He sighed again and tugged desperately at his beard. Though he admired his son-in-law, he was also frequently vexed by Agamemnon’s ability to persuade him into doing things that he did not want to do. Helen was a good age for marriage, but he had not wanted her given to another man just yet. In truth, he had hardly put his mind to the matter before now, probably because he was too happy having her about his palace. No doubt she was a moody girl and not as disciplined as a daughter should be, but Tyndareus knew he was clay in her hands. She only had to bat her long-lashed eyelids or pout her full lips and he was helpless. Hence the thought of actually losing her, now that he had milled it through his mind for a couple of days, made him very unhappy.
If Agamemnon had not headed home at first light yesterday, to tell his brother Menelaus to make ready, Tyndareus would have confronted him on the matter. Losing his beloved daughter was one reason for concern; feeding the most ravenous appetites in Greece was entirely another. Sparta was a rich state, but he resented having to give one copper piece of its wealth for the sake of Agamemnon’s grandiose strategies. For that reason he intended to make a full inventory of everything in the palace, from each head of livestock and bushel of corn right down to the smallest clay drinking krater.
‘Tyndareus, are you in here?’ asked a female voice.
‘Yes, Leda,’ Tyndareus answered, turning to greet his wife as she entered.
Helen was with her and together they crossed the floor to join the king. Leda was a tall and attractive woman, beautifully dressed and wearing her long black hair over her shoulders. The only sign of age, other than the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, was the two thick streaks of grey hair that sprouted from her temples. She kissed her husband and took his big hands in her slender fingers.
‘Are you busy?’ she asked. ‘Helen and I would like to spend some time with you before retiring.’
Tyndareus shook his head. ‘I’ll be grateful of your company, my dear.’ He looked at Helen. ‘Why the frown, daughter?’
‘I’m saving my smiles for the best men in Greece,’ she told him sharply.
‘Then you’re still unhappy,’ he sighed. ‘How can you be sad when kings and princes from every city in the land will be coming to pay homage to you?’
The king looked at his daughter as she stood before the hearth. As usual she was dressed in white, and with the light behind her he could clearly distinguish her naked silhouette through the gossamer material. He shook his head, silently wondering how any man could ever hope to resist her. Agamemnon might not have considered it in his great plan, but Tyndareus knew there would be bloodshed as soon as a husband was picked, if not before. All those proud warriors! Did his son-in-law really expect them to form an alliance under his leadership, when any fool could see they would be at each other’s throats within days?
‘Father,’ Helen said angrily, ‘you intend to parade me like a prize cow before a pack of over-preened simpletons, and expect me to be pleased at the prospect?’
She forced a tear into each eye, which was easy to do considering the frustration she felt about the situation, and looked away from her foster-father.
Tyndareus was a great king and a formidable fighter, and as such he knew how to read most men. But about women he knew nothing. Although the rumour was well known amongst all ranks at the palace, never once in all the years since the birth of Helen and her twin brothers had he believed the children were not his own. Similarly, in his doting love for Helen he did not suspect that she considered him an old, dim-witted fool, or that she had very little genuine affection for him.
‘Come and sit with me, daughter,’ he offered, retiring into his large wooden chair. ‘And will you sit beside us, Leda?’
Helen walked over to him, slipped off her sandals and curled up in his broad lap, pressing her long, white feet against the arm of the chair and laying her head against his shoulder.
She found herself thinking of Theseus, the Athenian braggart who had kidnapped her when she was a girl and taken her to Attica. She remembered his heavily built body, so close to her own, the hardness of his muscles and the smell of his sweat. How scared she had been, how repulsed, and yet how excited. Though she was afraid and knew that her brothers would be searching for her, she also wanted to remain unfound, wanted to discover love in his arms. But in some last act of heroic self-denial he had rejected her when he learned she had not yet become a woman, even when in her naive way she had offered herself to him. And so her brothers had found her safe, her virginity intact.
The experience had changed her. Helen had stepped beyond the safe confines of palace life and had grown conscious of herself and her effect on men. Though Theseus, whom she hated now with a passion, had resisted her, she knew that the decision had broken him. Even at the age of twelve, her beauty had destroyed the man who had once defeated the infamous Cretan Minotaur.
Of her own desires, she had learned that she did not want to be a pawn in a political game. Surrounded by walls, guards and the confines of palace life, Helen felt trapped. She wanted freedom, adventure – love. How could Tyndareus really expect her to be happy, exchanging her for political favours, selling her to a man who was not her choice? Where was the romance of escaping with a young lover, where was the danger and the scandal?
Helen was certain of one thing, though. If a man appeared who could love her for more than the fortune and favour she brought, then she would follow him to the ends of the earth. And she silently vowed that no power – of man or god – would come between them.
The debate in the Kerosia continued into the night, shuttling back and forth as the slaves brought more food, wine and torches. Eperitus watched as different options were discussed and plans put forward for defending Laertes’s throne from the threatened rebel attack.
Some suggested taking a force to Eupeithes’s manor house and arresting him for treason, but Koronos assured them the house was well defended and prepared for an attack. Any attempt would only spill Ithacan blood, and could even act as a call to arms for Eupeithes’s supporters. In the end, Laertes insisted he did not want a civil war on his hands and quashed the idea.
Equally, Koronos’s own suggestion of a meeting with Eupeithes was shouted down. Only when Odysseus insisted that he should be allowed to speak was Koronos able to propose placating Eupeithes with a place on the Kerosia and a promise to adopt his suggestions for generating wealth and forming alliances with other states. But Odysseus argued vehemently against the idea, refusing to reward a would-be traitor with the power he craved.
‘Then what do we do?’ asked Halitherses. ‘We can’t sit and wait for Eupeithes to attack us.’
‘We won’t.’
Eperitus looked at Anticleia, who had spoken for the first time. It was irregular in the extreme that a woman should be tolerated at a Kerosia, even if she was the queen, but the sight of a woman addressing a gathering of male elders was something he had never heard of. In Alybas no woman spoke when men were talking, unless specifically invited, but to his surprise Anticleia was permitted to continue.
‘There’s more than one way to string a bow. Eupeithes’s power comes from the disaffection he spreads about your father. Fortunately for us, Ithacans are slow to react and their hearts are essentially true, which is why it has taken him so long to turn just a few of the people against Laertes. By lying and emphasizing minor misjudgements he has established a firm opposition to the absolute rule of the king, but if we can remove the foundation upon which he has built his popular support, then it will collapse.’
Laertes, who had been sulking quietly as his wife spoke, slammed the butt of the staff on the floor.