For the Most Beautiful (9 page)

People began to mutter, craning their necks to peer at Paris, some shaking their heads, but most gazing up at the king, waiting for what he would say next.

‘The high priest of the Great God has informed me that our holy goddess, Arinniti, daughter of the storm god Zayu, blesses us with the beauty of Princess Helen as the richest treasure to crown our well-built city,' he continued, bowing graciously towards Helen. ‘Prince Paris has been awarded Helen as a gift, a sign of the gods' favour towards Troy. They have appointed us the protectors of Princess Helen by the eternally binding laws of hospitality.'

Helen's blushing lips arched into a smile as King Priam turned to her. I felt my stomach turn over with a terrible fear, and it was almost as if I could feel the sweeping of some unavoidable doom over the walls as the king looked directly into Helen's grey-blue eyes.

‘The gods and your king have spoken. Helen has our blessing. She shall stay.'

The crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as King Priam lowered his sceptre. One of the young lords standing beside me thumped his neighbour on the back and shouted in his ear, ‘And I wager the gold Helen brought with her doesn't hurt either, eh?'

‘Nor does the king's liking for a pretty face,' the other replied, and they both spluttered with quiet laughter.

Hector stepped slowly back on to the platform at the tower edge to take his father's place, accepting his spear from the page who carried it for him. His wife, Andromache, stepped out of the king's retinue to join him, their young son in her arms, her eyes turned up to Hector in a silent plea, but he was unable to meet her gaze, like a man swept away in the current of a sea he cannot fight. He took a deep breath. The crowd fell silent, waiting to hear what Hector would say.

‘My father the king speaks the truth of Zayu. Whatever my young brother has done, he did it by the will of the gods.'

The people in the crowd were murmuring among themselves now. Prince Hector cast a look at his father, who nodded, smiling. Hector took a deep breath. ‘Now that the Greeks are here, are we going to run, or are we going to fight?'

They were shouting more loudly now: ‘Fight! Fight for Troy!'

Hector drummed the end of his spear into the ground. ‘Do we see the forces of the enemy and weep like girls?'

‘No!'

Hector brought his spear down again. ‘Do we turn over a gift given to us by our gods, a guest who claims our protection, to be torn apart by those Greek unbelievers with their false gods?'

‘No!'

The spear came down once more. ‘Then, Trojans,
what do we do
?'

The reply came back at him, as inevitable as an echo: ‘Fight for Troy! Fight for Troy!
Fight for Troy!
'

Hector raised his spear into the air and shook it, the sunlight flashing off the sharpened blade. He looked at Helen for an instant, spear held in mid-air, and their eyes met.

And Helen's lips curved again into a smile.

Those first weeks passed in peaceful bliss: the warm wedded delight of a young couple newly married, and the joy that flooded my veins every time I looked at my young, strong husband, and knew that I would no longer be alone, or feel the blame of my brothers' impending death and the wrath of the gods hanging over my head. The prophecy had vanished, and with it my doubts and fears.

And, of course, I was in love.

It seems improbable, and yet, from almost the first moment that Mynes' hand had touched mine, I had loved him. He was not the king I had imagined, true, but he had believed in me when no other man had. He had taken me and promised to care for me and, to a girl who had been shunned by her family and suitors for five long years, this was worth the promise of the world. More than anything, I had learnt to thrill with joy at his touch and the sound of his voice. I felt complete, whole, finished. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was loved, and it was like the touch of sun on my skin after a long imprisonment.

A few weeks after the first joy of our wedding night, I was going into the evening feast when Mynes came out from the men's quarters. He had just taken a bath, and his skin was scrubbed and scented with cedar-wood oil imported from the mountains in the south, his face glowing from a day spent in the sun. He came up to me and caught me from behind in his arms, nuzzling into the nape of my neck.

I wriggled free and gave him my most dignified, regal look. ‘And what do you think you are doing, accosting the Princess of Lyrnessus?' I asked, in mock outrage.

His brown eyes danced as he leant towards me, the heat of his skin deliciously close to mine. My whole body yearned to fall into his arms.

‘I simply cannot help myself,' he whispered into my ear, ‘when she is so beautiful.'

I let out a deep, shivering sigh of excitement and desire, then looked around to see if anyone was nearby. They were not.

‘Well,' I said, lowering my voice, ‘if that is the case, then I suppose the princess may consent to being accosted again.'

He laughed, then took me by the hand. ‘Come, Briseis,' he said. He pulled me away and down the corridor towards the south gate. ‘There is something I wish to show you.'

‘Wait!' I called. ‘Where are you taking me? What about the feast?'

He did not look back but kept pulling me by the hand, laughing and saying, ‘You'll see.'

We ran around the palace to where the slaves' quarters and kitchens were. Hot air was billowing from the bread-ovens, and the warm, delicious smell of roasting meat on the kitchen spits floated from the windows. I could see the slaves through the large, open windows, their faces shining with sweat as they turned the meat above the fire.

Mynes led me to the kitchen door. Set in front of it was a large wicker basket, neatly covered with a snow-white cloth. He lifted it and handed it to me.

I drew back the cloth and saw a small feast packed inside: a jug of red wine, slices of cold boar, a loaf of warm bread, a flask of olive oil and a handful of figs surrounding a honey-walnut cake. I reached for a slice of bread, but he caught my hand.

‘Not now,' he said. ‘Just wait – you'll see.' He took the basket and pulled me on again.

We were running away from the palace now, through the grape-laden vineyards and down towards the steep cliffs and the sea. A storm seemed to be gathering on the horizon. Thick, dark, rolling clouds were massing up from the sea, dragging a veil of rain behind them across the lowering sky. We came to the gate at the top of the steps cut into the stone of the cliff, and Mynes pushed it open, lifting me through and on to the steps. And then, gloriously, without warning, the summer rain burst over our heads and we ran, slipping, sliding and laughing, down the steps, the smell of water heady in the air, our clothes damp and clinging to our wet skin.

‘This way!' Mynes shouted, over the hiss and splash of the rain, jumping the last few steps and lifting me down on to the beach. He pointed to an old tree a few feet away, its silvery leaves dripping water, like strings of white agate. I held my arms over my head and ran, following Mynes' shadowy figure through the slanting rain that splashed in my eyes and ears, slipping on the slimy-wet sand.

Mynes ducked under the leaves of the tree and pulled me, half sliding in my wet slippers, with him.

We were inside the hollowed-out trunk of a gigantic ancient olive tree. I settled down on the floor and looked around. It was warm and dry in there, and dark like the inside of an old chest. The withes of the living wood twisted around us, winding up into the sky, like a knotted sailor's rope. Outside, beyond the canopy of leaves waving and dripping in the wind, the rain slanted down from stormy grey clouds, and the sea was stirred up into great waves.

Mynes put his arm around my shoulders. ‘What do you think?' he asked softly, resting his head on mine and looking out into the storm. ‘Was this worth missing the feast for?'

‘Almost,' I conceded, smiling. ‘But you are forgetting, husband – we had other things in mind than the feast.'

He laughed at that and took me in his arms, then pulled me gently down to the ground so that we were lying side by side on the warm earth. He gazed deep into my eyes, and I found myself silenced in the warmth of our love. There was a long pause as we looked at each other, and the rain dripped against the roof of wood.

‘What are you thinking?' I asked, smiling as I remembered how he had asked me the same question on the first night of our marriage.

Mynes did not answer, but picked up a small sharp stone that was lying on the ground and weighed it in his palm. ‘Hold my hand.'

I cupped mine around his. He started scraping into the wall of bark, small movements at first, nothing legible.

‘What is it?' I asked, as he guided my hand back and forth over the bark.

‘Wait …'

Shapes seemed to be materializing even as I watched: a series of lines coming together into a triangle crossed by another line …

‘B … M,' I read, as he finished, scraping away the last few grains of bark with the edge of the stone. Then I saw it. ‘Briseis and Mynes.'

He turned to nod and, before he could do anything else, I had caught him in my arms and was kissing him, fully, passionately, my hands on his neck and in his hair.

His fingers uncurled instinctively and he dropped the stone to the ground as he responded, his hands and fingers exploring the skin of my body, pulling the brooches and pins from my wet dress and soaking hair. As one, we rolled together, the basket tipping to one side as Mynes pushed it away, all thoughts of food forgotten.

And there, in the warmth of the olive tree that night, with the rain pouring down over our heads, we made love for the last time.

The day after the Greeks arrived I went to see Cassandra. My friend had taken to her rooms ever since she had collapsed on the walls when Paris and Hector had come home. I had visited her and sat by her bed every day since, telling her what was happening in the city, and wondering what the Fates would send upon us next.

Cassandra was lying on her delicately ornamented maple-wood bed as I opened the door and looked in. Lysianassa was busying herself by one of the chests, folding blankets.

‘Are you awake?'

Cassandra nodded and I came across the room towards her, my feet sinking into the soft pile of the woollen rugs laid across the floor. ‘How are you?' I asked tenderly, as I reached the bed and seated myself beside her. Cassandra seemed in far better spirits than I had seen her lately, and her blue eyes were lively and warm in her pale face as she sat up against her pillows.

‘Krisayis,' she said, taking my hands, ‘it is good to see you again, and I am well, better than I was. Tell me, what is the news?'

I laid beside her the sprig of rock-roses I had brought her from the shrine of the goddess Arinniti. ‘The Greek ships have arrived,' I said quietly, not wishing to be the bearer of bad tidings, though I could not deny her the truth. I tried to keep from my voice the terror I had felt ever since the bell had first tolled across the city.

I saw Cassandra's cheeks whiten.

‘They arrived yesterday. I was on the lookout tower, I saw the ships on the horizon – hundreds of them, Cassandra. Your father the king and Prince Hector are determined to keep Princess Helen within our walls. And Troilus says he cannot see any way out of the war that the Greeks seem intent on bringing against us.'

Cassandra did not reply. It seemed she was struck dumb with fear at the news I had brought, and I remembered her words on the walls that day:
The prize of Troy that is not Troy's shall be its ornament and its ruin …
Perhaps she was remembering too.