It will give me time to calm down and try to work out whatever I should be doing next.
I slip out of Fiona as swiftly I can, yet still take time to carefully drape her over Paris’s empty tailor’s dummy. She deserves some respect.
Seeing her like this, I can’t help but think how terrifying it would be for Mary to come in here and see herself like this. It also explains how there was an extra costume for Jackie to slip into and become another, second Fiona.
Helen is an almost perfect fit, such that there’s little excess and few areas of tightness that my own body has to adapt to before it can fully bind to it.
It’s only when I’m fully Helen that it suddenly dawns on me that I’ve made a dreadful mistake; how can I travel back to Helen’s age when not even Freak’s ancient shop would have existed?
Didn’t Freak say that, if you can sense a highly emotional point in their lives, you can turn up almost alongside them?
Thing is, I haven’t got time to try and discover an emotional high-point in Helen’s life that will do the trick for me.
Then again, I do know the most emotional time of her life.
*
This time, the water that’s surrounding me is warm, relaxing.
Dulling.
Alongside me, on the side of the sunken marble bath, a sharp knife waits.
A little farther along, placed where they won’t get wet, are a beautiful pair of the finest gloves.
This is the easiest way. The easiest way to make sense of a life that’s become too complicated.
Too entrapping.
Menelaus will never rest unless he can control my every move.
I don’t love him. I never have.
It was a political marriage, nothing more.
If I can’t be with the man I really love, then I’m not really living. I’m just a prisoner. Trapped within seemingly endless walls, but walls nonetheless.
I’m surprised how quiet it is in this room.
I thought I would have been able to hear the screams of the fleeing Trojans, the shouts of the triumphant Greeks. Perhaps even the cackling of fires, the toppling of buildings.
I’m surprised, too, that Paris isn’t with her. If they’ve decided to commit suicide, rather than let themselves fall into the hands of the victorious Greeks, I would have expected them to have been together in their last moments.
It’s not exactly a time I should be traveling back to, is it?
Besides, I’m still not exactly sure how you do travel back, as opposed to just sensing Helen’s emotions as she – wait, I’m watching her in the bath!
I’m no longer Helen! I’m standing in the shadows, a few steps away from the ba–
‘Who’s there?’
Helen nervously reaches for a thick towel lying alongside her.
‘Is that you Philista?’ she demands angrily.
She rises from the water, swiftly wrapping herself in the towel.
She reaches for the knife.
‘Prince Erades is guarding my door; I’ll shout for him, should I?’
‘No, no, there’s no need for that,’ I blurt out anxiously.
What’s she going to think when I step out from the shadows, looking exactly like her?
I step forward into the amber light cast by the blazing torches scattered around the room.
Helen gasps, grips her knife more nervously than ever.
‘Is…is this a trick of the gods?’
‘Oh, er, no no, not really a trick, I mean, I’m the goddess…goddess…’
Damn! Why didn’t I pay more attention in my history classes?
‘–goddess Athena! And I’ve taken on a semblance of your beauty to prove it!’
She frowns doubtfully, like she’s having difficulty weighing up just how likely all this is.
‘If you’re the goddess, you won’t mind me calling in Prince Erades so–’
‘But I’m here to stop you taking your own life!’
Am I?
Can I even do it?
I mean, it’s that paradox of time again, isn’t it?
It’s already happened. It can’t be changed.
But – what if Freak’s wrong? Or lying?
If I stop her, will it somehow change everything that’s happened?
Will it change everything? Everything that’s happened over the last four thousand years?
The hand Helen’s using to hold the knife drops down by her side.
‘Then – you can help me be with…with the man I truly love?’
‘I know you think you’ve been betrayed by him; but Paris is–’
‘Paris? What’s he got to do with this?’
‘I mean, well, because…because…’
What the heck does she mean, ‘What’s he got to do with this?’ I’m sure I didn’t get that part of my classes wrong, about Helen and Paris being an item!
‘Is he intending on taking me hostage?’ Helen demands quite forthrightly.
She doesn’t seem to be exactly cowed by the appearance of a goddess, does she? Then again, would anyone be awed by a goddess mumbling ‘because…because’?
‘I saw the way he was looking at me!’ she continues irately, obviously already forgetting that just a moment ago she was so miserable she was about to take her own life. ‘I’ve heard he’s quite prepared to forcibly take hostage any woman who doesn’t fall for his charms!’
If it isn’t Paris’s charms she’s fallen for, just who is it who’s dragged a girl like this to the point of suicide? I mean, I’ve heard of super models with smaller egos.
I’d better stay away from mentioning any names; start sounding a bit more like a goddess too!
‘Mighty Troy may have fallen, but such ill-tidings don’t mean–’
‘Troy’s fallen?’ She sounds incredibly shocked. ‘How? Who’s captured it?’
‘What? Well, the Greeks of course–’
‘Greeks?’ She looks really puzzled now! ‘Is that why you referred to Paris? Should he be told before he sails for home?’
‘Er…’
Just what the heck is going on here?
I almost blurt my question out loud. I’m even more bewildered than Helen!
I’d like to ask if I’ve got my dates right here. As that wouldn’t be very goddess-like, however, I have to bite my tongue. Besides, I don’t exactly know when Troy fell anyway.
‘Where are we, exactly?’
Damn! That’s an even worse question to ask, isn’t it?
‘You don’t know? You’re a goddess, and you don’t know we’re in Sparta?’
‘Well, I – ooowww!’
‘That’s because she’s not a goddess!’ growls this huge guy who’s just painfully grabbed me by my arm.
I whirl around to tell him to at least go a little easy on the way he’s handling me.
‘Jase!’ I breathe with relief, recognising him straight away. ‘I mean, sorry, Paris!’
‘Paris?’
Now he’s the one who looks confused.
Just what is going on here?
*
Chapter 47
As this guy who looks like but obviously isn’t Paris holds me tight, a young girl rushes forward towards Helen.
‘I saw her hanging around, and thought I should warn Prince Erades.’
She subserviently helps Helen to slip into her dress. Going by the way Helen doesn’t seem to mind this Prince seeing her naked, I think I’m safe to presume this is the man she loves.
‘You did well, Philista!’
The Prince’s grip on my arm tightens. He’s seen the knife lying by the side of the hot bath.
‘Helen! What…what were you intending to do?’
He says it like he knows full well what the presence of the knife indicates.
Helen bows her head, ashamed.
‘When
you told me you can’t continue to betray your King…’
‘Because it’s too dangerous for us both!’
At last, he lets me go. He rushes towards Helen, taking her in his arms, holding her tight, realising how close he came to losing her.
Philista carefully picks up the gloves, slipping them into the type of box I’ve come to recognise as one of Freak’s. She guiltily glances my way, giving me the impression that she has some idea who I really am.
‘You could safely leave your husband’s kingdom now,’ she says slyly, nodding in my direction. ‘If Paris is seen to abduct her in your place.’
Helen and the Prince look at me, look at each other.
‘If some of your men were dressed as Trojans…’
‘And some as Spartans. But we’ll have to act quickly; Paris is preparing to sail tonight.’
‘Now wait a minute…’ I say, stepping closer towards them.
It’s a mistake stepping towards them and not keeping my eye on Philista.
As soon as she finds herself standing behind me, Philista swings the heavy glove box she’s holding hard against the back of my head.
*
When I wake up, my head’s painfully throbbing. I’m still a little dazed, a little confused.
I’m being violently jolted up and down, my whole body swaying back and forth. Both my back and my head are banging hard against something solid and agonisingly uneven. My bottom and legs are similarly being viciously shaken, as whatever I’m sitting on is uncomfortably rising and falling at a ridiculously fast rate.
I’m seated on a ferociously galloping horse. Someone’s seated behind me in the saddle, holding me in place with the thickly muscled arms he’s also using to hold and control the reins. He’s wearing armour, including the helmet my head’s continuing to bang against.
I try to scream, but something’s been crammed into my mouth. I’ve been gagged. My hands are also tied behind my back.
There are other riders around us, all pushing their horses hard as we noisily hurtle through narrow, darkened streets. The sky’s incredibly black, the only light coming from a thin crescent of moon.
All the riders are armoured, their shields strapped to their horses’ sides, their lances held upright, as if ready for action. The pounding of the horses’ hooves on the stone or cobbled streets echo back from the closely set houses and buildings.
‘They’ve taken our Queen!’ someone cries out.
‘The Trojans have betrayed us!’ another yells.
The odd thing is, it’s the men around me who are doing the shouting.
And then, coming out of my daze at last, I remember what I’m doing here.
These are Prince Erades’ men, dressed as Trojans.
*
Chapter 48
It’s time I left this time.
But – how do I get back?
Before, I’ve moved from Freak’s shop in the past to Freak’s shop in the present. And it’s happened without me having to give it any more effort than just wishing I was back there.
Now though – nothing’s happening.
How does thinking of a highly-emotional time in someone’s life work in reverse?
We’re swiftly heading downhill and, through gaps in the closely surrounding buildings, I begin to catch glimpses of the moonlight reflecting off the sea as silvered waves. The part of the dock we charge out onto is lit by flaming braziers, set well back from a ship whose crew is hurriedly preparing to sail.
‘Treachery, treachery,’ the men riding alongside me are now yelling out to the ship lying ahead of us. ‘The Spartans are attacking us!’
Other men, this time on foot, are rushing out onto the dockside from other streets on either side of us. The group of riders split into two, with each new group rushing off to confront the rapidly approaching foot soldiers. Only the horse I’m unwillingly mounted on continues heading towards the ship, galloping at full speed up the rocking gangplank.
‘Set sail!’ the rider sitting behind me cries out in warning. ‘We’ll hold them off! You get our Prince to safety!’
Before any of the shocked and bewildered crew can ask him for any details, he draws his mount to a sudden halt on the deck. Lithely swinging down out of the saddle, he rushes back down the gangplank. Turning back, he picks up the gangplank’s end and swings the whole thing around, tossing it into the sea.
On board the ship, orders have already been barked out to get away from the dockside, to man the oars. Men are leaning over the side, using long, thick shafts to push the ship away from the dock.
From the darkness lying out of the reach of the flickering flames, there comes the sounds of ferocious fighting. Yells, screams, clashing swords. Now and again, a sword or a shield flashes as it catches the amber light.
It’s a scene that looks and sounds suitably chaotic, unpredictable and dangerous.
And amongst it all, I’m sitting astride a panting horse with my hands tied and my mouth gagged.
You know, I’d had it up to here with that bloody Jase; but this Prince Erades is even worse!
*
As the ship isn’t really of much a size, it’s soon clear of the dockside.
The massed oars dip and rise in the swelling waves. The single but incredibly large sail is quickly unfurled, the crew expertly manoeuvring it until it makes the most of a wind that grows stronger the farther we move away from the shore.
‘Watch out for any ships that are already afloat!’
The man who shouts out the warning is already heavily armed, prepared for any trouble we might encounter.
No one’s paid any attention to me. I’m still on the horse, still bug-eyed in my anger that I’m being treated like this.
And then, as if to make every crazy thing that’s happened to me recently seem perfectly reasonable after all, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen – the most beautiful man I could ever imagine – rushes up from below decks.
He’s about to hide his ridiculously high-cheekboned face inside a helmet. But, fortunately, he stops half-way through this move as he catches my eye.
He grins wickedly.
He strides across the deck towards me, dismissing warnings that the Spartans are preparing their ships to give chase with a nonchalant laugh.
‘Sorry we have to meet again like this!’ he says, reaching up and grabbing me by the waist.
He lifts me down from the horse as if I weighed no more than his sword.
He swiftly and deftly pulls off my gag, as if he’s used to this kind of thing.
He leans in towards me, his lips connecting with mine before I can protest.
That is, if I wanted to protest.
*
Chapter 49
As Paris kisses me, the world around me seems to explode in a cacophony of banging and clattering.
Paris pulls back quickly. In the same flowing move, he withdraws a knife from his waist belt, using it to slice the ropes binding my arms.
The heavy banging and clattering hasn’t gone away. It’s coming from a large crate tied to the centre of the ship’s deck.
‘It’s a stallion,’ Paris explains. ‘Still wild; we thought it best to keep it in the crate until we were out at sea.’
‘Paris; you have to know, I’m not who you think I am.’
I’m not quite sure why I feel I have to tell him this. But I feel that if I’m going to suddenly vanish from his presence at some point, I owe him some form of explanation.
I tug at Helen’s skin, intending to show him it’s all nothing more than some form of macabre dress; but the skin doesn’t come free of my own skin, like I’m expecting. It reac
ts in the same way my own skin would if I pulled on it, moving only a little way, and smoothly dropping back into place.
I’m bound to Helen’s skin as if it were my own.
Paris frowns then smirks, like he thinks I’ve tried to play a joke on him that hasn’t quite come off the way I’d intended.
Before I can explain anything more, the stallion’s pounding on the wooden planks of its imprisoning crate reaches a crescendo. The wood begins to shatter, with splinters sent scattering across the deck.
Suddenly, a whole side of the crate completely fragments. The creature immediately leaps free, with a triumphant cry.
‘Ta-da! And in one bound, he was free!’
*
Chapter 50
It isn’t a wild stallion that’s standing before us on the deck.
It’s a centaur.
And the human part of the centaur is quite definitely Freak.
The crew and the soldiers have stepped back in amazement, as if this is the very first time they’ve encountered a centaur.
Paris stays right by me, however. He steps in front of me, standing between me and Freak with his sword drawn.
‘Who are you?’ he demands brusquely.
‘Shall we say – a friend?’
He looks to me, waiting for my reply.
I step alongside Paris, placing a reassuring, restraining hand on his arm.
‘Yes, I know him.’
I glance towards what’s left of the crate, wondering why there’s no sign of any other creature there. When I’d appeared here, Helen had been close by.
Freak notices my confusion.
‘Didn’t I say there are other ways of moving through time – oh, and that we also create hybrids?’
‘How did you find me?’
‘You’re flight from Sparta appears in the histories that I’m thankfully aware of. It’s just lost to those who only know of the myths of your life.’
‘My life?’ I chuckle unsurely.
‘Of course. The silly little girl that you met earlier; she’s hardly the stuff of legend is she? Let her retire to Egypt with her silly little prince! While you, my dear, and your lover Paris, create a story that will live for ever!’
He smiles appreciatively at the way Paris has curled a protective arm around me.
‘You’re saying…you’re saying I don’t go back?’
He grins at me knowingly, seeing the casual interactions that are already naturally taking place between myself and Paris.
‘You’re saying you want to go back?’
‘I could have you killed, you know?’
I look towards Paris, seeking confirmation. He grins, nods, and with a subtle wave of a hand orders a number of archers to aim directly at Freak’s heart.
Freak smirks.
‘Hah, but will you?’