King of Ithaca (Adventures of Odysseus)

‘What’s wrong, Eperitus? Are you shocked that I should kiss you? Well, you shouldn’t be. If I wasn’t the plaything of the powerful, who knows that I wouldn’t be happy to spend my life with a handsome warrior like yourself?’

‘You’re kind, my lady,’ he replied despondently. He knew she wanted to repay him for being her one friend during the long weeks of her courtship by so many men, but he could not bring himself to match her cheerfulness, weighed down by the guilt of what he had to reveal to her. ‘But you truly are the plaything of the powerful, to use your own words. I’m afraid you will always be a prisoner of Tyndareus and Agamemnon.’

She laughed. ‘I’ll be free when you convince Odysseus to take me away from here.’

‘You don’t understand me, my lady. Helen. I’m trying to tell you that they know.’

She froze and the playful smile fell from her lips. ‘Know what?’

Eperitus could not bring himself to say it in full, but Helen knew anyway. She closed her eyes and seemed to crumple under the realization. Tears collected beneath her long, dark eyelashes and began to roll down her cheeks to fall in large, fast drops to the floor. He watched her as she stood there, silent and unmoving, the tears shining on her proud face, and he wanted to touch her but could not. She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen and it was like a sword through his heart to see the sadness of despair hurt her so deeply. Then he gathered all his courage and stepped up to her, daring even to hold her and let her fall against his chest, where the warm dampness of her tears seeped into his rough woollen tunic.

She put her arms about him and held him tight. Her face was buried into his neck, hidden beneath her dense black hair, and he looked down at the top of her head. Something told him to kiss her, a sudden, unexpected urge that threatened to take control of him. But the urge became a voice, the mocking voice of Gyrtias, and the beautiful, daring thought was soured and fell away. Then she spoke in a hoarse whisper.

‘How do they know?’

Eperitus thought of the frightened young maid confronted by the most powerful men in Greece and could not blame Neaera for her betrayal. ‘Agamemnon didn’t tell me.’

‘Oh, what does it matter any more?’ Helen said bitterly, her wet cheeks shining in the torchlight. ‘They’ll be watching me now. Everywhere I go and everything I do. There’ll even be somebody in the street now, hiding in the shadows and waiting for me to leave. Oh, it’s terrible.’

This pained him even more, knowing he had agreed to be their watcher for them. Surely he could do something for her? Was he so weak that he could not help a girl in need? Then she looked at him again and a new light of desperate determination was in her eyes.

‘I know a secret way out of here, Eperitus. We could leave together without being seen. You could take me away over the mountains to your homeland. I could marry you and we could live a simple life together. If you take me away now, I promise myself to you. Please, Eperitus.’

As she uttered these words to him the feasting hall on top of the hill was filled with warriors from almost every kingdom in Greece. The kings and princes of its nations and islands were gathered together in honour of this girl, the greatest assembly in Greek history. Each man was high-born. They were the sons of heroes, the leaders of their people, and each had the right to believe they could win the hand of Helen. Yet she had offered herself to him.

For a brief, wild moment Eperitus thought his heart would smash itself free of his ribcage, so fast did it beat. Helen had offered him everything he could ever want, and his head was dizzy with the thought of her, of having her for himself. All he needed to do was take her by the hand and slip out of the darkened streets of Sparta into the Eurotas valley. Men would come after them, following every conceivable route of escape, but he felt sure they could evade any pursuit.

But he knew it could not be. The oracle had warned him of the dangers of love, but worse still he would be abandoning Odysseus and Ithaca, whom he had sworn to protect. He had also given Menelaus his hand and obliged himself for the sake of his honour to see that Helen did not escape from Sparta.

The blood began to cool in his veins. Besides, where would they go? Where could they go that news of their arrival would not reach the ears of Tyndareus and Agamemnon? There was nowhere that Helen’s beauty could escape notice. They would remain wanderers, roaming from place to place to escape the far-reaching wrath of Sparta and Mycenae. What sort of life would that give them, and how long before Helen despaired of a nomadic existence and returned to her father? No, he was a fool even to imagine such a thing.

He looked at Helen and she knew his answer.

‘Of course not,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘They made me swear to watch over you,’ he admitted. ‘They told me to see that you did not escape. I’m sorry.’