Glyn Iliffe - King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

The others were no longer listening. Instead their eyes were looking past him to the open portals of the great hall, which had fallen suddenly silent. Odysseus turned.

Two women stood at the entrance. One was tall and slim with long black hair, streaked grey at the temples; only a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes marked her age. She would have dominated the gathered warriors with her powerful beauty, were it not for the presence of her younger companion.

Helen of Sparta had arrived.

Chapter Seventeen

DAUGHTERS OF LACEDAEMON

A hush spread across the hall as Helen stood before the gathered warriors. The words died in their mouths and the drinking cups froze in their hands. It was as if Medusa herself had entered, and with one look turned them all to stone.

She was tall with long black hair and white skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun. Her eyes were like burning ice and as she looked about at the crowded hall they set a cold fire running through the veins of every man. Peisandros was right, Eperitus realized: the words did not exist that could describe her. She was like a mountain that a man sees from afar and wants to climb, so he can tell himself he is better than the mountain. But Helen possessed no fault in which a man could gain a foothold. There was no blemish or imperfection with which the spectators in the great hall could pull her down to their level. She soared above every warrior, every prince, every king, until it was an agony for them to look at her, knowing they had been defeated by a woman’s looks.

And yet, if her beauty cut deep into their souls, she had other weapons that struck at their corporeal natures. Though only a girl of seventeen years, she was fully a woman and had the ruthless confidence to display it. She had come barefoot into the great hall and wore only a white dress of the thinnest material, which hid little of the naked body beneath. No man in that room was left in any doubt of what Helen had to offer her chosen husband.

Eperitus’s sense of honour told him that the mind of a better man would dwell upon her perfect face and not upon her perfect body, and yet he was a slave to his animal nature. By her mere presence she had made pigs of every man in the room, exposing their high ideals and their heroic codes and letting them feed in the troughs of their base natures. Eperitus felt ashamed, but could not avert his eyes.

Then the older woman threw a cloak about Helen’s shoulders and released the assembled warriors from the fierce grip of her spell. Men looked at each other and spoke in hushed voices. More wine doused dry throats and sluggish movements returned to the organism that had taken possession of the great hall. But the noble suitors, the men who had come to claim her, remained in silent thrall as Helen approached the dais where her foster-father sat. The older woman followed, like a tutor presenting her prize pupil.

‘She isn’t interested in any of them, you know.’

Gyrtias sat down next to Eperitus and held out a platter of bread and meat.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, taking a handful of each.

The soldier from Rhodes took some of the food for himself and washed it down with a slop of wine that spilled over his beard. ‘I spoke with one of Helen’s slave girls this morning and asked what her mistress thought of Prince Tlepolemos. It took a bit of persuasion, but the girl’s a bit simple so I got what I wanted in the end. She told me Helen isn’t interested in Tlepolemos or any of the suitors. She thinks her father and King Agamemnon will choose her husband for her, so she’s planning to run away!’

Eperitus laughed at the suggestion. ‘Does she really think she can just slip off into the night? Every man in Sparta would be hunting for her, and with a face like that she wouldn’t be hard to follow. Besides, she should be happy to have any of Greece’s finest men for a husband.’

‘She isn’t, though,’ Gyrtias assured him. ‘She detests being a pawn in Agamemnon’s political games, and doesn’t have much love for Tyndareus either. She believes her real father to be Zeus, so the will of Tyndareus means nothing to her. The maid claims she would even run away with a common warrior, just to spite him. Can you imagine it, a commoner?’

Eperitus looked over at the princess as she stood tall and proud amidst the throng of nobles who had stepped down to meet her. Her chaperone – who he assumed was Leda – had joined Tyndareus and looked on approvingly as her daughter stood like a white candle in a crowd of moths. Did any of them realize she was simply mocking their attentions? Suddenly, insanely, Eperitus imagined Helen and himself escaping through the darkness of the night, over the passes of the Taygetus Mountains to freedom. Visions of her perfect face and godlike physique electrified his mind and he felt excited at the incredible thought. But as quickly as the fantastic notion had seized him, it faded away again. His grandfather had told him many times that the greatest enemies of a fighting man were death and women. And the oracle’s words provided a much greater warning: ‘The hero should beware love, for if she clouds his desires he will fall into the Abyss.’

Odysseus looked at the crowd that stood about Helen. How could they ever hope to possess her? he thought. But as he watched her receive their praise, her even and faultless features meeting their words with little more than a nod or a wry smile, even a yawn, he could not blame them for wanting her. There was something magical about the princess that surpassed the purely physical beauty she had in abundance. Some of this allure lay in the elusiveness with which she taunted their ambitions, challenging them to claim her for themselves. Some looked on her as a boar to be hunted or a horse to be broken in, whilst others simply despaired. But none received anything more than her contempt, and of them all only Odysseus knew beyond the slightest ember of a hope that she would not be his; and so he sat back and watched the others expend themselves upon her.

Until her bored gaze wandered beyond the group that imprisoned her and fell unexpectedly on him.

In an instant, Odysseus was pierced to the core by the sudden shock of her beauty. All his plans to ignore her and seek alliances amongst her suitors trembled about him. In the lingering moment that her clear blue eyes probed his he looked into his heart and questioned the things he valued most. Would he give up Ithaca for her sake, she seemed to ask? Would he forget even his family and friends to be with her?

And he knew the answer was no. The spell was broken, the challenge met. Helen had tested him, damaged him, almost defeated him, and only his love for his home saved him from her. But he understood now what was most powerful and dangerous about this woman. In that brief instant he realized she must have looked at each of her suitors in the same way, questioning their individual values and breaking each of them in turn. He freed himself from the gaze that had locked them together and scanned the hall for his countrymen. He finally found them in the throng and was surprised to see the wilful daughter of Icarius, Penelope, standing before them.

‘You’re a curious man, Odysseus,’ Tyndareus said beside him. He, Icarius and Odysseus were the only three who had not risen to greet the princess. ‘You travel halfway across Greece, facing all manner of dangers to see my daughter, and now you sit by without a word to say. You must have strange customs on Ithaca.’

On hearing her husband’s words, Leda looked at Odysseus with mild amusement in her eyes. ‘What kind of a suitor ignores the woman he longs to marry?’

‘Maybe he does not want to marry me,’ Helen said, stepping onto the broad dais to stand before Odysseus.