Achilles sprang to his feet, trembling; I could hardly bear the brightness of his eyes, yellow and strong as Helios Sun. ‘I swear by all the Gods that you will never have cause to regret your confidence in my leadership, sire.’

‘Then take the high command from me, son of Peleus, and choose your lieutenants,’ said Agamemnon.

I looked at Odysseus and shook my head; up flew one red brow and the grey eyes twinkled. Wait until I got him alone! Huddled hatching, indeed.

16

NARRATED BY

Helen

Under the shadow of Troy Agamemnon raised a city stone by stone; every day when I stood on my balcony I looked out over the walls and down to the Greeks sitting by the Hellespont shore. They toiled like ants in the distance, rolling boulders and piling the trunks of mighty trees into a wall which stretched from sparkling Simois to cloudy Skamander. Houses proliferated behind the beach itself, tall barracks to accommodate soldiers over the winter, grain bins to store emmer wheat and barley away from rats and weather.

Since the Greek fleet arrived my life had grown a great deal harder, though it never was what I had imagined before I reached Troy. Why is it that we do not see the future clearly on the loom of time, even when it is depicted there, manifest? I should have known. I ought to have known. But Paris was my all; I could get no further than Paris, Paris, Paris.

In Amyklai I had been the Queen. It was my blood legitimised Menelaos on the throne. The people of Lakedaimon looked to me, Tyndareus’s daughter, for their wellbeing and their contacts with the Gods. I was important. When I rode in my royal car through the streets of Amyklai its populace abased themselves before me. I was worshipped. I was adored. I was Queen Helen, the only one of Leda’s divine quadruplets left at home. And, looking back, I realised how full was my life there – the hunts, the sports, the festivals, the Court, the diversions of all kinds. I used to tell myself that time hung heavily on my hands in Amyklai, but now I knew that in those days I had no concept of what boredom actually entails.

I learned all about boredom after I arrived in Troy. Here I am no queen. Here I am unimportant in the scheme of everything. I am the wife of a minor imperial son. I am a detested foreigner. I am constrained by rules and regulations I have neither the power nor the authority to set aside. And there is nothing to do, nowhere to go! I can’t snap my fingers and order a car, go into the countryside or watch the men playing games or drilling at being soldiers. I can’t escape from the Citadel. When I tried to venture down into the city everyone from Hekabe to Antenor protested that I was fast, immoral, capricious enough to want to go slumming. Didn’t I understand that the moment the men around some low tavern saw my exposed breasts I would be raped? But when I volunteered to cover them, Priam still said no.

My own apartments (Priam had been generous in that respect – Paris and I occupied a large and beautiful set of rooms) and the chambers in which the noblewomen of the Citadel gathered were suddenly the limits of my world. While Paris, my wonderful Paris, I have discovered, is a typical man. He wants – and gets! – his own way. Which doesn’t include keeping his wife company. I am there for love, and love is a short business once the lovers have no new things to learn about each other.

After the Greeks came my life, boring though I had already deemed it, worsened. People looked at me as if I was the precursor of disaster and blamed me for Agamemnon’s advent. Fools! At first I tried to convince the Trojan nobility that Agamemnon went to war for no woman, even his sister-in-law twice over: that Agamemnon had talked of war with Troy as far back as the night the priests quartered the white horse and I was given to Menelaos. No one would listen to me. No one wanted to listen to me. I was the reason the Greeks were there on the beach along the Hellespont shore. I was the reason the Greek city grew behind the mighty wall they erected from sparkling Simois to cloudy Skamander. Everything was my fault!

Priam was very worried, poor old man. He perched himself on the edge of his gold and ivory chair instead of sinking back into it the way he used to. He plucked strands from his beard, he sent man after man to the western watchtower to report back to him on Greek progress. Since the day I had walked into his Throne Room he had run the full gamut of emotions, from glee at having tweaked Agamemnon’s nose to sheer bewilderment. While the Greeks gave no indication that they planned to stay he chuckled; while the promise of aid came from his allies he looked happy. But when the Greek defence wall began to rise his face fell and his shoulders sagged.

I was quite fond of him, though he lacked the strength and dedication of a Greek king. A man had to be very strong to hold onto what was his in Greece – or have a brother strong enough for both. Whereas Priam’s ancestors had ruled Troy for aeons. His people loved him as Greek peoples could not love their Kings, yet he held his duties more lightly, being secure in the tenure of his throne. The word of the Gods was not so precious to him.

Old Antenor the royal brother-in-law never ceased to carp at me; I hated him more than Priam did, and that was saying something. Whenever Antenor turned his rheumy eyes upon me I could see them burn with enmity. Then his mouth would open and he would start, on and on and on. Why did I refuse to cover my breasts? Why did I beat my servant girl? Why did I have no womanly skills like weaving and embroidery? Why was I permitted to stay and hear the men’s councils? Why was I so open with my opinions when women had none? There was always something to criticise, Antenor made sure of it.

When the wall behind the Hellespont beach was finished, Priam’s patience with him came to an end.

‘Be silent, you old simpleton!’ he hissed. ‘Agamemnon did not come here to get Helen back. Why would he and his subject Kings spend so much money just to retrieve a woman who left Greece of her own free will? It’s Troy and Asia Minor Agamemnon wants, not Helen. He wants Greek colonies in our lands – he wants to stuff his coffers full from our vaults – he wants to pour his ships through the Hellespont into the Euxine. My son’s wife is an excuse, nothing more. To return her would play into Agamemnon’s hands, so I’ll hear no more from you about Helen! Is that quite clear, Antenor?’

Antenor dropped his eyes and made a flourish out of his bow.

The Asia Minor states began to send their ambassadors to Troy; the next assembly I attended was swollen with their ranks. I couldn’t keep all the names straight in my head, names like Paphlagonia, Kilikia, Phrygia. Some of their representatives meant more to Priam than others, though none was treated lightly. But of all of them Priam greeted the delegate from Lykia most fervently. He was the co-ruler of Lykia with his first cousin, and his name was Glaukos. His first cousin’s name was Sarpedon. Paris, who had been commanded to attend, informed me in a whisper that Glaukos and Sarpedon were twinnishly inseparable, and lovers into the bargain. A foolish thing in Kings. They had neither wives nor Heirs.

‘Rest assured, King Glaukos, that when we’ve driven the Greeks from our shores, Lykia will get a large share of the spoils,’ said Priam, tears in his eyes.

Glaukos, a relatively young man (and very handsome), smiled. ‘Lykia isn’t here for a share of the spoils, Uncle Priam. King Sarpedon and I want only one thing – to crush the Greeks and send them squealing back to their own side of the Aegaean. Our trade is vital to us because we occupy the southern corner of this coast. Trade goes through us to our northern neighbours, as well as south to Rhodos, Cypros, Syria and Egypt. Lykia is the linchpin. We believe we must band together out of necessity, not out of greed. Rest assured, you’ll have our troops and other aid in the spring. Twenty thousand men, all fully equipped and provisioned.’