Castor ignores her. “Jason from Thessaly leads us. The crew will be forty men or more.”
“Jason?” She remembers the women of the palace speaking about the boy, son of the rightful king of Iolkos. It was one of those stories that people loved to tell over and over again: a power-hungry ruler eager to eliminate all threats to the throne and a mother desperate to save her child. When Jason was born, his uncle Pelias ordered him dead, so his mother and her attendants clustered around the baby and wailed as if he had been stillborn. Then she slipped out of the palace in the night and hid her son in the woods, praying that someone would rescue him. No one has heard of him since.
“He is alive,” Castor says, “and will take back his kingdom. But first, he needs to go to Colchis.”
“What is he after?”
“A golden fleece.” Clytemnestra raises her eyebrows, skeptical, and Castor explains. “King Ae?tes is rumored to keep the fleece of a ram with golden wool. Many have tried to steal it, but no one has ever succeeded. Jason’s uncle wants him to find it and bring it to him. If we do that, he will give him the throne of Iolkos.”
“Why do you follow him?” Clytemnestra asks. “It is not a fight that concerns you.”
“Every man worth anything will be there. Anyone who wants to be remembered.”
And what about me? Shall I be forgotten? But she remembers her grandmother’s words. You girls will be remembered for longer than your brothers. She walks into the water, feeling mossy rock under her feet.
“You like this king, this Tantalus?” she hears Castor ask.
She laughs but doesn’t answer.
“He wants you, I believe,” Castor adds.
“I believe it too.”
“Will you marry?”
“Maeonia is far,” Clytemnestra says.
Castor tilts his head and looks at her, serious. “Colchis is far too. So what? Do we stay in Sparta and rot for the rest of our days?”
*
Clytemnestra can feel Helen panting behind her. She reaches for her hand to help her up the forest path. Leaves crunch under their feet, and the sun filters through the trees. Along creeks and fallen trunks, wild strawberries glow bloodred in the shade.
The atmosphere in the gymnasium was unbearable, with groups of Spartiates whispering behind Helen’s back as they trained. As soon as the dancing ended, Clytemnestra had taken her sister’s arm and led her up the trail that takes them to the top of Mount Taygetus. She knew she couldn’t have controlled herself if she had stayed there any longer.
They climb to the peak, where the air is cold and wet and trees pierce the sky like spears. Clytemnestra stops to sit on a large rock, and Helen kneels at her side, her golden hair sweaty and scattered with twigs. From up there, the valley is brown and smooth, the patches of dry yellow land like scars on a warrior’s back.
“Do you know about Castor and Polydeuces?” Helen asks.
Clytemnestra nods. Polydeuces must have told her.
“Are you worried?” Helen asks.
“No,” Clytemnestra says. An eagle flies over their heads, a dead mouse in its beak. Clytemnestra watches it until it disappears, diving from the sky into the depth of the forest.
“I wish I could leave too,” Helen says. “I wish I could leave with them.”
“And go to Colchis?”
“Why not?”
Clytemnestra shrugs. “I want to see Knossos, or the Phoenician colonies. Or Maeonia.”
“Maeonia,” Helen repeats.
Clytemnestra squats on the rock, aware that Helen is staring at her.
“You want to marry Tantalus?” Helen asks. There is no jealousy or anger in her voice, just surprise.
Why surprised? Clytemnestra thinks. She thought I would marry some common king or a Spartan? No . . . I want to be with someone who is different, someone who makes me look at the world with pleasure, who shows me its wonders and secrets.
“I can see how you change around him,” Helen says.
“Is it a good or bad change?” Clytemnestra asks.
Helen looks away, smoothing her tunic. Beneath her poise, she may hide sadness and fear, Clytemnestra knows. But her sister has learned to keep the darkness beneath the surface, just as weeds hide under the sea.
When she turns to Clytemnestra again, Helen smiles. “I think good.”
*
At dinner, Castor and Polydeuces announce their imminent departure. Tyndareus and Leda kiss them. Spartan nobles applaud them.
“We will leave when word arrives that Jason is ready in Iolkos,” Castor declares, and everyone beats their cups against the table, cheering. Servants bring wine in golden jugs and platters of bread, meat, figs, and cheese.
“Help yourselves to food, kin and clansmen of Sparta,” Tyndareus says. “Tonight we celebrate my sons’ expedition!” Another round of applause and cheerful shouts. Helen sips her wine quietly as Polydeuces whispers in her ear. Clytemnestra watches them.
“Are you sad?” Tantalus asks her.
Clytemnestra turns to him.
“I can see you are sad because they are leaving,” he says. He is staring at her, waiting, as if ready to hold her feelings and secrets in his hands.
“They will be happy there,” she says. “They were born for this.”
“For what?”
“To be great fighters. Heroes.”
“And you?”
“I wasn’t born to be in some other man’s expedition.”
“What were you born for, then?”
She waits a moment before replying. “My grandmother once said I was born to rule.”
Tantalus smiles. “All rulers must learn how to follow before they can lead.”
“Have you spent a long time following others? Before you were king?”
He laughs and takes her hand. Her skin burns under his touch. Then he lets go and eats while the room fills with drunken chatter.
When the sun sinks into the dry land, the hall grows quieter. The house dogs are eating the leftovers on the floor. Dirty plates, bowls, and cups half filled with wine litter the table. Leda and Tyndareus have already disappeared to their quarters, and now the last drunken nobles are stumbling away, dragging their wives with them.
It is dark outside, but the high-roofed hall is still lit. Castor hands Tantalus a golden jug, a mischievous smile on his face. “Drink some more.”
He takes it. “If you’re trying to get me drunk, you will find it hard.”
“Do you drink much in Maeonia?” Helen asks. She is lying on the wooden bench, her head on Polydeuces’s lap.
“We drink to death,” Tantalus replies. Castor and Clytemnestra laugh. She is walking around the hall, in and out of the brightness of the torches. Tantalus’s gaze follows her.
“Then we can’t let our sister come with you,” Castor says. “We don’t want her to die from drinking too much wine.”
Clytemnestra’s cheeks burn, but she smiles. “You shouldn’t worry, Castor. You know very well that I can fight you even after two jugs.”
Castor leaps closer to her and tries to lift her, jokingly, but she takes his arm and bends it behind his back. He laughs, pushes her away.
Helen yawns, and Polydeuces stands. “I’m going to bed,” he says. A dark-haired servant steps into the room, looking at him hopefully, as if she were waiting for him to take her. He ignores her, holding out his hand for Helen.
“Well, I am going too,” Castor says, walking in the servant’s direction. “It seems I might have company tonight after all.”
Helen lingers by the door, looking at Clytemnestra and Tantalus. She opens her mouth as if to say something but closes it and takes Polydeuces’s hand. They leave together, Helen’s head turning one more time before they disappear beyond the door.
Clytemnestra leans against the wall, Tantalus’s eyes on her. Now there are only the two of them, facing each other. She waits, still under the light of a torch, and he comes to her. When he is close enough to touch her, he speaks so softly his words feel like a breath.
“Tell me what you want, Clytemnestra.” She bites her lip, quiet, so he adds, “I will go too, if that is what you wish.”
He understands that she likes power, and he is giving it to her. She wonders if it is a trick, a game he is playing. But even if it is, she doesn’t care. She is good at games, and she can play this one.
“Stay,” she says.