HELEN: The Wine Dark Sea

"Then we'll have to think of another reason for you to speak with him." Helen smiled at the fun of matchmaking, but she was eager to delve into anything other than her own problems with love.

* * *

"I speared an immense boar near here on our last hunt," Menelaus bragged to his guest. "We feasted on delicious pork for many days."

Paris heard appreciate murmurs from the palace guard. Apparently they fondly remembered either the excitement of the hunt, or the beast's succulent flavor. As the forest thickened, shadows grew long and deep over the leaf-strewn ground, but no boars appeared, immense or otherwise.

Wild hogs were known to be vicious and cuts from their tusks could gouge the bone. Not wishing to be caught unaware, Paris leaned forward to listen, but other than the birds chirping overhead, there was no sign of game. Menelaus signaled for his men to stretch out in a line as they moved through the woods, but he kept Paris close by his side.

When they at last came upon a boar, the bristly creature had been dozing in the sun near a fallen oak. He grunted when confronted, his tiny eyes bright gold specks in his dark gray hide. Taking them in, he rocked his head from side to side, and then turned and jogged away as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Menelaus raised his hand to keep his men in place while he and Paris pursued him. "How many boar have you taken?" he asked.

Paris had never even seen one this close and wouldn't claim any kills. "None, I've hunted only lion and deer."

"You take him then," Menelaus offered with a wave. "Aim for the shoulder to pierce his heart or lungs for the quickest kill. A wounded boar may turn and attack. Don't risk it."

Paris definitely hoped to avoid such a dangerous consequence. Mounted, he easily overtook the running boar and threw all his weight into spearing him. Mortally wounded, the boar's high-pitched shriek pierced the air, he fell to his knees, rolled to his side, and after a few feeble kicks, lay dead.

"Excellent!" Menelaus shouted. He rode close to slap Paris on the shoulder. "My men will dress the beast, and we'll feast on him tonight." He shouted at a retainer, "Take care cutting the tusks, and I'd add them to my war helmet."

Paris felt sick rather than proud. He yanked his spear from the dead boar and wiped the bloody bronze blade on the grass. He tried to shake off the memory of the boar's agonized scream, but it continued to echo in his ears.

"I believe I prefer taking deer with my bow and arrows." He watched as one of the palace guards produced a rope and with the aid of his companions, strung the boar up from a nearby tree. Dangling by its hind feet, it looked even larger than when it had first been sighted. He turned away as the man slit open the abdomen and began to dress the carcass.

"I also love the chase with deer," Menelaus agreed, "but the hunt for boar offers a brutal excitement and keeps everyone well-fed, and it's a fine manly sport."

Paris's mouth felt dry, and he swallowed hard before he spoke. "Of course it is. Thank you for letting me make the kill."

"I take pride in being a generous host."

Paris's smile wavered on his lips. He'd come to Sparta to meet Helen, and he re

fused to leave without her. Fortunately Menelaus didn't even suspect his motives, or he'd be as dead the boar.

* * *

When they returned their mounts to the stable, Paris was disappointed not to see Helen with her daughter. He'd enjoy talking with Menelaus for the rest of the morning about fine horses, but he saw no sign of a white pony. He supposed he might have inspired the little girl to venture away from the stable with the short ride she'd taken yesterday, but he was sorry he'd missed them.

He nodded as Menelaus pointed out a mare he expected to deliver fine foals. "She is a beauty. I like the depth of her color."

"She's as black as her sire. I always use blacks to pull my chariot. They appear to be fast even standing still, and I've never lost a race with them."

Paris was too embarrassed to admit he'd never ridden in a chariot, let alone driven one. When Menelaus began to wave, he was elated to see Helen and Hermione approaching. The little girl bounced upon her pony's back and called to her father.

Helen slipped off her gray mare's back and keeping the reins in her hand, approached Paris. "Hermione has at last decided she loves to ride. Thank you for taking an interest in her yesterday. You've given her the courage to venture away from the palace."

The pretty little girl was adorable, but when Paris was so enraptured with Helen, he was deeply gratified by her compliment. He looked down at his sandals in a vain attempt to find a witty response, and when he looked up, Helen was walking away with Menelaus, who held their daughter. Hermione waved, and he raised his hand to respond. He held his breath, and when Helen glanced over her shoulder and smiled, he nodded and thought he had made some progress after all.

He looked around and was relieved to find no one looking his way. He supposed all of Menelaus's men and kin were in love with Helen, but he'd seen something in the gentle curve of her smile that gave him hope.

* * *

The first light of dawn lit Helen's chamber when Menelaus rolled toward her on their wide corded bed. He propped his head on his hand. "I must go to Crete to arrange for my grandfather's funeral," he said. "It won't be a long trip, but it's expected I go."

She sat up slowly and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I hope you'll have an uneventful journey."

"I do love the sea, but not nearly as much as being home with you and Hermione."