“A what?” My head came up sharply. I stared at my mother as if she’d lost her mind. “I don’t care if I’m pretty enough to get a husband! I don’t want a husband. When you get married, you have to go away from home. I don’t want to leave you or Father, not ever.”
My mother laughed. She laughed so hard that she had to sit down on a carved folding stool. How could she? Didn’t she see how upset I was by the idea of having to marry and leave everything I really loved?
When my mother finally caught her breath, she swept me onto her lap and kissed me. “Oh, my precious little girl! Where do you get your ideas? First of all, you will want a husband one day; that I promise you. But you needn’t be afraid of leaving Sparta. You will stay here. It’s your sister who’ll have to leave when she marries. The two of you shared one birth, but you were the first one to see the light. The midwife tied a red thread around your wrist the instant you were born so that there’d be no mistakes made about your claim to the throne later on. You’re older than Clytemnestra by just enough to make you queen of your father’s land when the time comes.”
“Me?” It was the first I’d heard of this.
My mother kissed me again. “Yes, you. Why are you so surprised? Has no one told you? Not even Ione?”
I shook my head. “I thought—I thought that Castor and Polydeuces would be the kings of Sparta when they grew up.”
“Ah!” My mother nodded. “Well, I can understand why you’d reach that conclusion. You’re too young to know that this land has always been ruled by queens. The only time a king rules is when his mother has no daughters. That’s why Tyndareus is king but why your brothers won’t be.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my hands, clasped quietly in my lap. I had come stealing into my parents’ bedchamber just to see my face, and all at once I was staring at my future. Queen of Sparta! “Will Castor and Polydeuces mind that they’re not kings and I’m queen?” I asked, suddenly feeling very sorry for my brothers.
My mother brushed away my fears like summer flies. “Castor and Polydeuces will be fine. They might not be the next kings of Sparta, but they’ll have no trouble making great names for themselves in this world. I have faith in my boys. And don’t you worry, my dearest one: Whether or not you’re their queen, they’ll always love you. How could anyone not love you, little Helen? You’re such a beautiful child.”
So there we were again. I could claim a kingdom, cause a scene at a shrine, refuse to sacrifice to a goddess, and get away with it all. My life would always be easy and pleasant because no matter what I did, everything would be forgiven, forgotten, laughed away because I was pretty. No, I was better than pretty. I was beautiful.
I had no reason to doubt that this was true.
I got off my mother’s lap and picked up the mirror again. The face that looked back was certainly different from Clytemnestra’s. The cheeks were rosier, the chin more rounded, the lips fuller and more clearly shaped, the teeth brighter when I smiled. Our hair was the same color, but mine was shinier, and my eyes were the deep, striking blue of ripe grapes, while hers were ordinary brown. Did all of those small differences add up to beauty? I frowned at my reflection, puzzled. Though it was the first time I’d seen my face so clearly—even a dented mirror shows you a better image than a pool of water—I felt as if I’d seen such a face somewhere else.
Then it hit me—my brother Polydeuces! My face was a younger, softer version of his. Even our hair was the same in style as well as color, since in Sparta the nobly born men as well as the women wore their hair in long curls as far down their backs as it would grow. Polydeuces and I looked remarkably similar, but no one ever called him beautiful.
It was all very confusing. I needed to think about it. Very solemnly, I gave the mirror back to my mother and went to my own room.
Ione was there, spreading a new blanket on my bed. It was dyed the color of ripe barley, and one of my mother’s maids had embroidered the corners with bunches of red grapes. There was no fine new blanket for Clytemnestra’s bed. The way I saw it, I’d received this new gift as one more reward for being beautiful. I wondered if Polydeuces would be getting a new blanket too.
“What have you been up to?” Ione said, frowning. “Your sister is in the courtyard, working with her spindle. She was starting on her third skein of yarn when I left her. Go get yours and—”
“Ione,” I cut in. “Why am I so much prettier than Clytemnestra?”
My nurse gaped at me. “My poor little lamb, has the sun cooked your brains? What a thing to say!”
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “I know I’m prettier than she is. I’m beautiful. The queen herself said so. And it’s all right for me to say it too, because I’m going to be queen myself someday. I just want to know why I’m prettier than she is, that’s all.”
“There’s a fine question,” Ione snorted. “I thank the gods that I’ll be dead long before you rule this land, if that’s a sample of your wisdom, O Queen.”
“Don’t make fun of me!” I cried. My head was still full of the new, dizzying awareness of power, the power of being beautiful. Even my sister said I was treated better than she was because of it. Yet here was Ione—Ione who always gave me my favorite foods, who made me dolls, who adorned my new clothes with embroidery and mended my old ones with care, who watched over me when I was sick—here she was, defying me! Teasing me! Was she blind? Didn’t she understand that I deserved to be treated better than anyone else because I was beautiful? It was infuriating.
“Ione, if you don’t answer my question I’ll—I’ll—” I tried to think of something to say that would make this stubborn grown-up take me seriously. Then I remembered what Father’s palace manager always said to bring contrary slaves and servants back into line. If it worked for him—