Valerio Manfredi - Heroes

‘Helen never went to Ilium,’ said the king behind him. ‘She never left the land of the Achaeans. The whole time we were at war she was hidden away at Delos, protected by an impenetrable secret.’

‘I. . I cannot believe what I see,’ said the prince, and his eyes were full of stupor. ‘How can this be? Is it a prodigy of the gods? A trick. . an illusion for the eyes?’

‘She is as you see her,’ said the king. And he returned on his steps. Orestes, still as stone, couldn’t take his eyes off the queen, her soft, proud step as she crossed the shadowy room, as the oil that the handmaids had poured into the lamps was consumed. A moment later, the divine Helen disappeared into a dark corridor. Her maidservants followed her as the lamps went out, one by one. The last one remained lit for a while, illuminating the marvellous weaving. The quivering light licked at the lamenting women and in the silence that enveloped the great house, the young prince thought he heard weeping.

They returned to the banquet hall and the prince approached the woman who was still sitting there. She held a golden cup that the handmaids had brought her in her hands; it was full of wine.

‘This is the woman who followed Paris to Ilium,’ said Menelaus behind him. Orestes drew nearer until he was very close. Her gaze was unperturbed, her lips curling in a slight smile, her forehead very smooth and perfectly white. She touched his face with a caress and said: ‘Welcome to our home, son.’

‘But. . but this is the same person,’ stammered the prince.

‘No,’ said the king. ‘Look, the mole she has on her right shoulder has been tattooed. A priest from Asia came all this way to do it. No one here in the land of the Achaeans knows this art.’ He brushed it with his fingers. ‘See? It is not a mole, it is perfectly flat. Otherwise she is the very portrait of your aunt.’

‘But that can’t be. . the gods cannot have created the most beautiful woman in the world twice.’

‘I saw her by chance among a group of slaves that a Ponikjo ship had unloaded at the market on the seashore. She was dirty and ragged, her hands were black and her nails broken. She was full of bruises and wounds and yet I was awed by her beauty and, above all, by how much she resembled the queen. I couldn’t understand why she was in such a sorry state. Even the stupidest of merchants realizes that a slave in those conditions isn’t worth half her real price.

‘I thought that if I cured her, washed her and fed her, the resemblance would be perfect. I bought her without haggling over the price those greedy pirates wanted. I thought that somehow this marvellous resemblance could prove useful to me. . and I knew that. .’

Orestes listened as if he were beside himself, still not able to accept what his eyes were telling him. He turned again and again towards the woman seated so close to him; she had caressed him, she had called Castor her ‘beloved brother’, she had said ‘our home’ as only a queen can say, she sat and spoke like only a queen can sit and speak. And then he turned towards the king who was continuing his story, but in his eyes a light of ire and suspicion was growing.

‘I knew that. . in any case, she had to belong to me. I could not bear the thought that another man might, sooner or later, discover her beauty and take his pleasure with her as I take my pleasure with my legitimate bride.’

The woman got up just then, took a pitcher from the table and poured wine into two golden cups, which she handed to the prince and King Menelaus. She then said to Orestes: ‘It is time for me to retire to my rooms and leave you alone, but first I will have your bed made up myself. May the gods grant you a good night.’

She took her leave of the king with a slight nod of her head and a smile, and went off.

The house was enveloped in night and silence. The only sounds to be heard were the steps of the warriors on sentry duty in the great outer portico, their voices as they exchanged orders and the barking of the guard dogs. The king’s gaze was far away, his brow clouded over. Perhaps in that moment it was the call of the sentinels on the ramparts built to defend the ships from the fury of Hector and Aeneas that rang in his ears; perhaps he heard the groans of the wounded and the shrieks of the dying.

The prince stared into his absent eyes: ‘You set off the war to recapture a slave. . the kings of the Achaeans suffered injury, pain and death over a slave. . kingdoms overturned, thrones bloodied. . all of this. . for nothing more than a slave!’ He pounded his fist on the table, jolting the cups. ‘I want nothing from you. I do not want your help and I will not remain in this house another instant.’ He sprang to his feet but the king barred his way, towering over him, and the sudden movement of his head stirred up his long red hair like a vortex of flames.

‘That was not the reason, I told you!’ Menelaus’s voice blared out suddenly in the silence like a war horn. ‘She was not the reason the war was fought,’ he said again, his voice lower after the prince had blanched and dropped his head. ‘She was a combatant. . more fearsome than the cunning of Ulysses, than the ire of Achilles, than the might of Great Ajax!’

‘But you told me. .’ began Orestes.

‘Yes, I told you that I could not bear the thought that another man might take his pleasure with the living image of my bride. And that’s all. That’s all I was thinking of when I had her brought to a secret place where she was washed, nursed to health and cared for. Every day I had her served the same food and the same drink as the queen. In the same identical quantities, at the same times. When I saw her again, months later, I was dazzled: she was the perfect image of my bride. I even thought. .’

‘That she was her twin sister?’ asked the prince.

‘Yes, I thought so. Castor and Pollux, Helen’s brothers, were twins. If the gods had created a prodigy once, could they not do it again?’

‘Yes,’ said Orestes. ‘Why not twice?’

Menelaus approached him, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly: ‘You are tired, son. .’ he said, ‘and you are so young. . perhaps you would like to sleep. I sleep little and poorly, prey to nightmares.’

‘I do not wish to sleep,’ said the prince and he placed his hand over the king’s. ‘I have come to learn everything, before doing what must be done. You must not hide anything from me, if I am to be the one who leads the charge of the chariots over the plains of Mycenae, if I must raise my sword over the body. .’ He did not have the strength to say another word.

Menelaus poured more wine into the cups then, and continued. ‘The queen’s nurse was still alive then and I met with her one winter’s night in the little house near the river where she lived alone and unwell, cared for by a handmaid whom Helen had ordered to stay with her as long as she lived and never leave her wanting for anything. The queen loved her nurse dearly, and often went to visit her, bringing her the sweets and fruits that she was so fond of. No one could have noticed me, for I was dressed as a farmer, and rode a mule loaded with bundles of sticks.

‘When I entered, the servant recognized me as soon as I bared my head; she kissed my hand, and Helen’s nurse recognized me then as well. She was ailing, and breathing with difficulty, but her eyes lit up when she saw me. I sat beside her bed and said: “Mother, I have bought a slave from some Ponikjo merchants. She was dirty and ragged, and her body was full of bruises, as happens with those slaves who won’t accept their condition and rebel against their masters or try to escape. I handed her over to people I trust, so she would be treated well and cared for. Now, mother, that slave is the perfect image of Helen. So perfect she looks like the same person.”