Helen of Sparta by Carosella Amalia

Author:Carosella, Amalia [Carosella, Amalia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2015-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

We arrived at Piraeus, Athens’s port, four days later, before dusk. The return from Troy had been swift and uneventful, without storm or mist to slow us. The gods had exacted their punishment, it seemed. Theseus had lost one man in Troy, when the men had tried to steal livestock from one of the shepherds. A boy had fought them back, protecting the cattle long enough for more men to arrive, and dealing a lethal blow to one of our oarsmen. When Pallans told the story and named the boy as Paris in my hearing, my stomach heaved up what was left of my midday meal. Ariston had been forced to cover the sounds with a false coughing fit, and Theseus feigned exhaustion to sit with me inside the small shelter until I cried myself to sleep. It had been a hard journey for both of us.

From the tent, I heard the shouts of his people, cheering his return home. Theseus grinned at me like a boy before leaving the tent. The shouts and cheers became a roar. But what would they think if they knew Theseus had stolen himself a new bride? He was not a young man anymore, to be forgiven for his impulsive acts or ruled by lust, and Athens had not had a queen for a very long time.

Theseus left me behind with Ariston after seeing the rest of his men to shore. I paced in the tent as night fell, and Ariston poured me wine.

I sat down, staring at the cup in my hands. “How much longer?”

“Not long,” he assured me. “On horse it is not even half a morning’s ride to the palace and back.”

“Do you suppose he went on horseback?”

Ariston smiled. “My lady, the king would never be left to travel on foot. If he requires a horse, it will be found for him. Is this not so in Sparta?”

I shook my head. “Tyndareus would never ride on horseback. It is beneath his dignity. He would wait for his chariot to be driven to the coast to meet him.”

“King Theseus does not stand on ceremony in his own city, nor do the people expect it of him,” Ariston said. “It helps that he has not aged. Sometimes we forget how old he really is, though most do not remember well a time before he ruled.”

“It’s so odd.” Perhaps he’d keep his youth long enough that we might age together. But as a daughter of Zeus I might be gifted similarly. After all, Pirithous was a son of Zeus, and he looked no older than Theseus, though he could not have been younger.

Ariston shrugged. “He is a son of Poseidon. Why should he age like a mortal when he isn’t one?”

Movement on the deck stopped my reply, and Ariston rose. He drew a small wicked knife from his belt and looked out, but the tension in his shoulders eased almost at once. Theseus ducked into the tent, a dark cloak over his arm and a small clay pot no larger than a fist in his other hand.

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