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

‘My maidservant said you would come tomorrow night,’ she said, sternly.

‘I lied to her,’ Paris replied. ‘I couldn’t risk anyone guessing our plans. If you didn’t go to bed, or if you kept the children up, dressed for a journey, then someone would get suspicious. It would only take one servant loyal to Menelaus to inform the captain of the guard and everything we hoped for would be lost.’

‘Besides,’ Helen added sardonically, ‘you didn’t trust me not to change my mind. Well, I’m not going to, despite your doubts about me and the violence of your men. Neaera, go and wake the children and dress them in warm clothes. I’m leaving Sparta with Paris, and the children are coming with me.’

There were gasps of disbelief from the women, some of whom began to weep. One, a young girl in a brown woollen chiton, shuffled across the antechamber – carefully keeping her distance as she passed Apheidas – and disappeared down a passageway to the right of Paris and Aeneas.

‘Go and tell the men to be ready,’ Paris said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Apheidas’s shoulder. ‘As soon as the children are dressed we’ll be leaving.’

‘And have you thought about getting us all through the main gate yet?’ Apheidas asked, staring hard at the prince.

‘Leave that to me. Now go.’

As his lieutenant disappeared down the stairs, Paris crossed the antechamber to Helen and pulled her into his broad chest. She wrapped her arms about him and held him tightly, unable to disguise her relief that he had come for her. The five days since she had last seen him had seemed interminable, filled with doubt, worry and a longing to be with him. Then he kissed her and the anxieties that had plagued her melted away.

Suddenly Neaera returned, holding the small form of Pleisthenes in her arms.

‘Mistress,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Mistress!’

‘What is it? Where are the others?’

‘They’re gone, my lady. Their beds are empty – they haven’t even been slept in! Only little Pleisthenes was there, so I brought him immediately.’

Helen slipped free of Paris’s arms and ran across to her youngest boy. Kissing him gently on the forehead and holding his face in her hands, she looked deeply into his sleepy eyes.

‘Pi, my baby, can you tell mummy where Aethiolas and Maraphius are hiding? Where’s your sister, Hermione?’

‘I don’t know,’ the child answered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his withered hand. ‘They went to say goodbye to father, but I was too ill to go.’

‘And they’re with him now,’ said the old nursemaid, getting to her feet and holding a hand to the wound on her forehead where Apheidas had struck her. Her face was sad and fearful. ‘The king asked me to bring the children to him as I was about to put them to bed – he told me he wanted to say goodbye to them before he went to Crete – and then he sat them in a covered wagon and said they were going with him. He would have taken Pleisthenes, too, if he’d been well enough.’

Helen looked at her with her mouth open and tears bonding her long eyelashes together.

‘Oh, forgive me, my lady!’ the maid cried, running across and kneeling before the queen, wrapping her arms about her legs. ‘Menelaus said the children were his only guarantee you wouldn’t run off. And how could I stop him – he’s their father and I’m only a slave? Besides, mistress, I don’t want you to leave us . . .’

‘That’s not your choice, Myrine,’ Helen announced. ‘It’s mine.’

Paris moved towards her, realizing that Menelaus had outwitted him and seeing his hopes falling away.

‘Helen,’ he said. ‘This is your only chance to be free. If you don’t leave now you’ll be doomed to live the rest of your life as Menelaus’s prisoner. You know you can’t do that – come with me!’

‘No, my lady!’ Myrine protested. ‘Think of your children. You have freedom through them.’

Helen lifted Pleisthenes out of Neaera’s arms and kissed his hair. She looked at the circle of her maids, most of whom had served her since she was a child, or since they had been children themselves. Some, filled with fear as their world was collapsing about them, held each other, while all were damp-eyed. The tears were flowing unchecked down Helen’s cheeks, too, as she thought about her children and her life at Sparta, the only life she had ever known. She pictured the faces of her two older boys, Aethiolas and Maraphius, both brave and strong like their father; and of her beautiful daughter, Hermione, who was as wilful and independent as she was. Then she looked at Paris and saw the passion that his eyes held for her, a passion that mirrored her own. Here, at last, was the one she had waited for all her life, a man who could free her from her gilded cage to lead a life of freedom; a man who she could love with all her heart. For his sake she would – must - surrender everything she had. She moved to him and pressed her lips against his.

‘Neaera,’ she said, eventually turning to her faithful body slave, ‘fetch Pi’s cloak and sandals. When Menelaus returns, tell Aethiolas, Maraphius and Hermione I love them, and that I will never forget them. Kiss each of them for me.’

As Neaera ran off, sobbing openly, Helen hid her face against Paris’s shoulder and cried, overwhelmed by the sudden realization that she was giving up her children.

Seven fully armed Trojans stepped out into the moonlit courtyard. The guards by the gate gave them an inquisitive glance, but as the men carried Spartan shields and wore Spartan helmets they soon forgot them and returned to their game of dice.

This way,’ Paris said, leading the others to the royal stable where the strong smell of straw and dung filled their nostrils. They could hear horses shifting restlessly in the darkness, disturbed by the sudden presence of so many men.

‘Lipse!’ Paris whispered.

There was a corresponding snort a few stalls to his left. Paris greeted the horse warmly as if they were old friends, before opening the triple-barred gate and entering the stall.

That’s my girl,’ he said, rubbing the mare’s neck and placing his face against her nose. He led her out and told the others to bring ten more horses.

‘But there’re thirteen of us,’ Aeneas reminded him.

‘Helen will ride with me and Pleisthenes with you. Now hurry up – the alarm will be raised at any moment.’

They worked as quickly as they could in the faint light from the stable door, releasing the best animals they could find and throwing blankets over their backs. As Paris was fitting a leather harness to Lipse, Aeneas placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘We should hamstring the others, my lord. It’s the only way to stop pursuit.’

But Paris simply shook his head.

In quicker time than they had hoped – mostly due to the prince’s reassuring influence on the unsettled beasts – the Trojans emerged from the stables and led the train of horses towards the palace entrance. This time the gate guards were less ready to ignore them.

‘Hey!’ one of them shouted. ‘You there – where do you think you’re going with those horses?’

‘Mount up,’ Paris ordered.

Realizing something was not right, the Spartans pulled on their helmets and lifted their shields onto their shoulders. Their leader gave a harsh shout and more men came spilling out of a nearby guardroom.

At the same moment, Apheidas led the rest of the party out of the palace and across the courtyard to where the others awaited them. Helen was with them, carrying Pleisthenes in the folds of her green cloak. Paris directed Lipse to her side and plucked the child from her uplifted arms. He passed him to Aeneas then pulled Helen up onto the mare’s shoulders.