“These miniature horses—where did they come from?” I asked him. But there was no answer. I turned to see that he had gone, slipped silently away from the column.
I pretended to watch and applaud the riders, but all I could think of was, Achilles is here, in hiding! Did the king know? Did Deïdameia? Did anyone besides me?
Now I remembered Paris telling me that Achilles was already spoken of in Troy. But in what way? He could not be older than sixteen. That would make him the same age as Paris. How could he have made a name for himself as a warrior, with no wars to fight? There were always local skirmishes and disputes, but a great soldier does not arise from such.
And a great soldier is not of a character to hide among women!
The little horses were trotting in circles around the courtyard to loud applause. To me they looked as horses shrunken down to fit the children, a magical sight.
“These horses come from wild herds farther down the mountain,” said Deïdameia. “No one knows why they live only on this island. Even if they are descended from some that were brought here and escaped, where were they brought from? No other place has such tiny ones.”
“Perhaps the brisk sea air or special plants here stunted their growth.” Gelanor was standing beside us, staring intently at the horses. This was just the sort of puzzle he liked.
I longed to whisper the secret about Achilles into his ear; my confusion about it overpowered my lingering pique at his earlier behavior. But I could not. Somehow I knew that this knowledge was a secret I must keep to myself until we had left Scyros. Achilles trusted me with it, as I trusted him with mine.
We could not linger on Scyros, unless we fancied day after day of the king’s hospitality. By dawn we were descending the hill, accompanied by servants bearing supplies for us, and by midmorning we had set sail for Chios. When we were safely away, and the wind billowed the sail, I flung off my head covering and splashed seawater on my face to wash off the Hecate-cream. I was tired of being old. How wonderful to be able to wash it away!
“Thank you,” I told Evadne. “Your quick thinking and your help saved me. Saved me from . . . being Helen.”
The island was receding behind us. When it is out of sight, I thought, I will tell Paris and Gelanor about Achilles. But even when Scyros dwindled and disappeared on the horizon, I could not. And I hoped that, far behind me, Achilles likewise respected my own secret.
Chios meant more night sailing, and through rough seas almost due east. We clung hard to the stays and handholds to keep from being thrown out, but even so we were drenched as the waves broke over the sides of the ship. Shivering and miserable, we stared at the horizon, hoping to see Chios. But all we saw was the rising sun, shining out over the heaving waves.
I began to feel seasick, an illness that I had been spared up until now. “Look out at the horizon, my lady,” Evadne told me. “Lift your eyes away from the waves. And here, suck on this.” She handed me a salted piece of pork. “Salt helps.”
The bitter taste of the meat seemed to promise more stomach-churning, but she was right; somehow it countered the seasickness. I kept my eyes fastened straight ahead, over the waves, and was one of the first to see Chios when it emerged from the mists of twilight.
Like the others, it had mountains; unlike the others, it was very large, a massive piece of land lying just off the coast—the coast where Troy itself lay. This would be the end of the floating, free run that I had had—like the race I had run before my marriage. In one I had flown over the grass, in this I had flown over the sea. Now all that must end.
Grateful to be ashore, everyone disembarked. There were people here on this island; it was known for its fine wine. I knew I would have to disguise myself again, but surely that could wait. Surely no one would find us before morning.
A camp was set up, and speedily: this being our sixth stop, we had become expert in what to do. Soon we were sitting around the fire, waiting for our food to be done, drinking our wine—which was turning sour now.
“Perhaps we can refill our skins here at Chios,” said the captain. “That would improve matters!”
“What do we have to exchange?”
“A lot of leftover bronze,” said Paris. “We came well equipped with gifts.”
“A cauldron for an amphora. Sounds like a fair trade.”
The wine, on top of the residual seasickness, made me light-headed. The stars overhead seem to turn slowly as I watched. My head fell back on Paris’s shoulder. I remember nothing more about that evening.
I was one of the first to awaken and leave the tent shelter. I walked down to the sea and let the steady rhythm of the waves help clear the fog of sleep from my mind.
“You won’t see Troy from this side of the island.”
I turned to find Gelanor standing beside me. The noise of the sea had drowned out his footfalls.
“I am not sure I wish to see Troy,” I replied.
“A little late to think of that.”
“You’ve turned into a scold. As soon as we reach Troy, you can turn around and go back. That is what you want. So you must be pleased that we are within a short journey of your escape.” Let him go. Let him leave. His presence had been oppressive on this voyage.
“I haven’t yet had what I want from this journey.”
“What is that?”
“I am about to grasp it today. I will head south and find it.”
“Find what?”
“A certain kind of shrub that produces a sweet sticky gum. It grows elsewhere, but only here does its sap harden naturally if the stem is bled.”
I was disgusted. So that was what made him change his mind and come on board. That was what Chios offered him—a tree sap.
“Come and see,” he said. “It will be fascinating to find. I think there could be many uses for such a substance. It could serve as incense in place of expensive myrrh, or as an ointment, or as syrup, or—oh, when I smell and taste it, I’ll know.”
“I have no interest in it,” I said.
“Oh, Helen, once you would have. Do not change, do not take on the lightness of . . . those you associate with.”
“He is not light!”
“So shall we wait and include him?” Gelanor looked up at the sun. “However, it might be a long wait. He does not emerge from his tent until midmorning sometimes.”
“No. It would be too late to start then.”
“I thought you were not coming.” He laughed. “Oh, do. It would be a good stretch of your legs. They must be cramped from sitting so long on the ship. I know mine are.”
So it was decided. I was going with him. It had been a long time since we had walked side by side—since the fateful trip to Gytheum.
Chios was a lovely island, but less green than Andros. Fewer tall trees meant that the wind whipped across it faster. I fancied that the wind came from Troy—brisk and energetic. The hillsides were covered in scrub and bushes.
“How will you ever know the bush you seek?” I asked him.
“I’ve seen its dried leaves,” he said. “I will recognize them. And we may see cuts on the trunks where people bleed them for the sap.”
As we walked along, I saw bright yellow and pink orchids in the limestone crags. “I’ve never seen so many,” I said, bending down to pick one. I tucked it behind my ear.
“Nor I,” admitted Gelanor. “This island must favor them.” Suddenly he stopped and grabbed my arm. “There!” He pointed to a nondescript bush. Then he hurried over to it and knelt down, inspecting the leaves. Taking out a small piece of the sharp obsidian from Melos, he made a neat cut across the stem. Immediately a clear sap oozed out.
“Now we wait.” He sat down beside it. “For how long, I don’t know.” He pointed out across the sea. “But look, while we wait—your new home.”
I shaded my eyes. The water was bright and the sun was reflecting off it, making a glare of everything around it. But beyond it—yes, there was land.
“The land of Troy,” Gelanor sai
d. “Fabled Troy.”
I could tell nothing about it, save that it had hills and was somewhat green.
Beside me, he laughed. “What did you expect? Walls of gold?”
“There has to be a city before there can be walls, of gold or stone. I see no city.”
“That’s farther away. This is merely the region surrounding Troy, its neighbors. The Carians, the Lycians, the Mysians. People just like anyone else. Disappointed?”
“That—or relieved.” In truth I did not know.
“Oh, come, now—you did not turn your world inside out to find yourself back among ordinary people.”
He did not understand. He had never been touched by Aphrodite. He could not see that it was Paris—Paris, not Troy or the Trojans or walled cities—that called to me, held me fast in a net. To those whom the goddess had never visited, all this was incomprehensible. So I merely smiled and said nothing.
“Look!” He was turning around and scrambling over to the bush. The sap had turned amber-colored and formed little beads. Gelanor broke one off and rolled it between his fingers. It was springy, and when he squeezed it, it plumped back into its original shape. He sniffed it, then handed it to me.
I played with it and tried crushing it. When I mashed it, a delightful scent filled the air, much like smoky incense. But when it resumed its shape, the odor vanished. I nibbled on it and found the taste to be stinging, much like pine sap.
“What wondrous things people could do with this!” he said. “If we find the collectors of the sap, we’ll ask them what they use it for here on Chios. I know it is traded abroad, but only for mending things or making them watertight.”
I hoped we did not see anyone. It was so tiresome, being Helen. It was likewise tiresome pretending not to be Helen.
“So now you’ve seen it,” I said. “What you endured the long sea voyage for.” I could not keep the bitterness from seeping into my voice.
“Oh, Helen, you know better than that.”
“Or perhaps you just could not face the dangers of sailing back through the Cythera channel by yourself. The captain painted a black picture of it. So you hid your fear with this excuse of wanting to come to Chios. Now you can safely return over land. A long way, but doubtless you will find many rocks and trees and poisons along the journey to entertain you and make it worthwhile.”
“Helen.” He was looking hard at me. “You know better than that,” he repeated.
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Must you force me to say it? I had changed my mind, and yes, you are right, I needed some coloration for it. I could not let myself be seen as an indecisive, silly boy. But the reason I had changed my mind was that I needed to see you safe to Troy.”
I laughed. “Did you not trust the captain, and Aeneas and Paris and all those soldiers? Are you better protection than they?”
“Perhaps not, but I had a bond of honor with myself. I said there on the beach of Cythera that my loyalty was to you, not Sparta. Leaving you there would not be an act of loyalty. Quite the opposite. So I have come all this way, and I will stay until you are ushered inside the walls of Troy.” He took the ball of resin back from me. “So you see, you have been angry with me all these days for no good reason.”
I shook my head as if it were of no matter. But I felt secure again. My friend was back. Indeed, he had never gone away, except in my own mind. Keeping him in Troy . . . that would be another matter. Another challenge.
We waited and collected a small bag full of the mysterious sap, then walked back to the ship. As we passed a wooded site in the hills, I was suddenly overcome with a feeling for the significance of this place, that it would be of immense importance to me, to Paris, to all of us. I stopped and stared at it. There was nothing there. No hut, no herds, no garden, no people. Yet someday there would be.
“What is it?” asked Gelanor. “You are staring at nothing, at the empty air.”
“No, not empty.” It was thick with something.
“Is it evil?”
“No. It is—it is glorious. Something wonderful will come from here.”
XXIX
The crossing to the mainland where Troy lay was not exciting. It should have been, but it was not. I should have felt the brushing of Aphrodite’s wings against my cheeks, should have beheld omens or heard faraway music, but everything was ordinary.
The soil where I stepped was ordinary: plain dirt with a few straggling blades of grass. A distinctly ordinary breeze was blowing, and it brought no unusual perfumes or scents. I sighed, oddly disappointed.
“What is it, my love?” asked Paris, who heard my slightest breath. “We are almost home!”
Your home, I thought. Your home. “I am nervous,” I admitted.
He looked surprised. “Helen is nervous? Why, the world always bows before you.”
That was about to end, I thought. And had I not longed for it to end? Had I not complained endlessly about it to myself?
“A new world for you to conquer!” he said.
“You are more certain of that than I.”
We were walking slowly toward a clump of—ordinary—trees, where we would ready ourselves for the last stage of the journey. Behind us Aeneas was shouting orders at the men, and the captain was barking about how to secure the ship.
“Come!” Paris took my hand and ran with me to a knoll, where he pointed north. The endless, featureless landscape fell away before his finger. “If you could fly directly, like an eagle, there lies Troy.” He turned my shoulders and held me to him. “But you would not be an eagle; no, you would be one of those bright-colored birds that live somewhere far to the south. I’ve never seen one, but I’ve seen the feathers—yellow and red and brilliant green.”
If I were a bird . . . but my feet were standing on rocky soil, and it was my feet that must carry me to Troy. I said as much.
“We could have horses,” he said. “You are now in the land of horses. I told you Troy was famous for them. We can get chariots and wagons—”
“No! I do not want them to know we are coming. Horses and chariots will announce us.”
He looked puzzled. “Why should they not know we are coming?”
“I want—I want it to be unexpected,” I said. Somehow I thought that would be safer. But safer in what way? Would it postpone the disfavor and dismay I now dreaded?
“But they will want to welcome us properly.”
“Before we arrive, you must tutor me all about the Trojans. All your family, and the court. I need to know what they look like, what their strengths and weaknesses are, and how you feel about them. I want to be able to recognize them the first time I see them.” Somehow I felt that would give me protection. And I wanted very much to know those whom Paris held dear—and the others whom he did not.
We traveled very slowly through the landscape. We had landed on a long narrow cape that jutted far out into the sea, as if it were reaching rocky fingers toward Chios. For a bit we could see the sea on both sides, but soon we were enveloped by the gentle hills and plains.
The roads—such as they were—were rough and narrow, and we passed no cities. Few people came out to see us, and those who did were farmers and herdsmen.
“Where are the allies of Troy you told me about?” I asked Paris as we walked along.
“A bit farther inland,” he said. “We have the Lycians and the Maeonians. You’ll see them soon enough.” He laughed. “Perhaps even the Amazons will come to court to greet you.”
“Amazons. Are there really such things?” I had learned that Paris liked to tease. Sometimes I wondered if he was ever truly serious.
“Oh, yes. Beyond the Black Sea.”
“Have you ever actually seen an Amazon?”
“No . . . but my brother Hector has. Remember, I myself have not been long in Troy. Hector said that the one who came to court was as tall as he was, and had great muscular arms—she was quite frightening!”
“Tonight—you must tell me all about Hector and the rest. You
promised!” In only a few days we would arrive in Troy and I must know.
“Ah, yes!” He cupped his hands and called to Aeneas. “Dear cousin, tonight you and I must put on a show!”
* * *
The fire burning brightly, we sat on woven mats and lay back, wine cups in hand. “No more delays,” I told Paris. “Let me learn so I can recognize them and greet them by name.” I called Gelanor and Evadne over to join us.
“Very well.” Paris motioned to Aeneas, who stood up and turned his back on us. In a moment he turned around and stood facing us, a scowl on his face, thumping a large staff, which I assumed was to mimic a spear. “Who is it?”
“That must be Hector.” He was the oldest son, the finest warrior there that I had heard of. But was he also fierce and unpleasant?
Paris laughed. “Fooled you! We wouldn’t start with the most obvious. You will learn better if they’re all mixed up. This is Deiphobus, a bit older than I. He wants to be Hector, but isn’t. Pity.” He waved to Aeneas. “Next.”
Aeneas returned partially stooped, wearing a woman’s headdress. Earrings made of string hung from his ears and he seemed to have a wig on, but one suspiciously strawlike.
An older woman . . . but he couldn’t mean Queen Hecuba, could he? Shuffling along like that, bent over? “An old priestess?” I ventured.
“No, no! There is a high-ranking priestess of Athena, named Theano. But she’s younger. This is my mother, Queen Hecuba.”
“So old?” I asked.
“Well—we exaggerated,” Paris admitted. “After all, my brother Troilus is younger than I am, and there’s a daughter and son younger yet. So she is not so far away from childbearing.”
“Tell me about Troilus,” I said.
“He’s very handsome, and he loves horses. He’s a great tamer of them, a great charioteer. But although he’s good-looking, he seems unaware of it and he’s very friendly and loving.”