Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  The gates opened wide and the guts of Troy spilled through. The battle cry of thousands echoed and shook the ancient walls. One by one the ordered ranks of Trojans and allies fell into their positions with Hektor, tall and shining, leading them all.

  As he rode toward war, Paris couldn’t shake the guilt inflicted on him by Helen. Since he revealed the truth to her about Aphrodite’s promise, their life had shifted in subtle ways. Her becoming more distant and him more demanding. He relied on the curse more and more just to be close to his wife. It was clear that Helen no longer respected him, her love a cold thread pulled taut between them. All our joy is now only bitterness.

  The Trojan forces halted with an audible jolt, taking up their final formations. Horses nervously pawed at the ground. Men murmured beneath their helms. Paris cleared his mind of his troubles with Helen. He watched as the entire Greek army approached without a single shout or cry. The only sound they made was the thunder beneath their feet and the clanging of their shields. They marched as one, unwavering and uncaring of any odds. Their spears glinted in the rising sun.

  Agamemnon’s army halted close enough that each side could see the faces of the other. Both sides stared at one another. Paris, shaking with pride and guilt, slid from his horse and strode into the gap between the armies. His slave scurried to hand him his spears. In a voice like a rolling river, he asked, “Who among you dares to fight me?”

  A voice cried out from the Greeks, “To the death?”

  “To the death!” Paris roared.

  Hektor quickly rode to Paris’ side. “What are you doing, brother?”

  “What I should have done long ago. I will make this right between the Greeks and us.”

  Hektor smiled beneath his shining helm. “Finally, your Trojan blood is revealed.”

  A clamor rose among Greeks, as Menelaus leapt from his chariot tall, broad, and ferocious, shouting, “I will fight you!

  Paris’ heart chilled when he saw Helen’s former husband step forward.

  “I will fight you, you fucking wife stealer.”

  The blood drained from Paris’ face and he stumbled backward. What am I doing? The courage that filled him a moment ago fled, and his feet followed. He pressed into the front line of the Trojans behind him, disappearing from view.

  Menelaus taunted, “Are all Trojans so brave?”

  Behind Menelaus, the entire Greek army broke out in laughter.

  As Paris melted into the ranks, Hektor caught him by the shoulder of his cuirass and shook him angrily. “Is your only skill, brother, stealing other men’s wives? Your eyes, your smile, your charm are no use to Troy unless you stand and fight your own battles. I spent my whole life praying the gods would lift our mother’s grief and now, look at you! A groveling coward. You are a disgrace to Troy, to all of us. All my prayers were wasted. Wasted! I wish you’d never been born. That you’d died on that holy mountain.” He released Paris’ armor, shoving him to the ground.

  Hektor slammed his spear butt into the dirt. The shaft quivered in his hand. “Can you hear the Greeks laughing at you? You’re brazen, Paris, not brave. You will be the ruin of our father and Troy. You’re no match for Helen’s true husband. If our father had known what disaster followed on your heels, he would have stoned you that day in the arena instead of embracing you. We’d have rid ourselves of your curse forever.”

  The surrounding Trojans murmured their agreement. Indignation and denial burned at the back of Paris’ throat. “You should have. I was forced to give up my life. My wife. My son. For what? Scorn? Pity? I was happy before I came to Troy. I never asked for any of this!” He spat blood.

  “Yet, here you are,” Hektor said.

  “Are you that eager to see me die, brother?” Paris realized that Helen had been right all along. Because of what they’d done, what he’d done, no one in Troy would truly accept either of them. Without Aphrodite’s protection, they were doomed to a life of misery and rejection. My lust has brought me to this. A slave to the goddess’ whims.

  Hektor’s horse shook its massive head, but the Golden Prince gave no reply.

  Paris said, “It’s not my fault Aphrodite blesses me. I will fight if you wish me to. Let the armies watch.” His shoulders heaved with heavy breath, weighing his pride and prowess. “The winner will take Helen and all her treasure.”

  Satisfied, Hektor nodded. “So be it.” He signaled the Trojans to set down their weapons and sent the interpreters to each ally so the united forces understood what was about to happen. Hektor slowly rode his mount into the gap between the opposing armies.

  A rain of Greek arrows speared the ground before the Trojan Prince. He raised his arm for peace.

  Agamemnon cried out, “Hold!”

  Hektor thundered, “Paris wishes to meet Menelaus in hand-to-hand combat.”

  “What is the prize?”

  “Helen. And all she possesses.”

  “This is a fight to the death, Prince Hektor. Does your cowardly brother understand?”

  Hektor nodded. “He stands a coward no more.”

  Menelaus moved to his brother’s side and shouted, “We have all lost too many men because of this fight between Paris and me. Let this final battle end the strife so the living can return to a peaceful life. Let’s sacrifice to the gods to prove the honor of our words. Bring a white ram and black ewe. We will bring the same. Bring Priam to bear witness whether his son will be an oath keeper or not.”

  “Agreed,” Hektor shouted, before returning to the ranks of his men.

  Men on both sides sighed in relief as they removed their heavy helms and unbuckled their armor. They sat wiping sweat from their faces, waiting for the King of Troy to arrive and for the sacrifices to be made. By the time Apollo emptied the sky, the war would be over.

  ✽✽✽

  Princess Laodike, urged by the goddess Iris, flew to Helen with the news. She burst into the weaving room, heaving for air to deliver her message.

  Helen glanced up from her loom. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “It’s Paris. He’s going to fight Menelaus.”

  “Alone?”

  “Aye. While the armies watch.”

  The blood drained from Helen’s cheeks. “I spoke harshly to him this morning. Had I known—”

  “They fight for you.”

  The spool of crimson thread in Helen’s hand fell to the floor and rolled to a stop. “For me?”

  “Whoever wins, takes you as his prize forever.”

  “I see.”

  “And all your treasure.”

  “I did not think this day would come so soon.”

  “What do you mean?” Laodike asked.

  “The day when I would have to return to Sparta.”

  “But the battle hasn’t begun yet.”

  “You don’t know Menelaus like I do. Paris is no match for him.”

  Laodike shrugged. “They’re waiting for Priam to bring the sacrifices.”

  “I should go,” Helen said softly. “I should be there when—”

  Laodike was gone.

  Helen stood taking in her well-crafted work. She prided herself with the crimson cloak she wove for Paris. On it were all the stains of her existence. The abandoned child in Sparta. The stolen treasure of her grandfather’s, for truly it was his, not Menelaus’ or hers. The thousand ships sent across the sea. The death of Troilus. And above all the chaos and death, shining Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. But not for her. Aphrodite was goddess of doom and destruction. She represented all that she wished she could change, but could not.

  Carefully, she tucked the fine threads into her basket, uncertain she’d ever return to finish the cloak. She ran her hands along the raised embroideries on the even warp and weft. Helen allowed herself to think of her old life with Menelaus. Was it as awful as I imagined it to be? Her hand absently caressed the new child growing within her. Corythus’ child. Was I wrong to leave Hermione? Doubt clouded her memories. She wasn’t sure what she wanted any more. Everyth
ing she believed she wanted slipped like ash between her fingers.

  All her worries trapped her in a tangled net. An urge to see Menelaus gripped her fiercely. Helen wrapped her white himation tightly around her shoulders, as a fit of weeping overtook her. By the end of Apollo’s light, she would lose a husband. Which one, she could guess. Menelaus had been many things, but none could fault his skill with a spear or sword. He was far better than Paris at warfare. In her heart, she knew Priam would be forced to hand her over as the prize. Wiping her tears away, she rushed to the Scaean gates.

  When she arrived, Priam and the city elders were waiting. “Come, Helen. We were just debating on your beauty.”

  “How so?”

  “Whether or not your image rivaled the goddesses or not.”

  Helen glanced at the sky, then shivered. “You should not tempt the immortals with such talk. I fear I have brought enough danger and death to Troy.”

  Priam’s eyes softened with sadness. “My son is going to fight for you.”

  “I know. Everything is my fault. Whatever happens.”

  The king put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her, as a father comforts a child. “Others may blame you, my daughter, but they do not carry the pain I do. My past is not unblemished. When I think of Hesione, my sister taken by Herakles … well, I don’t blame you. It’s the gods who bring everything to pass. Let them shoulder the burden of blame for this war.” Pulling her to the rampart’s edge, he said, “Come, tell me the names of some of these men afield.”

  Pointing to the tallest man in the front lines, Priam asked, “Do you recognize him?”

  “He is Agamemnon. It would be hard to miss him, even from a great distance.”

  “And that man there? He has tossed his armor to the ground and walks like a king through the men. His shoulders are wide enough to be a bull.”

  Helen blocked the sunlight with her hand. “That is Odysseus, King of Ithaka.”

  “They have a giant, as well,” Priam said, pointing across the way.

  “Ajax. Ajax of Telemon. Sparta guested him many times.”

  Priam stiffened. His mouth puckered with the sour taste of the name. “Telemon.”

  Scanning the assembly below, she said, “I do not see my brothers, Pollux and Caster. That surprises me. I have never seen so many Greeks assembled in one place in my life.”

  A messenger approached. “My lord?”

  “Have the sacrifices been readied?” Priam asked.

  “Aye, my king, Hektor waits for you on the field.”

  “I’ll be there shortly.” Priam looked at Helen with tears in his aging, milky eyes. “We both know I will lose Paris for the second time.” He turned and walked away.

  From the rampart, Helen watched as Priam joined Agamemnon between the armies. It pained her that Priam, who had shown her only kindness, would be one less son by nightfall. And it was her fault, whether he blamed her or not.

  ✽✽✽

  BATTLEFIELD BELOW TROY

  Agamemnon and Odysseus led the Greek offerings to the makeshift alter followed by Priam. Priam’s slave poured cleansing water over the hands of the three kings, then poured the wine in a communal cup.

  Agamemnon pulled a dagger from his belt, grabbed the white ram roughly by the horns with his other arm, and slit the stunned beast’s throat. Its blood gushed like a river undammed. He sent up a prayer to Zeus. “Bear witness to false words, Zeus, Lord of the Heavens. Menelaus and Paris fight to the death over Helen and her treasures. We plead for no mercy, only fairness and honoring of oaths. Should Paris kill my brother, Menelaus, let him have her and all her possessions. And we will all return home. If Menelaus should kill Paris, then the Trojans must promise to return Helen and all that was taken from Sparta. If the Trojans dishonor this oath, I vow before you, Zeus and all assembled here, that I will remain here, until I receive what’s owed by oath and burn Troy to the ground.”

  A slave brought forth the other animals and Agamemnon slit each one’s throat. As the sacrifices lay grossly gasping for air, the Great King continued. “I swear to you, Zeus, that if either side violates this oath that the violators will be struck down and their women, mothers, wives, and daughters be raped until they bear the children of the enemy.”

  King Priam looked to Hektor with grief-stricken eyes. “I’m going back to the city. I’m too old to stay and watch my son fight to the death with Menelaus. My heart cannot take the strain.”

  “As you will, Father.”

  As Priam’s chariot pulled away, Hektor and Odysseus marked the fighting area with a deep groove gouged with the butt-end of their spears.

  Odysseus asked Hektor, “Should we draw lots to see who throws their spear first?”

  Hektor nodded. “That would be the most fair.”

  Stooping to pick up two rocks, Odysseus said, “The red one for Menelaus. The gray one for Paris. Hand me your helmet.”

  Hektor narrowed his eyes.

  “No trick. It’s for the lots. My helm is over there on the ground.” He indicated with a head nod.

  Unbuckling his chin strap, Hektor slowly handed his prize armor to the enemy.

  Odysseus placed both rocks inside and shook them. Holding it out to Hektor, he said, “Choose.”

  Hektor was aware that his brother stood nervously behind him. He regretted his harsh words, knowing the moment of his brother’s death had arrived. He put his hand in and pulled out the gray rock. “Paris. Paris has first throw.”

  “Clear the circle,” Odysseus yelled. “Paris casts his spear first!”

  A rumble of curiosity rolled through the armies, as the two opponents took their places. Glaring death at one another, they readied their spears in their hands.

  Paris took two steps back, then swiftly hurled his weapon with a roar. The shaft flew like a god-inspired tool, hitting dead center on Menelaus shield, but the blade tip bent and the spear fell to the dirt.

  Menelaus quietly prayed, “Grant me the vengeance I deserve. Let me crack his skull so his brains spill. No one will ever dare to break the hospitality of Sparta again.” He threw his spear with all his anger and skill. It flew like a screaming bird of prey, piercing Paris’ shield cleanly through, the tip glancing off his enemy’s ribs.

  Paris, stunned by the sheer force of his opponent’s throw, glanced down at the thin line of blood seeping through his tunic. Panic surged through his body and his legs lost their strength. Before the blackness engulfed him, a heavy hand press down on his shoulders.

  “Have no fear, Paris. I am beside you.”

  “Aphrodite,” he whispered in awe and confusion.

  The King of Sparta reached for his sword. Wielding it high above his head, he slammed it down with all his might on Paris’ curved helmet crest where it shattered into three pieces.

  Paris’ ears rang, but his fear was melted by the goddess.

  Looking up to the sky, Menelaus raged, “You gods curse me, not him?” Turning his attention to Paris, he sneered, “I should have killed you with that blow!”

  Angry at being cheated, Menelaus leapt to Paris still on his knees and yanked him by the chin strap of the remaining section of his helm, jerking him from his knees, and started to drag him back to the Greeks’ side.

  Paris choked as the helmet strap caught beneath his chin.

  Aphrodite, unseen and determined, snapped the leather. Paris slipped from his helmet and from Menelaus’ fury, scrambling for safety toward the Trojan ranks. Menelaus flung the helmet into the ranks of Greeks and charged after Paris, intent on killing him once and for all, when a blinding mist swirled about him. He couldn’t see anything or gauge his direction. Batting his arms at the mist, he yelled, “Paris! Paris!”

  Also blinded by the strange mist, choking and coughing, Paris clawed his way in the dirt, praying he was moving away from Menelaus and toward the Trojans.

  The mist cleared as quickly as it had descended, but Paris was gone.

  “Where is he?” Menelaus roared. “Where is he?”<
br />
  Hektor stood stunned. He glanced around frantically, looking for Paris to be hiding behind anyone. “I don’t know. By the gods, he’s … vanished.”

  Agamemnon stepped forward, shaking his head in disgust at the Trojans. “I should have known to expect trickery from you Trojans. Your brother broke his word to Zeus. I declare Menelaus the victor. Turn over Helen and the treasure she stole from my brother.” He dared a step closer. “If you do not, Prince of Troy, I will burn your precious city to the ground. You have until tomorrow.”

  ✽✽✽

  PALACE OF PRIAM

  Up on the rampart where Helen had been watching the duel, she blinked and Paris was gone. She could see Menelaus raging between the armies. He was definitely shouting. “What has Paris done?”

  “Nothing, daughter, that I did not intend.”

  Helen bent under the weight of the goddess’ hand on her shoulder. “Aphrodite.”

  “Go to him, daughter. He awaits you in your chamber. I’ve anointed him with scented oils.”

  “Why do you torment me, Aphrodite? You elevate me only to be enslaved by my desire and another man’s craving? Take Paris for yourself if he is so precious to you. Leave me be. How can I go to him now? He’s abandoned the field, left the other men behind. The women already laugh behind my back. I’m scorned enough. And Hektor. He hates me. So does Hecuba. I don’t need more enemies within these walls. Your gifts are a burden.”

  Aphrodite squeezed Helen’s arm, burning her perfect skin with her immortal touch. “You wretched little bitch! How dare you speak to me with such ungrateful words.” The goddess pressed her hot lips to Helen’s ear. “Do not tempt me to hate you, for my affections can be easily forgotten. And your miserable life ruined. Now, go to him, who I chose for you.”

  Helen pulled her himation closer and ran from the goddess to the palatial quarters she shared with Paris. Brushing passed guards and slaves, she hoped to find that Aphrodite only tested her resolve and obedience. She held her breath and closed her eyes, as she pushed the door open.

  “Helen?”

  Helen’s eyes flew open at Paris’ voice. There he was reclining sensually on the bed, glistening as if fresh from the bath. A bright smile on his face. His armor, renewed and gleaming, hung on the wall. His spears were propped up in the far corner.