At first, there were many. Most seemed reluctant to take the oath, unwilling to indebt themselves to another man, but Odysseus soon talked the room around. The prince of Ithaca had a way with words, like a running stream, gentle and flowing yet determined in its destination, its currents gradually weathering all obstacles in its path. He played to the men’s honor, to their glory, and they devoured his rhetoric, purpose gleaming in their eyes.
After the debates were finally settled, a bull was brought in for the sacrifice. It seemed an awful waste as I watched Tyndareus slit the poor creature’s throat, its lifeblood sweating onto the stone floors for the mere purpose of assuaging the men’s insufferable egos.
“Odysseus, you may do the honors,” Tyndareus declared once prayers to the gods had been offered.
The prince of Ithaca held up his palms. “Thank you, but there is no need, as I am no longer a prospective suitor for Helen.”
The amity that had settled grew taut as the men turned on Odysseus. His smile was slippery around his lips, his eyes sharp as he tried to think of a way out of this predicament.
Eventually, Odysseus seemed to accept there was no escape. He gave an easy laugh as he walked forward, as if this were all a joke to him. Though even from across the room, I noticed the tightness of his jaw.
Tyndareus held out a bowl filled with the dead beast’s blood, and Odysseus dipped his hands inside.
“I swear this oath to you, Tyndareus, to defend Helen’s marriage, whomever she chooses here today.” His words rang heavy and solemnthroughout the room.
The other men followed suit.
The oaths took the rest of the morning, and I watched the sun stalk its way toward Callias and me until we were standing in a direct pillar of scalding light.
Finally, the time came when Helen was to make her decision.
It felt as if the palace itself were holding its breath, the walls leaning closer to listen as the veiled girl stepped forward, robes rippling around her feet.
As I watched her, I wondered what she must make of all this. All these men gathered for her, for the rumored beauty that rivaled the gods’. Did she enjoy the attention? Did she loathe it? I tried to recall what Penelope had told me of Helen.
She used to relish the fuss, she had said once.Until Theseus.
What happened?
He stole her. Took her far away. He wanted her as his bride. She was only a child. Castor and Polydeuces were the ones who brought her back. She was different after that. Quieter. She never speaks of what happened. Not even to Clytemnestra.
“Well, daughter? Who is it to be?” Tyndareus prompted.
When Helen spoke, her voice glowed like sunlit marble, warm and strong.
“Menelaus,” she announced clearly. “I choose Menelaus.”
13
“You stink worse than usual.”
My brother looked up from where he had been busy shoveling manure in the dusky horse pen. His face was tired, but his eyes shone when he saw me.
“Careful now, sister. If you keep talking so sweet, I’ll have to come give you a big hug and ruin those fancy clothes of yours.” He grinned, eyeing me with a low, sarcastic whistle. “Castor sure keeps you well, doesn’t he?”
“Castor has new toys to play with now,” I muttered.
“You evensoundfancier,” Melanthius said as he set his shovel aside.
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s good to see you, Mel. It’s been too long.”
I pretended not to hear the dip of emotion in his voice, moving to lean against the wall of the pen. Watery gray light filtered in behind me, illuminating the muck-stained floor. I did not know how my brother endured the stench day after day.
“I got your message,” I said. “What’s so urgent?”
“How’d you get away from the palace?”
