King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

Peisandros slapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Since when has marriage between royalty been for anything other than power? Achilles could still be in his mother’s womb for all they care; it’s his parentage and his prospects that count for them. And there are all sorts of prophecies about his future greatness. At least when we lesser nobles marry there’s something more than alliances and wealth involved. Take my wife for example.’ Here he paused and ordered a girl carrying a basket of barley cakes to come over. He helped himself to a handful, gave Odysseus and Eperitus a few, then sent the slave on her way with a pat on the backside. Peisandros stuffed one of the wafers into his mouth and continued. ‘Now, my wife can cook, which is the most important thing, but she’s a handsome lass too. She isn’t a Helen, of course, but . . .’

‘Tell us about Helen,’ Odysseus interrupted, biting into one of the cakes. ‘You must have seen her by now. Is she as beautiful as they say?’

Peisandros thought for a while in silence, looking across the valley to Mount Taygetus. ‘No, she’s not as beautiful as they say, because they can’t describe her kind of beauty. Helen’s got the best of everything a man could want, of course, and rumour has it that her real father is Zeus himself. But there’s a spirit in the girl that can’t be captured by words. She’s too . . . free, I would say, though that falls short too. Even the poets tear their beards out in frustration when they see her. New words would need to be thought up, and even they would only have any meaning to those who’d actually seen her.’

‘She must be wonderful,’ Odysseus said, ‘if she can make bards out of the toughest warriors.’

‘She is, my friend, and she does. I’m no man of words – my spear talks well enough for me – but even the simplest soldier has to spend hours and days trying to dress her up in words. All of us fail, of course, and our princes and kings fare no better; but if we don’t try to comprehend her in some way – to contain her within words if you like – then we’d lose our minds.’

Eperitus thought of Athena in her full immortal brilliance as he had seen her by the moon-silvered spring, and wondered if Helen had a similar effect on mortal eyes. Although he had not thought of Athena as beautiful, this was only because he did not consider the physical aspect of her being. As a goddess she was but one thing and one thing only: glorious. He had hardly been able to look at her, because in her was the immeasurable, unattainable, incomprehensible essence of perfection. She had lacked only the one shade of absolute supremacy, which belonged to Zeus himself, whom no mortal can witness in his true form and live.

‘You might be fortunate enough to see her this evening,’ Peisandros added, ‘and then you can judge for yourselves. I’ve discussed her with others in my troop and we all see something different. For me she has something of the moon in her: a hard, cold, ageless beauty, aloof and alone in a world of darkness. You might see the brilliance of the sun, the source of the rest of your life. Or she may remind you of the sea – she does others – with a beauty that goes on for ever and is too deep to fathom. She’s all of these things, I can tell you, and much more beyond your understanding. But I warn you, too: to see her is also a curse. I’ll never forget her, not even when my tortured soul is sent to the halls of Hades, where they say everything is forgotten. It makes me sad to know the world I once loved will never hold the same wonder as it did before, because she’s taken its place in my heart. There’s some kind of witchcraft in her to do that in a man.’

He fell silent and looked out over the valley again. Could Helen really have that effect on men? Eperitus wondered. Part of him did not want to find out – would rather he walk out of that palace of the damned before it was too late. But the stronger part was intrigued by Peisandros’s words.

‘Come now,’ Odysseus said. ‘Surely you don’t mean the girl practises the dark arts.’

Peisandros cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t,’ he said, ‘but there’s no doubt it runs in the family.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Eperitus, leaning forward.

Peisandros turned to the two men and gave them a dark stare. ‘I mean there are a lot of rumours about Leda, Helen’s mother, and even more about Clytaemnestra. I’ve heard it said all Leda’s children were born from eggs, and that’s strange enough, but few question that Clytaemnestra is a follower of the old gods. She and Helen are as different as night and day, of course, but it doesn’t mean Helen doesn’t have something strange in her blood. It would explain the way she can bend any man to her will.’

Eperitus looked at Odysseus, who returned his gaze but revealed nothing of what was in his mind.

‘Then let’s talk no more of women, Peisandros,’ the prince said. ‘Tell us about the other suitors – who they are and where they’ve come from.’