“Maybe sometimes it’s good to have the gods laugh at us,” I said.
The ship landed at Tiryns the next morning and we set out for Mykenae with the merchants and their trade goods. After the ease of our voyage, the overland trek to Mykenae was a trial. The only diversion we had turned out to be unwelcome: One of the merchants developed an annoying attraction for me. When I ignored him, as a modest maiden of good family should do, he persisted. The road to Mykenae became a strand of days filled with gifts, sighs, languishing looks, and the occasional love song. There was nothing I could do to stop it.
“I almost feel sorry for that man,” Telys’s mother said one evening as we made camp. “I think he loves you very much. He’s breaking his heart over you, child.”
“Is that supposed to make me love him? Suppose I did marry him, just because he wouldn’t stop pestering me until I gave in. Imagine that another man arrives, years later, and he’s breaking his heart over me as well. What am I supposed to do then? Run away with the new pest?” I shook my head. “Is love just a matter of badgering someone until you get your own way, like a spoiled child? If that’s so, Aphrodite ought to carry a hammer as a warning.” Telys’s mother didn’t say another word on behalf of my exasperating suitor after that.
One blessed morning, our group emerged from a grove of trees high on a hill and saw a most welcome sight: the city of Mykenae. “We’ll be there well before nightfall,” Telys said, shading his eyes and gauging the distance. “It looks like easy going from here, downhill and then fairly level land until we reach the city heights.”
I sighed happily and said a prayer of thanks to Hermes for having guided us well. I wanted to hike up my skirt and race across the plain to the citadel gate. Already I saw myself embracing my sister, Clytemnestra, and my heart ached to make that vision real.
When we reached the outskirts of the city, spread out below the slopes of the royal stronghold, my impatience got the better of me. I didn’t run, but unconsciously I began to add speed to my stride, until I was rushing ahead of the rest of the group. Telys and his mother were too busy staring at everything around them to notice. Before I knew it, I’d left everyone behind.
As I climbed the hill toward the Lion Gate, my mind raced faster than my feet. A practical voice inside my head spoke up, saying, Slow down, Helen! Do you think the guardsmen at the gate are just going to stand to one side and let you through unchallenged? They don’t know who you are. If you proclaim that you’re the queen’s sister, they’ll probably burst out laughing. No princess arrives on foot, covered with the dust of the road.
I didn’t want to listen to common sense. All I wanted was to see my sister again. I wasn’t going to let anyone or anything stop me.
As I ran, my eyes skimmed the faces of the people I passed. Had there been so many soldiers in the streets when Lord Thyestes ruled? Was the new king, Lord Agamemnon, so insecure that he needed to put more troops around him, like human armor? When I reached the towering stone gateway, would these men try to keep me from seeing Clytemnestra? I scowled at each warrior I passed, yet as I did, I noticed that not all of them were Mykenaeans. Their garb, their hair, the shape of their shields and the decorations painted on them, all stirred my memory. Here and there I saw a face I thought I recognized.
“Helen! Helen!”
I heard a voice ring out through the Lion Gate, a voice I thought I’d never hear again until Lord Hades’ ferryman, Charon, carried my own spirit across the river Styx into the land of the dead. Sandaled feet came pounding down the path from the royal stronghold and a shouting, flying blur struck me so hard that it was more like an attack than an embrace. And through it all, my ears filled with the joyous, familiar sound of my name being called out again and again: “Helen! Helen! Helen!”
I pushed him back to arm’s length and stared into his eyes, afraid that one word would break the spell and send his ghost wailing back into the Underworld. But I couldn’t stay silent forever.
“Milo?” I whispered, shaking. He grinned and nodded happily in spite of the bandage binding his head. “Oh, Milo!”
I hugged Milo tight and tighter, unable to let him go, until a new hand closed gently on my shoulder and I heard a beloved voice murmur tenderly, “May all the gods be praised, this is a miracle.”
I released Milo and turned to look into my father’s face. He closed his arms around me, and though I was still far from Sparta, I was home.
15
IN THE HOUSE OF AGAMEMNON
My father, my sister, and I sat together in the queen’s apartments. How strange, to look at my sister and realize that now she was a queen. We spoke in low voices, our eyes on the slave women who drifted in and out of our sight on silent feet. I got the feeling that their main purpose was not to bring us food, pour our wine, sweep the floor, or fuss over the queen’s belongings. They were the ears of Agamemnon, but we didn’t have to make it easy for them to hear.
“He’s clever, your new husband,” Father said to Clytemnestra very, very softly. “He offers to let us have time alone to ourselves, but makes certain that he’ll know everything we say or do.”
“That’s his mistake,” I replied, also in a nearly inaudible voice.
“And who’s a better authority on mistakes than you, Helen?” Clytemnestra said tartly. “When that boy of yours came stumbling up to the Lion Gate, babbling about how you’d been taken captive in Athens, the gods must have been protecting him like a priceless jewel. If one of Father’s men hadn’t been there and recognized him, my husband’s soldiers would have struck him down.”
“Milo is not my boy,” I responded sharply, striving to keep from shouting in Clytemnestra’s face. “He’s my friend.”