‘What’s that?’
She smiled, delighted to be the one to impart something exciting. ‘An army.’
‘Really? What for?’
‘To take back Mycenae.’ Helen tossed her head. ‘They’re taking what’s theirs. Their uncle killed their father and exiled them when they were children. Now they’re men, and they have the support of Sparta.’
I knew that much of the story. Menelaus and Agamemnon were sons of Atreus, whose brother, Thyestes, had murdered him for the throne and cast them out. I suppose he had just enough mercy not to want the blood of children on his hands. That was the crime for which their family had been cursed by the gods generations before: the crime of Tantalus.
Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Menelaus intrigued Helen, I thought. The old legend of the family was one we’d heard before, a grisly story that chilled the blood but seemed so distant from reality. Now it was a step closer – two brothers seeking justice, healing the wounds of a tortured family with one final act.
‘Won’t Menelaus want to go back to Mycenae, then?’ I asked.
‘No, Agamemnon will take Mycenae,’ Helen said. ‘Menelaus is happy to be here.’
So, Menelaus would get the prize of Helen and Agamemnon would have the city. No doubt that seemed a fair bargain to them both.
‘It’s just a question of what they do about the boy.’
‘Which boy?’
‘Aegisthus,’ Helen said. ‘The son of Thyestes – just a boy, like they were when Thyestes killed their father.’
‘Won’t they exile him, too?’
Helen raised an eyebrow. ‘And let him grow up like they did? Nurturing the same dreams that they did? Agamemnon won’t want to risk it.’
I shuddered. ‘He won’t want to kill a little boy, though, surely?’ I could understand the brutal logic of it, but I couldn’t bring myself to picture the young men I’d seen in that hall plunging a sword into a weeping child.
‘Maybe not.’ Helen stood up, smoothing out her dress. ‘But let’s not talk about war any longer. It’s my wedding day, after all.’
Later, I slipped away from the celebrations. They would go on all night, I was sure, hours still to come of feasting and drinking, but I was tired and felt strangely flat. I wasn’t in the mood to dodge the increasingly drunken nobility of Sparta; the usually stern and severe military generals becoming red-faced and loose-tongued, their clumsy hands groping out like the tentacles of an octopus. All were puffed up with self-congratu-lation at the alliance and the oath sworn by all the important men of Greece to defend Menelaus’ prize. Their loyalty was bound to Sparta.
I walked to the riverbank. Wide and lazy, the Eurotas wound its way through our city to the distant southern harbour, which was the only way any foreign invaders could reach us. To the other sides, the great mountains of Taygetus and Parnon towered west and east, whilst the northern uplands were equally impenetrable to any army. We were snug in our valley, protected and fortified against any who might come intent on sacking us for the wealth and lovely women that gave us our fame. And now the loveliest of them all had a waiting army ready to rise up in her honour against any possible enemy. No wonder the men relaxed and drank deeply tonight.
Beacons burned across the valley, bright flames in the darkness proclaiming the momentous importance of the day. Smoke would be rising from every shrine, carrying the savour of the pure white bullocks whose throats had been slit, taking it up to the Olympians through the black skies.
I had noticed that Agamemnon alone held himself apart from the celebrations. No doubt he was preoccupied by the impending invasion of Mycenae. And Helen’s new husband would be gone within days, off to fight alongside his brother. They had an army, and I knew that Spartan soldiers were renowned for their skill and ferocity. There was little to worry about. But it was there, in the back of my mind, the sneaking, treacherous worm of a thought. If the battle didn’t go in favour of the brothers, if they didn’t come back, then nothing would have to change. Helen and I could go on a little longer, as we’d always been.
I shook my head, as though I could dislodge the idea altogether. It would all change, even more so. A hundred men had come to marry her, the next one would take Menelaus’ place in an instant.
And then I saw him, half hidden in the shadows.
His head turned at the same moment, and our eyes met. I saw his surprise and confusion, a mirror of mine.
‘I didn’t realise anyone else was out here,’ he said, making to withdraw.