Beauty's Daughter Read online

  “But how could I not have known?” he asked, his voice thin and cracking. “Why was the alarm not raised?”

  I explained about Aphrodite and the spell she had cast on everyone—including him. I added nastily, “But of course he will blame you when he learns what happened.”

  Pentheus buried his head in his hands. For a moment I felt a little sorry for him, though I had never liked him. Finally he raised his head and looked at me with watery eyes. “I am aware of that,” he said, his voice unsteady.

  “In any case, we must prepare for the king’s return,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “No need to concern yourself, Princess Hermione. I’ll attend to everything.”

  But he did not. The next day I learned that Pentheus was nowhere to be found. No one seemed to know where he was. The stable master revealed that the king’s vizier had galloped off before dawn, saying only that he had urgent business to which he must attend.

  “The coward,” I muttered to Zethus. “I don’t believe Pentheus had urgent business. He just urgently needed to run away.”

  “I can’t say that I blame him,” Zethus said. “That means when your father comes back and learns what happened, he’ll turn his fury on me. I’ll be the target—the Trojan stand-in for the Trojan prince—and he will have me killed. It will be much better if I leave now.”

  “No, Zethus, you must stay!” I begged. “You promised! Please. I need your help.”

  I wanted him to move into the palace, maybe even to occupy the beautiful room that had been prepared for Prince Paris, but Zethus dismissed that idea immediately. He was stubborn, but I was even more stubborn. I stopped begging and ordered him to stay—after all, I was a princess, though a very young one, and I could command that, couldn’t I?

  Finally we reached a sort of compromise. Zethus would continue to sleep in the stable with the horses, and I would take him some bread and cheese every day and let him know when I had word that my father would soon arrive. When we were sure that Menelaus was on his way home and I would be all right, Zethus would make his way down the river to the gulf and look for a trader’s ship to take him back to Troy.

  I sent a staff of servants to set up a camp on the beach at Kranai to greet King Menelaus, just as he and my mother had done for the arrival of Paris. A fine meal would be prepared for him, and barges would be waiting to bring him home. I gave orders for signal flares to be lighted if my father arrived at night, and runners to be sent if he came during daylight hours.

  Day after day we waited for word that my father was home from Crete. Though I slept only fitfully, I was indeed asleep when a serving maid came to awaken me.

  “The signal fire has been sighted,” the maid told me. “I’m to tell you that King Menelaus’s ship has entered the gulf. He will no doubt reach Gythion by morning.”

  I leaped from my bed. I’d been arguing with myself about the right way to break the news of what had happened, and though no way was perfect, I thought it might be better not to let my father reach Sparta before he’d learned the truth.

  I sent the servant for Zethus and ran down to the river. The boatmen were all asleep, but I had the guard awaken the one I knew best. “Tell him that King Menelaus is entering the gulf and that I want to be taken down to greet him.”

  Zethus arrived, pulling on his tunic. We climbed into my small boat and, traveling rapidly with the current, reached the mouth of the river. My father’s large-prowed ship was already swinging at anchor farther out in the harbor. I ordered the boatman to stop near the beach where merchant ships from many places were loading and unloading their cargo. Before Zethus stepped ashore, he pressed into my hands a little wooden carving of a ship. It was executed in fine detail, from the arching prow to the rows of tiny oars.

  “I made it for you, Princess Hermione, with gratitude for your many kindnesses.”

  I thanked Zethus, and we took our leave. I watched as he began to make his way from ship to ship along the beach, in search of one that would help him get home. Then I instructed my boatman to take me to the king.

  The sailor on watch recognized my boat. A rope ladder was let down and a sailor helped me to scramble up, though I was in no need of any help. Father, looking surprised and pleased, greeted me heartily.

  “Welcome, daughter!” he boomed as I boarded the great ship and was folded into his embrace. Then he asked, peering into my boat, “And your mother? Is Helen with you?”

  “She was unable to come,” I answered carefully. “And so I came instead.”

  I had been onboard the royal ship only a few times when I was much younger, and Father now proudly led me from the great carved prow to the rear, explaining the ropes that controlled the billowing sail and pointing out the benches where slaves sat and rowed, twenty-five on each side. He showed me where he slept and where he ate, and then I suggested that we go ashore on Kranai. “We’ve prepared a welcoming meal for you on the beach,” I said. “I’m glad to have you home again, Father.”

  “I’m glad to be here,” he said fondly. “And I look forward to seeing your lovely mother and that lively little brother of yours.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said. “The barges will soon be here to take us to the palace.” I hoped to have the chance now to tell him what had happened, to prepare him, maybe even to blunt his anger.

  On the beach, the smell of roasting meat filled the air. Servants hurried to lay out the meal. I had arranged for musicians to play soothing music, but my father was clearly agitated.

  “This is all very pleasant, Hermione,” he said. “But I’m eager to be home again, in my own bed, next to my dear wife.”

  I sighed, my heart heavy with the news that I couldn’t delay much longer. Father drained the last drops of wine from his goblet, and when I motioned for a servant to refill it, he shook his head. “Finish your meal, and let’s be on our way.”

  My hands had begun to tremble, but at that moment a brilliant rainbow arched across the sky and a young woman with golden wings appeared, startling us both. “It’s Iris, Hera’s messenger,” Father said to me. “You see the herald’s rod she carries in her hand?” I gazed at her in awe.

  “King Menelaus,” Iris addressed him, “I bring you a message from Hera, wife of Zeus. Your wife, Helen of Sparta, has sailed away with Prince Paris of Troy, taking your son, Pleisthenes, and much of your treasure with her.”

  “Helen, gone?” My father reeled, looking as though he had been struck. A good-size man and broad shouldered, he appeared small, shrunken. “Where is she—” He corrected himself. “Where are they now?”

  “They intended to sail for Troy,” Iris reported, “but as they did so, Hera sent a fierce storm that blew the Trojan fleet off course. They have reached Cyprus. Hera believes that the lovers will spend several months enjoying themselves in Phoenicia and Egypt before Paris orders the bows of his ships turned at last toward Troy.”

  When the first stars of evening appeared in the sky, the rainbow and the goddess vanished as quickly as they had come. I braced for the full strength of Father’s fury, but nothing happened. Instead, he looked deeply saddened and weary beyond words. I reached out and took his hand. “Father,” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “Where are the barges, Hermione?” he asked tiredly. “I want to go home.”

  6

  Homecoming

  THE MOON SENT SILVERY beams skittering across the black surface of the River Eurotas as our slaves heaved against the oars and drove the royal barge toward Sparta. Father paced agitatedly across the deck, sometimes pausing and leaning against a rail, staring down into the dark water.

  By the time the boatmen had steered the barge toward the pylons where the royal boats were tied up, something had changed in him. The shock had worn off, pushed aside by a seething anger. He stalked silently into the palace. Guards shook off their drowsiness and anxiously watched the king. Servants, warned of his return, stumbled from their beds. King Menelaus strode through the palace, sa
ying nothing.

  He peered into my brother’s room and found it empty. “Pleisthenes?” he called softly, and leaned down to touch the fleeces where his son had slept. “Pleisthenes?”

  He checked the room adjoining it Aethra, the former queen and now the boy’s nurse.

  Empty.

  I followed behind him, stepping softly, trying to make no noise. I had to know how he would react, had to see it with my own eyes. Finally he reached the marital chamber that he had shared for more than a dozen years with my mother. He stared at the empty bed. “Helen,” he said, as softly as he had called out to his little son. Then, louder, “Helen!” Of course there was no reply. “Helen!” he shouted. “Helen!” He was answered by silence. “Helen! Helen!” Now he was roaring, so loudly that I put my fingers in my ears. “HELEN! HELEN!”

  Menelaus burst out of the bedchamber and rushed down the hall, still shouting my mother’s name. The guards stood stiffly, wincing as he bellowed, frightened by his terrible anger. Still I hurried after him, staying out of his sight, though he saw nothing but his own red rage.

  Finally he charged out of the palace courtyard like an enraged bull and bolted toward the treasure house. I didn’t try to follow him there. It would be just as awful, I knew. I heard him shouting for Pentheus, his vizier. But Pentheus was long gone, surely never to return to shoulder the blame that would be heaped on him.

  The night wore on and morning came. At some point I slept a little, though I’m not sure Father did. When the servants set out a meal at midday, he came to the table, stared at the food with haggard eyes, ate little, but drank a quantity of wine. Still he said nothing. Sometimes he wept. Sometimes he actually laughed, though I didn’t know at what—there was no merriment in it. I wondered if my father had gone mad.

  I continued to tiptoe around him, not knowing what to do. Then the madness left him as suddenly as it had come. He called for a servant and ordered him to have his ship prepared for a voyage.

  Finally he called for me.

  “We’re going to Mycenae, to King Agamemnon and Queen Clytemnestra,” he said. “You will stay with your aunt and cousins, and your uncle and I will go to all of Helen’s rejected suitors and demand that they make good on their oath. Then we will go to Troy and bring your mother home.”

  I collected a few things to take with me, expecting a rather short journey, though Zethus had warned me that it might not be. I decided to take my mother’s silver spindle, and then added the tiny carved ship Zethus had given me. None of my other possessions held any deep meaning.

  I was glad to be leaving our palace at Sparta, with its vast, echoing chambers, suddenly filled only with sadness, misery, and deep anger. I began to look forward to the journey. For a long time I had wished to travel on my father’s great ship. I would see my aunt and cousins again. I had few friends my own age in Sparta. Electra and Chrysothemis paid no attention to me, but I got along well enough with Iphigenia, though she was awfully vain. The only cousin I truly liked was Orestes.

  With a company of guards and servants, we traveled down the river to Gythion and boarded Father’s royal ship. Seamen swarmed the deck, preparing for the journey. Slaves hauled up the great anchor stones that dragged on the sea floor. The rowers on their benches bent to their oars, and the ship moved slowly away from shore. When we reached open water, the great white sail was hoisted and caught the wind. The ship gathered speed, skimming the whitecaps, throwing out sparkling necklaces of foam. We sailed southward first, crossed the gulf, and then turned northward and followed the coast of the Peloponnese.

  Father’s broad brow was dark and his manner brooding. We spoke little. At sunset the sail was lowered and the rowers took us toward the beach. The anchor stones were let down, and we went ashore. Slaves put up sleeping shelters, built fires to keep wild animals at bay, and prepared a meal. A few musicians and the storyteller who traveled with us tried to entertain us, but their songs and stories brought Father no pleasure. I watched him pace the dark beach restlessly, until at last sleep overtook us. The next morning we continued our journey.

  After two more days the ship arrived at a rocky shore below the walled city of Tiryns, built high up on a hill. Father ordered runners to make their way overland from Tiryns to Mycenae with a message for King Agamemnon. “Tell him that King Menelaus has come with his daughter, Princess Hermione, but without his wife, Queen Helen of Sparta.”

  A BLAST OF TRUMPETS announced the arrival of King Agamemnon at Tiryns. My father and my uncle greeted each other first as kings and then as brothers. I could easily read their expressions, even if I couldn’t hear the actual words they exchanged, as my father explained what had happened: wife, son, and treasure—all gone, stolen by the Trojan prince. Father was gesturing wildly. Agamemnon’s brow furrowed deeply. He asked questions, and Father replied, his voice rising to a shout. Shaking of heads, nods, and finally the two brothers embraced and walked together to where I was waiting.

  “Come, Hermione,” Agamemnon said in a gruff voice, so much deeper than my father’s. “We will go to the citadel to meet Clytemnestra and your cousins.”

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  A carrying chair was brought from the ship by slaves who bore the poles on their shoulders. Most of the time I preferred to walk rather than to be jolted in a chair, but when my feet were sore from the rough path, I willingly climbed in and let myself be carried. The great citadel loomed over the city of Mycenae. We entered through the Lion Gate, where two standing lionesses were carved into the rock. Clytemnestra and her children came out to greet us, bringing us figs recently picked and still warm from the sun. Iphigenia held my hand, and Orestes smiled at me sympathetically. Baths had been prepared for us, and after sleeping quarters had been arranged and I’d eaten and rested, Clytemnestra sent my cousins away and sat down by me.

  “All right, Hermione, tell me what happened. Spare no detail.”

  And so I did, starting with the arrival of Prince Paris, how my parents extended to him every hospitality, how it soon became apparent to everyone that Paris had fallen in love with my mother.

  “And King Menelaus?” Clytemnestra demanded. “Your father noticed none of this?”

  I shook my head and stared at my feet in the new sandals my aunt had given me. “None of it,” I admitted. “He was blind to it all.”

  “Fool!” Clytemnestra muttered. “I could have predicted this,” she said darkly. “It might have been prevented if Menelaus had simply paid attention.” She sighed. “And now he wants help to get Helen back. In my opinion, she made her choice and she should stay in Troy, if they’ll keep her.”

  “Oh, no,” I protested. “It wasn’t my mother’s choice. Paris abducted her. I’m sure of it.”

  Clytemnestra looked at me with a small smile and shook her head. “It pains me to tell you this, Hermione, but you’re wrong. I know my sister. Helen went willingly.”

  Her reply upset me deeply, and I burst into tears. If what my aunt said was true, my mother had truly abandoned me. I could not forgive her.

  MENELAUS AND AGAMEMNON MADE their plans. First they would send an embassy to King Priam and demand the return of Queen Helen and of the treasure stolen from Sparta.

  “And if Priam refuses?” Menelaus asked.

  “He’s a proud and stubborn old man,” Agamemnon said. “It’s likely he will refuse. And when he does, then we will go to every man who took the oath on the bloody pieces of the horse that Tyndareus sacrificed. I’ll remind them that by stealing Helen, Prince Paris has insulted every man in Greece. Who can be confident that his wife will be safe?”

  Agamemnon and Menelaus had no doubt that the Greek princes would honor their oath with pledges of ships and warriors. “But first,” my father said, “we must consult the oracle at Delphi and ask if she means for us to proceed.” Agamemnon agreed.

  The two men left soon after, and before the quarter moon had turned full, they had returned, firm in their resolve. “We will begin preparations now,” Agamemnon sai
d.

  Three days later, my father went off to find Nestor, king of Pylos, to ask for his help. Nestor had seen more than a hundred winters, but even at his great age he was much admired for his bravery and his speaking abilities. Menelaus trusted him to persuade the Greek leaders and soon brought him to Mycenae. How ancient Nestor looked, with a long white beard that nearly covered his chest! Agamemnon would join Nestor and Menelaus in their next journey, to Ithaca to convince Odysseus that he, too, must be a part of this.

  “You watch, Hermione,” Clytemnestra muttered when the men left for Ithaca. “I know Odysseus, and he’s a shrewd one. He and his wife, Penelope, have a little son, Telemachus. Odysseus will not want to leave his comfortable home to make war on Troy, and he’s sure to figure out some way to avoid his responsibility.”

  Clytemnestra was right. Menelaus, Agamemnon, and old Nestor came back from Ithaca with an extraordinary story. Odysseus had heard the three kings were coming, and he had guessed what they wanted. He pretended to be mad, putting on quite a performance, according to my father.

  “He dressed as a peasant,” Menelaus told us, “and as soon as he heard that we had arrived he began plowing a field with an ox and an ass yoked together, which everyone knows will not work. He sowed handfuls of salt in the furrows instead of seed, and he chattered away in nonsense, pretending not to recognize us. We knew it was an act, but we had to prove it. Penelope was standing nearby with little Telemachus in her arms. I whispered to one of our attendants to seize the infant and set him in the furrow in front of the plow. No sane man would allow his only son to be killed, and as expected, wily Odysseus reined in his mismatched team, giving himself away. Telemachus was spared, and Odysseus has to join in our mission, whether he wants to or not.”

  The days passed; the moon waxed and waned. King Priam sent his answer: Queen Helen would remain in Troy. Paris would not let her go.