HELEN: The Wine Dark Sea

Ready to give the sturdy pony a rest, he dismounted to allow the docile animal to graze. He played his favorite melody on his panpipe to serenade the herd as though they deserved his abiding love, and let his imagination soar free. His hound looked up at him and wagged his tail, waiting for the next command.

* * *

That evening, Paris wiped his last bite of bread over his plate to savor the flavorful drippings. "How old must I be to become one of King Priam's warriors?" he asked nonchalantly, as though the question had not I burned his mouth all day.

Agelaus choked, and recovered after a deep cough. "You are a boy barely old enough to ride a pony. Warriors are full-grown men. They have mastered fighting with a sword, a lance and bow and arrows. They know how to protect themselves with a great-sized shield. You could not even lift one."

Not discouraged, Paris pressed on. "Must I wait until I am grown to train?"

His mother shook her head. "We are herdsmen not warriors. Troy is powerful and has been at peace for many years. Who would dare to assail us? You're not needed. Be grateful you have a home and animals to tend."

"I am grateful," he insisted. "I truly am, but I could be a warrior for a while and seek some glory then return home to raise cattle. Couldn't I?"

Agelaus rose from the table. "You'll not speak of becoming a warrior until I say you may. Is that clear? Do not upset your mother with thoughts of blood and death. Instead, thank the gods our enemies fear the power of Troy. That's why we live on this beautiful holy mountain in peace."

Paris searched their faces for even a faint sparkle of hope. "I don't plan to die."

His mother laughed. "No warrior does, but it doesn't protect him in the throes of battle. You should want a long and happy life, and you must stay here with us."

Paris went outside to gaze at the stars and wished his family knew a warrior he could ask, but none lived in their village. He brightened at the thought he might meet one when they drove their cattle to the city. He would pretend he had forgotten all about them until then, but he could hardly wait. A shooting star flashed above him, and he took it as a good omen for his hopes.

* * *

Oenone rode into the meadow, her pony's mane festooned with dangling bunches of sweet-scented rosemary. She called to him

, "If you're now riding a horse, why haven't you come to see me?"

Paris's mind had wandered in many directions, but not in hers. "I'm too busy watching our herd to travel through the countryside searching for you."

"Then it's a good thing I've come to see you." She slid from her pony's back and sat upon a rocky outcropping. "I name all of our sheep. What do you call your cattle?"

"Name the cattle?" He laughed and shook his head. "I think of them only as a herd. I know which ones wander if not closely watched. That's enough for me."

"You spend your days here in the meadow, with only cattle for company, and you don't give them names?"

"My hound is company enough, and the pony fills the days too."

She regarded him with a sidelong glance. "What are their names?"

The hound looked up at him, as if waiting to hear. Paris had raised him from a pup, but no one had ever told him to give him a name. "He comes when I whistle, so he doesn't need a name, and if the pony came with one, I haven't heard it." He bent down on one knee to hug the dog and looked up at her.

"Do you remember my name?" she asked.

"Oenone. I have a fine memory and remember everything I must."

"Good. Now I've herbs to gather and must be on my way." She bent down to kiss his cheek, hopped upon her pony's back and rode away at a bouncing trot.

He'd never been kissed by a girl, even a little one like Oenone, and felt only embarrassed rather than pleased. What a peculiar child she was. He wondered who watched her sheep when she rode around the meadows shadowed by Mount Ida. Maybe she had a brother or two and they took turns. He really didn't care, and wouldn't waste another thought on her. He rubbed his cheek as though he could remove the light touch of her lips, but the tingling sensation remained, and it wasn't at all unpleasant.

* * *

Oenone would visit Paris every few days, and then not return until the next full moon. She liked to ask questions to which he had no answers and for a long while he regarded her as a nuisance. When he'd begun watching the large herd, he'd been afraid his father would discover them talking together and send her away. He had grown used to her, he supposed, but he didn't really like her all that well. But when he didn't see her, he missed her, and that confused him.

"Let's go hunting," she greeted him one day. She carried a small bow and arrows and looked out over the meadow. "We might find birds that would be delicious to eat."

"Does your father send you out to hunt for food?" Paris asked.

She slid off her pony and kept a firm hold on his reins. "No, but he wouldn't refuse a plump partridge if I brought one home."