Page 65 of The Song of Achilles

It was easy, in those moments, to forget that the war had not yet really begun.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A S TRIUMPHANT AS THE RAIDS WERE, THEY WERE ONLY raids. The men who died were farmers, tradesmen, from the vast network of villages that supported the mighty city—not soldiers. In councils Agamemnon’s jaw grew increasingly tight, and the men were restive: where was the fight we were promised?

Close, Odysseus said. He pointed out the steady flood of refugees into Troy. The city must be near to bursting now. Hungry families would be spilling into the palace, makeshift tents would clog the city’s streets. It was only a matter of time, he told us.

As if conjured by his prophecy, a flag of parley flew above Troy’s walls the very next morning. The soldier on watch raced down the beach to tell Agamemnon: King Priam was willing to receive an embassy.

The camp was afire with the news. One way or another now, something would happen. They would return Helen, or we would get to fight for her properly, in the field.

The council of kings sent Menelaus and Odysseus, the obvious choices. The two men left at first light on their high- stepping horses, brushed to a shine and jingling with ornament. We watched them cross the grass of Troy’s wide plain, then vanish into the blur of the dark gray walls.

Achilles and I waited in our tents, wondering. Would they see Helen? Paris could hardly dare to keep her from her husband, and he could hardly dare to show her either. Menelaus had gone conspicuously unarmed; perhaps he did not trust himself.

“Do you know why she chose him?” Achilles asked me.

“Menelaus? No.” I remembered the king’s face in Tyndareus’ hall, glowing with health and good humor. He had been handsome, but not the handsomest man there. He had been powerful, but there were many men with more wealth and greater deeds to their name. “He brought a generous gift. And her sister was already married to his brother, maybe that was part of it.”

Achilles considered this, arm folded behind his head. “Do you think she went with Paris willingly?”

“I think if she did, she will not admit it to Menelaus.”

“Mmm.” He tapped a finger against his chest, thinking. “She must have been willing, though. Menelaus’ palace is like a fortress. If she had struggled or cried out, someone would have heard. She knew he must come after her, for his honor if nothing else. And that Agamemnon would seize this opportunity and invoke the oath.”

“I would not have known that.”

“You are not married to Menelaus.”

“So you think she did it on purpose? To cause the war?” This shocked me.

“Maybe. She used to be known as the most beautiful woman in our kingdoms. Now they say she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.” He put on his best singer’s falsetto. “A thousand ships have sailed for her.”

A thousand was the number Agamemnon’s bards had started using; one thousand, one hundred and eighty-six didn’t fit well in a line of verse.

“Maybe she really fell in love with Paris.”

“Maybe she was bored. After ten years shut up in Sparta, I’d want to leave too.”

“Maybe Aphrodite made her.”

“Maybe they’ll bring her back with them.”

We considered this.

“I think Agamemnon would attack anyway.”

“I think so too. They never even mention her anymore.”

“Except in speeches to the men.”

We were silent a moment.

“So which of the suitors would you have picked?”

I shoved him, and he laughed.

T HEY RETURNED AT NIGHTFALL, alone. Odysseus reported to the council, while Menelaus sat silent. King Priam had welcomed them warmly, feasted them in his hall. Then he had stood before them, flanked by Paris and Hector, with his other forty-eight sons arrayed behind. “We know why you have come,” he said. “But the lady herself does not wish to return, and has put herself under our protection. I have never refused a woman’s defense, and I will not begin now.”