dictates. I am grateful that you believe me and spare me to prove myself worthy of your confidence. Choose whoever you can trust, and I will lead them to Hades and back if I must."

Menaláos fiercely embraced his friend before Euneon left him to his worst nightmares.

They are dead. My sons, my beautiful sons are dead. I cannot reveal ... not to Helen. Later, later when I have the head of the monster responsible for this tragedy, only then can I tell her of our bloody loss.

Noiselessly Menaláos began dressing for the day, dreading the moment when he would see Helen and lie to her, again and again. And still, his entire being strained to run to her and rest in her arms even as she lay sleeping in their bed.

Another son, we will have more sons. Surely Zeus wouldn't abandon his daughter now. He will bless us with more children and I will not make the same mistake again. They will live here, in the palace, under their mother's protection and blessings. Helen will forgive me then. Helen will understand that I only meant to do the best for her, for us. For Sparta.

Menaláos washed his face and composed himself as he exited his private chambers to wake his wife for morning fare. He took a deep breath before entering their bedchamber, his eyes almost betraying his turmoil as he watched Helen sleep. Menaláos leaned over and gently kissed Helen awake, his smile never betraying the dark plans he formulated in order to ensnare Aegisthus; wherever his cousin may have taken refuge.

For Sparta!

Cassandra was so still she unnerved everyone who watched the seeress examine the falling rain with unblinking eyes.

"I never did see such weather," Hecuba commented, trying to overcome the hush that rippled through the court. "I wonder if Paris is still riding."

Cassandra turned to her mother, "He is. We should not disturb him for he has a visitor."

Hecuba gave a pleading glance towards Hector and the oldest son dutifully left the relative safety of the palace to find his younger brother who was missing for better part of the rainy morning.

Paris departed at dawn to hone his saddle craft outside the walls of Troy. So, the thunderstorm caught him by surprise, but the youth, long practiced in dealing with hostile weather, found shelter in a cave carved into a rocky gorge. He wondered if he should get some fire going when he felt water trickle on the floor, dampening his sandals.

"Paris," A voice whispered from behind him, resonating deep within the darkness.

Paris whirled around, his eyes wide with fright. "Who is there?"

"Have you forgotten already, faithless lover?"

"Oenone?" Paris whispered, his hands reaching into the darkness, "Can that truly be you?"

A ghostly figure came forth, as if summoned by Paris' straining hands. The woman's eyes were the color of the purest brook, and her hair fell around the fair face in waves of speckled gold. But the figure was pitifully thin, and what could have been a beautiful woman now seemed almost skeletal to any mortal.

"I waited," Oenone said tearfully. "I waited until I could not. So I came to find the lover who abandoned me for pretty trinkets and handsome robes."

Paris did not drop his gaze but instead raised his chin in defiance. "I loved you once but no more. Another has been promised to me."

"You dare speak of the creature, in front of me!" Oenone lashed out. "In front of the woman who taught you the secrets of the land and water! To me, the one you promised to wed!"

"Then you have seen her also," Paris said, "You know of Aphrodite's promise then."

"Do not listen to promises made by fickle gods," Oenone pleaded, "Come back with me, to Ida where we were happy and safe. Come back to the singing rivers and dreaming hills. I can make you forget. I know of herbs and drinks that can erase even the deepest of pains. I have watched you, Paris. I know of your suffering. Come back with me and I can make it all disappear."

"I cannot," Paris said. "I will not."

"Paris, do you not understand?" Oenone said, her voice drowning in desperation. "I have seen what this woman will do. She will destroy your world with her beauty, but worse, you will not see it. No one in Troy will see the curse that she is. They will pity her and think you righteous, but it will all end in flames. Your brother will die, Paris. Hector will be murdered because of this woman. His body dragged..."

"I will hear no more of this!" Paris shouted, standing up then backing away from the woman. "Why should I listen to a woman half mad with jealousy? Your poison against her is the same as Cassandra's hatred against me. Be gone! I release you from our promise. I love you no longer, daughter of Cebren, so your magic no longer has any hold over me. Be gone!"

Paris buried his face in his palms as a terrible scream echoed in the small cavern. Then all that was left was the sound of the falling rain as it petered out. Only when there was silence did Paris lift his face. He found himself alone. With great alacrity Paris ran out of the shelter and nimbly got on his horse. He tore out of the gorge; his eyes so blinded by tears he nearly collided with Hector who managed to track him into the cave.

"Easy, brother," Hector said. "What has happened? You look like a madman!"

Paris took a trembling breath and said, "Nothing. I ... fell asleep and had a terrible dream. So terrible because I did not know it was a dream and believed it to be real."

Hector did not bother to hide his concern, "Are you well now?"

Paris nodded, "The nightmare has passed. Hector, why did you come looking for me?"

The older brother looked uncomfortable but finally said, "Cassandra ... she said something and the tone of her voice worried me."

Paris closed his eyes and sighed deeply, "I do not know what I have done to earn such wrath, and more puzzling is her animosity towards me since she is so loving and gentle with you, Hector."

"Mother thinks Cassandra might be ill, and that she privately believes you to be the cause of the malady. Do not ask, we have requested our best physicians from all our lands but none can find any reasonable explanation for her condition."

"Perhaps, then, my absence might induce better mood from our sister?"

"What do you mean?" Hector asked.

"I thought to travel, Hector. To be an emissary for Troy -- visit foreign lands; strengthen our friendships with the Achaeans. Also ... to pray at their temples for my folly."

"Paris, it was a hunting accident, the gods will not blame you for spilling your friend's blood." Hector said in the gentlest tone he could manage. "You could not have known he was riding through the copse."

"Still, I would feel better. What say you? Will you sponsor my request to father?"

"Of course I will. And it is a sound plan. I will personally draft an introduction so you can travel safely through their lands. I think my old acquaintances, especially Odysseus, will greet you with open arms and drown you with news of their worlds. They do so love to trade in gossip."

"Courtly intrigue," Paris said sardonically. "The most accepted currency of our world."

Hector threw back his head and laughed, and the two brothers chatted amiably as they returned to Troy.

Helen received her sons' letters often enough that she did not worry about their welfare. However, she could not say the same for Menaláos. There were moments when Helen truly worried for her husband's health and sanity. Sometimes he would spend days in her presence, never letting her out of his sight, then he would disappear for length of days, one time for an entire season. Helen partially believed her husband's excuses -- that there were pirates, wreckers who constantly hounded their shores for booty and victims.

Nevertheless, the queen felt Menaláos was taking on too many duties, most of which should be dispersed to others. She wondered if Agafia could help her in discovering the cause of her husband's strange behavior and went looking for her nursemaid. Helen found the woman in Zeus' temple. The servant was in a small room located at the back where the priests lived.

"Agafia, what are you doing?" Helen asked.

"Oh, Evande finally passed away." Agafia answered.

"The scriber? I thought he returned to his village some time ago."

Agafia shook her head, "He went for a visit, that's all. He returned but his health paid a heavy price for his travels. I am cleaning out his room, making sure his wishes will be carried out. He was a good man."

"He was so quiet," Helen said. "I barely knew him and he's been with my family since before my birth."

"He was studious, always promised to teach me how to read and write." Agafia said with a sad smile. "I was too busy though and the truth be told, so was he. Look at this, he has bags filled with his writings. And some still unfinished!"

Helen opened a small leather satchel. At first she didn't recognize what she was seeing until she lifted one missive and recognized the seal.

How did a scriber come to possess Athanasius' letter?

Her frown grew as Helen emptied the contents onto a table. It took her a breath's moment to realize what was laid out in front of her. Slowly and with great deliberation Helen broke open every sealed letter, reading the contents again and again. When she finished her dark eyes were wide with shock and confusion. However, by the time Helen stumbled into her bedchamber she had finally unraveled the mystery that was her husband.

The Curse of Atreus finally found Menaláos.

Part XII

"Where is my queen?" Menaláos asked. "I expected her to greet me when I arrived."

Agafia glanced around and whispered, "I need to speak with you. It is most urgent."

Menaláos saw the fear and confusion in her eyes and immediately nodded his consent. The slave drew him into an abandoned corner, away from his men and stablehands.

"She has withdrawn into her chambers and refuses to leave. My King, she will not take meals."

"What?" Menaláos asked, "How long since she has eaten?"

"Four days, five evenings." Agafia answered, "Ever since we talked about Evande's death."

"He ... he's dead? When?"

"Two days after your departure."

"How did she know about his passing?"

"She came looking for me in the temple and found me in his room," Agafia stopped talking as Menaláos stumbled backwards, his pallor increasing dramatically.

"Did she ... did she discover his writings?"

"Yes, she did. She took a bag full of them with her when she left." Agafia answered feverishly. "My King, did Evande know something Helen should not?"

"It is none of your concern," Menaláos answered with a lifeless voice. "I must see Helen, now."

Helen closed her eyes; even though Menaláos was still far from her chambers, she felt the air shift in front of her husband as he rushed towards her.

How well I know you, my beloved traitor. Even though we are apart, I can feel you come to me. So, let us now face each other plain, without deceit or masks. Let me judge you as you are, not as you fooled me into believing you to be.

Menaláos entered the room to discover Helen standing in the center, her gaze leveled on him.

"Agafia has told me of your fasting. It is ill work to starve yourself, Helen."

"Spartan mothers fast when they mourn the loss of their child, especially a son. And I have lost two."

"Helen, I spared you from a grief that would have killed you. And Hermione lives. She is safe with..."

"So you say," Helen answered, her voice becoming harsher. "But how do I know the creature you call daughter to be the one I gave birth to? What is to say she isn't a changeling you fostered to fool me into believing my child lives?"

"Helen, she has your eyes. Just one look at her face and you will know she..."

"From you? Should I trust anything that fall from your lips? You who promised me they would be safe, away from here, away from me! And more fool was I to have believed your argument. To let you convince me that my blood -- my power wasn't good enough to protect them! Curse us both, you for their deaths, me for letting you slaughter them!"

Menaláos shook his head, slowly stepping forward with his hands stretched out in front of him. "Helen, it was not I ... there is another, an enemy I never spoke of in the hopes that he had perished before I left Mycenae."

"Of course there is," Helen said, half laughing, half sobbing. "Of course you have a blood enemy. Tell me, Menaláos, how could he have known where our sons were hidden? I know I never spoke of them, not even in my dreams did I reveal their whereabouts. So, tell me, husband, who is the traitor?"

"I do not know as of yet, but I swear..."

"I do, Menaláos." Helen interrupted her husband, "I know who the traitor is. He is standing in front of me. Traitor to his children; betrayer of his wife; murderer of the throne of Sparta! May you be repaid with the same kindness you have shown me. Get out of my sight, you defile the very air I breathe with your presence!"

Menaláos felt the air suddenly grow unbearably cold; then a gust of wild wind hit him flat on his face, driving him back until he was literally standing outside Helen's chamber. The heavy doors slammed on his face on their own volition as Helen had not moved from her spot.

Menaláos touched the door and then jerked back his hands. His fingertips burned as if he stuck his hands into living flame. And as he examined them, the skin blistered and turned red.

"Helen..." Menaláos whispered as he stared numbly at the closed doors. "Helen..."

Paris managed to quell a yawn and gave a bleary look at the priest as the man continued chanting. It was astonishing revelation for the Trojan as he realized the Achaeans actually liked their prayers to be daylong, sometimes stretching into days. Not even the most devout Trojan priest would dare to keep his audience captive for more than half a day.

A sudden rustle of whispers immediately grabbed his interest and Paris slyly took a look over his shoulder to see a stranger enter the temple.

"Who is he?" Paris asked the man kneeling next to him.

"That is Menaláos, King of Sparta!" The man answered, "So the rumors are true!"

"What rumors?" Paris asked.

"That he has fallen out of favor with his queen."

"What?" Paris asked, shocked. "When did this happen?"

"Some time ago; it is said Menaláos has been making pilgrimage to all the holy sites, asking for guidance, and some say, for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness for what?"

"I do not know. But whatever wrong he has done against his wife, it must be great because it is rumored he has turned half-mad with grief and fear."

Paris no longer bothered to hide his curiosity and openly examined the man as he marched to the front of the temple.

He is old! His hair is near white! How old was he when he married Helen? He looks thin enough for me to break with one grasp.

Menaláos suddenly veered to his right and to Paris' amazement took the empty spot next to him. It was in such close proximity that Paris realized he made a mistake about the king's age. The man possessed such fair-colored hair, it looked white under certain light. In reality, it was yellow, probably made paler by the sun. The face was grooved with lines of age but it looked more of the king's own making than time. And the man was thin because he was trimmed of any excess weight.

Warrior king, Paris concluded. A man primed for killing if nothing else. I wonder if he arrived in Sparta as such a creature, or if Sparta carved him into her own likeness.

Menaláos kept his head bowed humbly low, ignoring all the talks and gossip floating about him as the priest droned on. Paris did not initiate any conversation; instead, he waited patiently while his mind furiously dreamt up a plan.

The priest, as if aggravated by the distraction brought into his temple by the Spartan intruder, rushed through the rest of his recitals and stormed away in a huff of annoyance and fluttering robes. People began pushing forward with their tributes but when Menaláos stood up, the crowd parted immediately to let him pass. Paris quickly followed the rushing figure as Menaláos strode to the firepit.

Menaláos muttered words Paris could not decipher and then threw a garland of leaves into the fire. Paris quickly offered his tribute of precious coins and once again shadowed the king outside. Paris saw the Spartan guards, still on their horses, looking tired and dusty from their travels.

"King Menaláos," Paris said loudly.

The golden head whirled around and a pair of bright blue eyes seized Paris, nailing him to the steps.

"Who calls me?"

"I ... apologies, King, I should have introduced myself properly." Paris explained, "I am Paris, brother of Hector."

"Of Troy?"

"Yes, and Priam's son," Paris said with an elegant bow. "I am visiting our Achaean allies on behalf of my brother and father -- to foster the goodwill that was created years ago by Tyndareus."

Paris' sharp gaze did not miss Menaláos' eyes sliding downwards in guilt. So you have betrayed her my ambitious fool! I wonder what you have done to make her turn away from you...

"I had planned to visit Sparta on behalf of Troy after Ithaca but since you are here, I may not need to lengthen my traveling days. You and your men only just arrived?"

"That is so."

"Then let me offer my home as a place of refuge. The sun's setting and city becomes less friendly after nightfall. Hector would have wanted me to do at least that much on his behalf."

Menaláos smiled tiredly, "Thank you, that is most kind."

"No kindness, King. Just good manners. My home is this way."

Paris waited leisurely in the mail hall for his guests to arrive. He did not expect them to hurry to the tables since Menaláos was king and he only a prince of second note. And when the Spartans finally entered the banqueting room Paris immediately dismissed the servants and the musicians so they could have total privacy. He suspected Menaláos would speak more freely without the presence of strangers.

Menaláos took a long drink of the wine before speaking. "Your hospitality has been flawless. Again, my thanks. I did not realize how tired my men and I were until we actually rested."

"May I recommend this juice instead of wine?" Paris said, holding a jug. "After a long ride, wine can be more harmful than good."

Menaláos smiled crookedly, "And what is this miracle drink?"

"Made of pomegranate and pears."

Paris was astonished to see the men pale at his answer. "What is it?"

"Pomegranate ... that is food of the dead," Menaláos said, his eyes wide with caution and wary admiration. "You drink its juice?'

"Yes, it is a popular in Troy, especially amongst the horsemen."

Menaláos took the cup and cautiously sipped it. It was a polite gesture and he laid down the goblet as soon as he deemed fit.

"Have you traveled from Sparta?" Paris asked after the men started eating.

"No, we have come from Amyclae," Menaláos answered. "But this is the end of my travels; I am returning home."

"I hear Sparta's lands are green your rivers to be bountiful."

"Indeed, my wife's homeland is blessed with many gifts from the gods." Menaláos answered truthfully, with honest longing etched onto his answer.

My wife's homeland, he said, Paris realized. He didn't say his home. That in it of itself is very telling.

"Tell me, prince - you made an offering, why?" Menaláos asked.

He is not as dim-witted as I thought him to be, Paris thought wryly. As exhausted as he must be, he was aware of my actions without my notice.

"I was the cause of my friend's death." Paris answered. "He was separated from the hunting party because of a lame hound. We still do not know why he dismounted from his horse and tracked the boar on foot. I didn't know what he had done; I only saw the trembling of leaves and heard the rustling of the grass. I thought it was the boar and shot my arrow. To my everlasting regret, my aim was true. He was doomed the moment my arrow fled the bow."

"Though you are the cause, the blames is not yours," Menaláos said.

"Nevertheless, I feel I must make some atonement for what I had done. He was a good friend and a trustworthy attendant. His absence is mourned by many within the palace and without."

"So, any news from Hector?" Menaláos briskly asked, wanting to change the topic of the conversation.

Paris smiled, "All is well with Troy and her companion cities. My mother is heckling for a grandchild. However, she is mild compared to my father."

Menaláos paled slightly, "I, myself, was praying for my daughter, Hermione earlier."

"What has happened? Is she ill?" Paris asked, genuinely alarmed.

"No, I was wishing ... I wondered if it would be wise for my daughter to return to Sparta."

"Is her safety threatened?"

"Yes, that was the reason why I took her away from Sparta. However, I have received intelligence that I acted rashly by doing so and placed my child in greater danger by removing her from the palace."

"I would imagine Hermione would be safest with her mother." Paris said, "If what Hector says is true; I cannot imagine a better protector than your wife."

Menaláos' smile turned even more bitter, "I have reached that very same conclusion this evening. I wish I had realized earlier."

"You speak of your daughter, what of your sons?"

Paris immediately noticed the tension rise in the room. Menaláos' attendants' postures stiffened visibly, as if expecting the King of Sparta to make an unexpected move.

Something has happened with the sons. What has Menaláos done with his princes?

"My sons..." Menaláos whispered, "They ... have fallen."

Paris was rendered speechless by his guest's unsolicited confession. He stared at Menaláos, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Menaláos saw the pure disbelief on his host's face and barked a harsh laughter.

"It is the truth," Menaláos said. "They were murdered."

"How? Who could have done such a foul deed?" Paris asked hoarsely.

"My cousin."

"And where is this murderous beast?"

"I do not know," Menaláos answered. "And I sent many soldiers to track him down. I, myself, have spent days trying to hunt Aegisthus, but all I have to show for my troubles are unconfirmed rumors."

"Then it would be wise for you to return to your queen." Paris said without hesitation, trying to hide his eagerness as his mind sought to weave plans within plans.

"Why do you say so?" Menaláos asked.

"Because this cousin of yours would probably like nothing less than to ensure you are far away from Helen."

"You do not know my wife. She can defend herself; unlike most Achaeans women, Spartan females are warriors themselves, and you must know Helen cannot be harmed."

"So I've been told," Paris agreed, "However, she might come to harm through personal grief and sheer self-neglect; and in her weakened condition, who is to say a potent poison might not harm your wife? Or ... make her barren?"

Paris watched as his well-chosen words took their hold over Menaláos.

"I did not think..."

"No, of course not, King." Paris said soothingly. "In your grief, how could you think of such treachery? But, if this cousin is capable of killing Athanasius and Nicostratus, then we cannot even begin to fathom what evils he is planning to perpetrate against your house, and the throne of Sparta."

"I must depart immediately," Menaláos said. "What fool was I to partake in this pilgrimage!"

"King, you must rest if only for the night." Paris argued, "Both your men and your horses must be tired from the long ride from Amyclae to Pharis. You will do your wife no good to arrive exhausted and mind unclear from hardship."

Menaláos didn't have to look at his men to know they agreed with his host. "I thank you for your generosity, and more for your wisdom."

"It is my pleasure to help my brother's friend."

"I wonder, would you like to visit Sparta? To see our lands as Hector has done."

Paris smiled, "I must confess I am nearly overwhelmed with curiosity about your world. Hector has told such stories, and with such flair I do not know if he was speak the truth or planning to drive me mad with his tales."

"Then accept my invitation and let us once again fortify the alliance between Sparta and Troy."

"I will be most honored to do so. Thank you, gracious King." Paris answered.

Paris begrudgingly admired the Spartans' riding skills. He was renown in Troy for his horsemanship, but Menaláos and his men had little difficulty in keeping up with the Trojan prince. They were only half-day's ride from Sparta when a rider Menaláos sent ahead to Sparta returned.

"What has happened?" Menaláos asked in alarm.

"Your grandfather, Catreus, has passed away. The Queen was told of his passing three days ago."

Menaláos closed his eyes and sighed in relief, "That was expected. I must go to Crete and perform my duties." He turned to Paris and said, "I will assign an escort so you may reach Sparta in safety. Please tell Helen I will return as soon as it is feasible."

"I will convey any message you wish to give me."

It took Menaláos brief moment to prepare for his travels and as Paris watched him disappear, he knew it wouldn't be long before the king returned to Sparta.

I do not have much time. Not if he is half as eager as I think he is to see Helen again. I must work quickly and send for my ship. Just in case.

Helen was given the news of her guests' arrival and reluctantly prepared for their stay. She had no care for their comfort or well-being but she had been too long trained in the art of proper reception to ignore her duties. She gave orders to Agafia who was only too glad of the foreign diversion, and many servants within the palace hoped the guest would succeed where they did not -- to wake their queen from her inconsolable grief.

Helen waited on the front steps of the palace. Even in her gaunt state, she still made a striking figure, and the palace guards openly stared at her as the regal woman patiently waited for the arrival of the guests.

Paris entered first, unescorted as he planned. He wanted Helen to see him alone. When he saw Helen's eyes widen in surprise he knew he had succeeded. Paris gracefully dismounted and walked towards Helen, his gaze never swerving from hers. He saw the great sadness paling her face, but he also saw the undefeatable loveliness -- the heart-rending beauty that was the cause of all his grief and hope.

"My queen," Paris whispered and kneeled in front of her.

I know that voice, Helen puzzled. Where have I heard that voice?

"It is I, Paris of Troy. It is a truly blessed honor to finally meet Sparta's most beloved lady."

Paris moved swiftly as he prevented Helen's senseless form from hitting the ground. The servants all rushed to his aid but Paris refused to relinquish his burden. Instead, he carried Helen to the inner chambers where Agafia waited with anxiety and great fear.

"What has happened to your Queen?" Paris asked.

"Her health has been failing of late," Agafia answered guardedly. "But it's no concern for outsiders."

"You speak freely for a slave. Your master must trust your discretion, perhaps too much?" Paris said, his voice soft but his threat unmistakable.

Agafia lowered her eyes immediately in a sign of deference. Both Menaláos and Helen had become unpredictable in their moods and she could no longer trust either for protection. And the stranger from Troy terrified her. It was as if he could read her every motive and scheme with a single glance.

Who are you? What are you? Agafia thought as she surreptitiously watched the tall man exit the chamber.

As if hearing her unspoken question, Paris turned around and smiled lightly, but Agafia noticed the smile did not reach the hard, dark eyes. It was only then the servant realized the visitor was one of those who walked with the gods. Like Helen, the Trojan guest radiated the unearthly power given to those favored by the gods. Not since Achilles did Agafia sense such power and wondered if the prince was friend or foe.

Paris waited patiently for Helen to join him in the late meal. He had made sure all his men were dismissed for the night save one faithful escort who was given orders to sneak out of Sparta and make contact with the captain of his ship.

He felt her presence before he heard the light footsteps. Unlike other Achaean noblewomen, Helen seemed to prefer to move about the palace barefoot and her hair uncovered. He humbly raised his eyes from the goblet resting in front of him.

"I must apologize for my uncomely behavior earlier. My health has been taxed of late," Helen apologized tonelessly.

"No need, King Menaláos has told me of your troubles." Paris answered, "It grieves me to hear such tragic news."

Helen gave a small bow of gratitude before taking her place.

"Your husband wanted me to tell you he will return to Sparta as soon as possible, and that he will bring Hermione with him."

Paris carefully watched Helen's reaction to his announcement. He noticed no change in her expression and puzzled as to why she seemed to be unconcerned about her only living child's welfare; especially since her other children were dead.

Perhaps she doesn't believe Hermione is alive; could she be correct? What madness has befallen on Tyndareus' House?

Pushing aside his dark suspicions, Paris brought forth all his considerable charm and grace, and steadily, with great cunning, Paris seduced Helen into a humorous conversation which entertained both deep into the night. Any eavesdropper, being only too glad to discover Helen resembling her old self, suspected no wrongdoing on the part of the Trojan prince and many were actually glad of his presence in the palace.

Helen finally retired for the evening, but not before promising her guest a tour of the hills surrounding Sparta. She believed she would not be able to sleep, but her exhaustion finally overwhelmed both her confusion and curiosity, and for the first time since her discovery of her sons' murders Helen fell victim to deep, dreamless sleep.

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