Glyn Iliffe - The Gates Of Troy (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘But you don’t love him.’

‘No,’ she replied with a shake of her head.

‘But you think you could love me?’ he asked, unable now to keep the neediness from his voice.

‘What does it matter? Did you not take an oath of friendship to Menelaus? Aren’t you honour-bound never to harm him or his household? In fact, why did you even come here tonight? To tease me?’ She looked at him and there was anger in her eyes. ‘When I heard of the oath I cursed you for a fool, knowing he must have tricked you somehow. And yet I had to come, to see if it was true. Is it?’

‘The oath was not carried out in the proper manner, according to the customs of my people.’

‘Menelaus believed it was, and that’s all that matters. If you break it you will lose your honour.’

Paris looked into her eyes, knowing the moment had come to choose between love and honour. He could concede that she was right, walk out of the temple and never see her again. There would be no loss of reputation; he would step back into his old life with no more damage than a broken heart and the thought of what might have been. Or he could step forward into a new world, a world of shame, danger and pursuit, but a world with her.

‘Compared to you, the oath means nothing to me.’

She curled her fingers around his hand.

‘Then I will come with you, and love you like no other woman ever could!’

He briefly caught the passion in her blue eyes, before she moved her face to his and kissed him. The press of her lips was warm and surprisingly tender, the scent of her perfume equally soft; the feel of her arms as they wrapped around his hard back was light and yet filled with urgency. He responded greedily, against his initial instinct, pulling her slender body against his and slipping his hand through the parting of her chiton, down to the flesh of her buttocks. Their embrace grew fiercer for a moment, and then she pulled herself free of his arms and moved back. She was breathing hard and there was a fire in her eyes as she stared at him.

‘No more, Paris. I won’t give myself to you – not yet, not even in Aphrodite’s temple.’

‘Then when?’

‘I’m no prostitute, damn you! I’m a queen and the daughter of Zeus himself!’ Her eyes were momentarily consumed by a terrible and beautiful fury, which subsided as quickly as it had appeared. ‘My mother was an adulteress and I vowed never to be like her. I’ve only ever given myself to Menelaus, and all my children are from his seed. But I can’t lead a life without love. I was made to love, Paris, and if you are prepared to break your oath then I will break mine. I promise I will love you with every beat of my heart, but if you want me you must take me away from Sparta first.’

‘I will!’ he said, reaching for her hand. ‘I can have my men ready to go tonight.’

Again she stepped back from him, her eyes still alive with the passion that had been kindled by their kiss.

‘Not tonight – not while Menelaus is in the palace.’

‘Then when?’

‘He leaves for Crete in a week,’ Helen said. ‘He won’t want to go while you’re here, but he can’t change his plans now. Besides, he trusts in the oath you took.’

Paris sensed the challenge in Helen’s words: she knew he was deceiving Menelaus, and that he could do the same to her.

‘My words to you aren’t hollow, Helen,’ he assured her. ‘I will take you back to Sparta with me. I’d have to be insane to refuse you, wouldn’t I?’

‘I have one condition, my prince.’

‘Name it.’

‘My children – they’re to come with us.’

The sight of her irresistible face and the tantalizing glimpse of bare flesh where her chiton lay open filled Paris with the desire to do anything she commanded, but he knew what she was asking was almost impossible.

‘I can get out of Sparta with you, Helen, but with four confused children our chances will be narrow.’

Helen stooped and picked up her robe, which she threw about her shoulders.

‘Think of a way, Paris. If you want me to be yours, you must bring my children too.’

She turned and walked to the doors, pulling them open to reveal the twilight of evening in the narrow street beyond.

‘I’ll find a way,’ he said. ‘I promise – but stay with me a little longer. Helen!’

‘Keep your word,’ she said, and was gone.

Paris yanked at the leather straps that held the two halves of the cuirass about his torso, pulling them taut before feeding them through the golden buckles. After nine days of feasting his armour was a tight fit, and heavy with the bronze plates that overlapped each other like fish scales from his neck and shoulders down to his groin. He looked around at his men, who were suffering similar agonies as they fitted their own armour and familiarized themselves with the feel and weight of their equipment. Greaves were tied about shins and leather or bronze caps – according to the wealth and rank of each man – were pressed onto heads.

‘Hurry up!’ Paris urged. He could feel the familiar sickness in his stomach that always preceded a fight, and just like the preludes to battle on the northern frontiers it made him irritable and quicktempered. ‘And pull your cloaks about yourselves – if the Spartans see our armour they’ll get suspicious.’

‘Much good it’ll do us without weapons,’ Aeneas grumbled.

‘This’ll do to start us off,’ Paris said, holding up the dagger Menelaus had given him. Though the weapons the Trojans had brought with them lay stored in the palace armoury, Paris planned to dispatch enough of the guardsmen dotted about the corridors to provide some of his men with swords, spears and shields. It was a foolhardy plan, but his gut instinct told him it would work. ‘Now, where in Hades is Apheidas?’

‘Here, my lord.’

The tall warrior stepped into the room that had been the Trojans’ quarters for over a week and strolled over to where his armour was laid out on a straw mattress. He sat down and began tying on his greaves.

‘So, what did you find out?’ Paris demanded.

‘Menelaus left at sunset,’ Apheidas announced. ‘No fuss or fanfare, just him with his escort and a covered wagon.’

‘A wagon?’ Paris said, his heart rattling nervously in his chest.

‘Don’t fear – she’s not with him. The slave I spoke to said she didn’t know who or what was in the wagon, but she reassured me Helen is still in her quarters. Menelaus went up to see her before he left, but was told she was asleep so he had to do without his goodbye kiss.’

‘Poor Menelaus,’ one of the soldiers mocked, causing a ripple of laughter from his comrades.

‘What about the rest of the palace?’ Paris asked as Apheidas was helped into his cuirass. ‘Are the guards at their usual posts?’

‘The corridors and halls are quiet – there’s no feast tonight and there’s hardly a slave to be seen. But the guards are there, just like every evening. There’s only one outside the great hall tonight, and he’s virtually asleep already. I would have snapped his neck with my bare hands, if I didn’t know you wanted all the glory for yourself.’

Paris frowned. His nerves were strained at the prospect of escaping from Sparta and he was feeling particularly surly.

‘I’ll kill him because I have to,’ Paris said, turning to his men. ‘But I want no unnecessary deaths. They may only be Greeks, but we are Trojans, not savages! Kill only guards or armed men; no slaves, no women, no one who does not stand in our way. Apheidas, Exadios – come with me. Aeneas, wait here with the rest of the men until we return; if you hear the alarm, make your escape as best you can.’