Menelaus leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard, eyeing Paris shrewdly. ‘To our mutual benefit, but at a cost to Greece no doubt. And what does Priam want in exchange for the friendship of Troy?’
‘There is something,’ Paris nodded. ‘My father’s desire for peace and trade is genuine, but the plain truth is he’s getting old, and old men are sentimental. He wants his family around him: he wants Hesione back.’
Menelaus looked at him through narrowed eyes.
‘Telamon married Hesione thirty years ago,’ he said. ‘She was his by right of conquest, after he and Heracles sacked Troy. Do you refute this?’
‘That is what the Greeks believe, but we Trojans say she was raped and kidnapped by Telamon.’
Menelaus raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Shame and defeat often bring denial. But whatever the truth about Hesione, she has been Telamon’s wife for many years now and has given him a son, Teucer the archer. And if I remember correctly, a Trojan delegation was sent to Salamis some time ago and rejected by Telamon himself.’
Aeneas stepped forward.
‘Anchises, my father, was amongst them,’ he said, angrily. ‘The Greeks treated him like dirt and he and the others barely escaped with their lives!’
Apheidas placed a hand on the young warrior’s shoulder and pulled him gently away from the Spartan king. Ignoring the others, Menelaus continued to fix his attention on Paris.
‘I don’t know what happened in Salamis and I don’t know Telamon well enough to speak for his character, but as a husband I don’t think I would have taken kindly to an attempt to rob me of my wife. Hesione’s home is Greece, and no offer of alliance is going to change the fact.’
‘Her home is Troy,’ Paris responded sharply. ‘Though Priam hasn’t set eyes on his sister for thirty years, he still loves her and wants her back. All I request is that you send a message to Agamemnon, asking him to invite Telamon to meet with us at Mycenae. After the experience of the previous delegation we would rather discuss these matters on neutral ground, and I am sure Telamon will not be able to refuse a direct request from the sons of Atreus. In return for your help, we will lift the taxation on Greek trade in the Aegean. My father is also prepared to compensate Telamon generously for the return of his sister.’
‘Priam seems to forget that his sister is now a wife and a mother!’ Menelaus snapped. ‘Do you Trojans care nothing for marriage? Is it your desire to rob a man of his wife?’
The accusation rang back from the walls of the great hall and at last Paris knew that Menelaus suspected him of coveting Helen. The cordiality of the evening feasts had gone and as he stared at the older man, the legitimate husband of the woman who had stolen his heart, he felt a rush of hatred. He wanted to spring forward and close his fingers about Menelaus’s throat, but as he looked at the flush of grey in his hair and beard and the heavy lines about his eyes and forehead, he realized it was the fear of losing Helen that had aged him prematurely. Suddenly his anger turned to shame. Menelaus was not a man to be despised, but pitied, and yet for the sake of a woman’s glance Paris was going to win his trust and then betray him. His scorn turned upon himself, and yet he knew there was nothing else he could do. What were honour and morality compared to his desire for Helen?
‘Nevertheless,’ the king continued, ‘I am prepared to grant your wish and send a message to my brother, but I require something of you in return.’
‘Name it, my lord?’
Menelaus narrowed his eyes at the Trojan prince. ‘I do not know you, Paris. You are a stranger from a foreign land and your ways are unknown to me. Though you speak of friendship and alliances, how do I know you don’t harbour evil or mischief in your heart? In a few days I will leave for Crete, but before I go I want an assurance that you will act honourably in my absence.’
‘There’s only one way to do that, my lord,’ said Apheidas, standing beside Paris. ‘You know the answer, too: a solemn oath of friendship.’
‘Do Trojans respect the gods?’ Menelaus tested him.
Apheidas did not respond. Instead, he gave Paris a subtle nudge in the ribs and stepped back.
‘The gods are highly revered in Troy,’ the prince replied. ‘As you will see if you ever come to our homeland. Though we are foreigners in your eyes, an oath of friendship is as binding on a Trojan as it is on any Greek. If we give you our word, you can trust us to keep it.’
‘So be it. While you are under my roof, let it be as a friend.’
Menelaus offered his hand, which Paris gripped firmly.
‘Eteoneus,’ the Spartan king shouted, ‘bring me my best dagger.’
The herald, who had been waiting in the shadows of the great hall, snapped his fingers at a slave, who disappeared through a side door. A short while later he returned and, crossing the hall, placed a sheathed dagger in Menelaus’s palm.
‘I, Menelaus, son of Atreus, call on Zeus the protector of strangers to witness my promise of friendship to you,’ he said, placing the weapon firmly in Paris’s free hand. ‘This dagger is a symbol of my oath, guaranteeing you my protection and help while you are in my kingdom, and ensuring that I will never be your enemy. Let this promise stand for myself, my children and their children until seven generations have passed, as custom demands.’
Paris scanned the ornately detailed gift without releasing Menelaus’s hand – to do so before exchanging oaths would break the pledge under Trojan practice. Although the Spartan’s promise sounded strange to his ears, its integrity was assured by the witness of Zeus. And yet Paris was unable to return the oath without a gift of his own. He looked at Apheidas, who in turn nodded to Eteoneus.
The herald reached behind himself and pulled a cloth bundle from his belt, which he handed to Apheidas. The Trojan, who had asked Eteoneus to retrieve the gift from the armoury, opened the swaddling to reveal a second dagger. Like the Spartan weapon, it had a black leather scabbard that was decorated with ornately worked gold filigree; but, where Menelaus’s gift had a wooden handle with gold inlay and a gold pommel, the handle of the dagger that Paris now gave to the Spartan king was shaped from a single piece of ivory. It was almost twice as long as Menelaus’s palm was wide and in it was depicted a scene of an archer hunting a stag, the intricate carvings inlaid with jet to make them stand out boldly. The blade was nearly double the length of the Spartan dagger and remained hidden beneath the scabbard, but Paris saw in his mind’s eye the design it bore, of more huntsmen and their dogs described in gold, chasing in the wake of the archer and stag on the handle. It was a rich weapon indeed, designed to impress the wealth and skill of Troy on Menelaus’s mind.
‘With this dagger I swear to you, before Zeus and all the gods of Olympus, my friendship and loyalty.’ As he said the words, Paris released his hold of Menelaus’s hand, making his words meaningless. In doing so he knew he had crossed a threshold, from honour to dishonour, driven by the insanity of love. ‘I will never bear arms against you, or bring harm upon your household in any form. I will honour and protect you when you visit my homeland. We will be allies until death takes us, or the words of this oath are broken – which can never happen.’
Chapter Seven
THE FLIGHT FROM SPARTA
The light was failing fast as Paris walked through the quiet avenues and alleyways of Sparta, heading for the temple of Aphrodite. He felt both nervous and elated at the thought of being with Helen again, this time alone and without any fear of disturbance. For the first time since seeing her in the great hall, he would be able to discover what her true feelings for him were. His heart told him that her display of sexuality the day before had not been a mere act, but that, amazingly, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And yet there was a heaviness in his step too. His deception of Menelaus had appalled him, bringing into clear focus the fact he was not only intending to betray his host, but he was also on the verge of betraying everything he had ever believed in and stood for. His honour would be lost forever, and even if Apheidas was right and the gods were behind the madness that had driven him to this point, he would still earn their contempt for stealing a man’s wife. Such was the way of the immortals. But despite the nagging voice of his conscience, he knew the only thing that could stop him now would be Helen’s refusal to leave Sparta, and the older part of him still hoped he had misjudged her.