HELEN: The Wine Dark Sea

"Or what?" She circled him slowly. "I don't see a mark on you, so you cannot have lost a battle and come home to mend. Is your poor heart broken? Who would reject the most handsome of the glorious gods?"

He drew back his arm, but she easily eluded him and sprinted away. Her insulting laughter rang in his ears, and he would have cursed her too had he been able. A hideous cackle drew his gaze upward to Eris, the goddess of Discord, who hovered in the rafters, her black wings fluttering. "You dare laugh at me?"

She angled her wings and flitted to the ground. "A mere chuckle of appreciation, dear Apollo, for there has been little to amuse me today."

He strode off rather than fight her fury. Eris loved nothing better than an argument and if given the chance, could hurl insults for all of eternity, but he had had his fill of contentious women for the day. He headed for Dionysos' palace to drink with the god of Wine until no insult mattered.

Chapter 13

Troy

The home of Agelaus, the herdsman

Ten years later

Paris sat on a stone outcrop playing a panpipe to serenade the cattle. His tunes were sweet, but the placid creatures continued to chew the grass without any show of appreciation. Prompted to give up the effort to entertain them, he gazed toward Mount Ida and wished for a human friend. His father was proud of him, and his mother so loving he dared not complain, but the days alone in the meadow were often far too long. Their brown and white spotted hound lay stretched out by his side.

Moved by boredom, he got to his feet and stretched his arms above his head. "Let's run!" He took off down the hillside facing away from his herd, and the dog eagerly raced beside him. They made a slow circle and returned to the hill to find the cattle unaware of their absence. He caught his breath, and continued to run in a loop until he was so tired he was grateful to sit and rest.

He scratched the hound's ears and hugged him. "Tomorrow, we'll run faster and farther, you'll see. The next time there are races in the village, I'll win." He propped his arms on his bent knees and hoped the fair weather would last.

* * *

Market day in the village brought farmers, herdsmen and artisans to trade produce, livestock and handmade wares. There was no celebration with races that day, but Paris still loved being in the village where cattle were not the only thing in view. When he saw a pretty little girl with thick, curly black hair, he tried not to stare, but she turned and caught him. A bright flush flooded his cheeks, and badly embarrassed, he dipped his head to hide it. When he looked up, she was standing close enough to touch.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her brown eyes held a hint of gold and shone brightly with curiosity.

"I'm Paris," he responded. "Why do you need to know?"

She clasped her hands and twisted herself this way and that. "I want to know everyone. Aren't you going to ask my name?"

She looked a couple years younger than him, but some girls were small, and it was difficult to accurately judge her age. "Go ahead and tell me."

"I'm Oenone, and I herd my father's sheep. We sell the finest wool in the valley."

He glanced behind her. "Where are these fine sheep?"

She silenced her giggles with both hands. "They don't come to market."

"So you expect me to believe these superior wool-producing sheep exist without seeing them?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, and walked away with an arm-slinging strut.

Agelaus approached with a bag of flour, and Paris reached out to help him carry it. He turned to follow the little girl's path through the village, but soon lost her in the crowd.

"I've not seen you smile so wide. What do you find so amusing?" his father asked.

Paris shrugged. "Nothing. I just like coming to the village."

"Good, when you're old enough, I'll send you to get what we need, and I'll stay home."

Paris looked forward to that day, but it was Oenone who lingered in his mind rather than some far distant future.

* * *

Several days later, Oenone came riding up the hill on a shaggy brown p

ony with twigs and leaves tied into his mane. Paris leaped to his feet and surveyed his herd with an anxious glance. "Are you hoping to startle my cattle?"