The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Nonsense,’ she replied, looking back over her shoulder. ‘They bathe in Athens, don’t they? And Ithaca, too, by all accounts.’

Chapter Twenty-nine

TEMPTATIONS OF THE FLESH

Odysseus closed his eyes and laid his head back against the rim of the bath, enjoying the feel of the warm water covering his naked body. He had not had a proper bath in ten years, and never to this degree of luxury. His bath on Ithaca had been in a high-sided ceramic trough, just long enough to sit in with his legs outstretched; the one in Helen’s quarters was a large oval tub set in the floor at the centre of the room, decorated with murals of dolphins, shells and other marine creatures bordered by wavy lines that represented the sea. The strong smells of manure, urine and sweat had been replaced by the subtle perfumes that Helen’s maids had added to the steaming water, and as he filled his nostrils with their aroma he could almost forget that he was lying undisguised and unarmed in the heart of Priam’s citadel. Naturally, though, his busy mind would not allow him to forget his present danger, for not only had he been deprived of his beggar’s mask but the astute Helen had also guessed his true identity. The thought had plagued him all the way to the palace, and had he not been escorted by three armed guards he might have taken the opportunity to escape. And yet Helen had not given him away at the very time when he was most vulnerable, and the more he pondered this the more he believed she would not surrender him to his enemies – at least, not until she had had her chance to talk with him first.

And so he had allowed her reluctant maids to undress him and bathe him, pouring water over his head and shoulders until the heat drove the weariness from his limbs and he began to feel more at ease. In a short while, they would return with olive oil to rub into his skin and hair, and fresh clothes so that he would be in a fit state to be presented to their mistress. Then, of course, he would have to make an explanation of his presence in Troy and hope Helen would not give him up to the guards, who would certainly be close at hand. But he doubted the gods had placed him at Helen’s mercy just so he could be surrendered to Priam. Rather, he thought, they were giving him an opportunity.

The door opened behind him, announcing the return of the maids. Instead of the hurried scuff of three or four pairs of sandalled feet, though, he heard only a single pair of bare feet walking softly and slowly across the stone floor.

‘How many years since we last met, Odysseus?’

Odysseus’s eyes snapped open to see Helen standing at the opposite end of the bath. She was dressed in a white chiton of a thin, revealing material, through which the points of her nipples were clearly visible. Her black hair was no longer pinned behind her head, but hung down over her shoulders so that her pale face was framed in a perfect oval. Her cheeks were touched with pink and her full lips were red; not due to any false colouration, but rather because of the empty krater that dangled from her fingertips. Her large blue eyes were heavily lidded and looked lazily down at Odysseus’s nakedness. The maids had left a stool close to the edge of the bath, which Helen hooked with her toes and drew closer. She dropped onto it with a heavy motion, letting the krater roll from her fingers onto the floor beside her, and leaned her elbows onto her knees.

‘Must be twenty years,’ he answered.

‘And now here you are, in my bath. My maids treated you well?’

Odysseus nodded.

‘I’m sure they didn’t enjoy it,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Not with those rags and that awful smell. Couldn’t you have picked a better disguise to come spying on us in?’

‘It worked well enough, though I admit I didn’t expect to find myself in your bathroom.’

‘But here you are, completely at my mercy.’ The smile left her lips and her eyes grew dark. ‘You realise I could call the guards at any moment and have you dragged before Priam? Or have you forgotten that we are enemies, Odysseus? I’m a Trojan princess, married to the heir to the throne! It’s my duty to have you arrested, and my pleasure to watch you executed.’

‘Your duty, yes, but not your pleasure, I think. Else why didn’t you reveal who I was by the gates, when I was surrounded by armed soldiers? And why are you here with me, alone? Isn’t it the truth that you don’t consider yourself a Trojan at all – no more than those widows below the battlements think of you as one of them – and since the death of Paris you have no reason to want to stay here?’

‘Whether I want to stay here or not isn’t my decision, as well you know,’ she replied sternly. Then she sighed and brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen across her face. ‘But you’re right: if I’d intended to give you up I would have done so by now. And I may yet, but not until you’ve told me about my children. I hope that wasn’t just another of your lies to gain entry to the palace.’