Andromache stood and smoothed out her tiered skirt. "Do as you please, but I want to watch my Hektor lead our warriors and send the greedy Greeks away in a sea of their own blood." She left as quietly as she had come and closed the door behind her.
Helen didn't respond to the young woman's vile comment, but the grisly scene was already painted in her mind, and she had no need to actually witness it. She'd played Hounds and Jackals with Andromache many afternoons, and they'd laughed and had such a pleasant time together. She doubted she'd ever again feel that carefree. She glanced toward the window where the shifting view of the sea had once fascinated her, but now the unfolding scene filled her with dread.
* * *
Achilles had sailed to Troy with fifty black ships manned by his famed Myrmidon warriors. A demi-god, he was the son of the sea nymph, Thetis, and Peleus, the great king of Thessaly. H76 n tutored by the wise centaur Chiron on Mt. Pelion. Bright and eager to learn, he'd studied healing, music and mastered the skills of a fine hunter.
The fastest runner of his time, he'd earned the epithet: Swift-running Achilles. While he'd been too young to court Helen, he was old enough to join in this war. Golden haired and beyond handsome, as soon as his black ship had reached shore, he leaped to the sand, donned his armor, and ran to enter the fight.
The great red horsehair plume atop his four-horned bronze helmet swung with each blow of his sword. A fearless warrior, he delighted in every kill and eagerly sought the next Trojan foolish enough to face him. The battle lasted until sunset and men could no longer be recognized as being from one side or the other and they were forced to retire. He washed his sword in the sea, and found Agamemnon standing at a fire ring lit on the beach.
Agamemnon greeted him warmly. "Hail, Achilles, fortunately, the Trojans came out from behind their walls to fight us, and each day, fewer will live to return to the safety of their citadel. Troy will be ours before they realize it's lost."
Achilles glanced toward Menelaus, who appeared to be deep in thought. "Haven't we first come for Queen Helen?" he asked.
"Of course," Agamemnon agreed. "We've come for Helen, and everything else we can take."
Menelaus looked up with a rueful smile. "She is worth whatever it costs us, Achilles. You'll agree when you see her."
"I'll look forward to it," Achilles vowed, and strode back to his own men, the Myrmidons, who were as eager to fight as he for kleos, glory, everlasting fame.
* * *
Helen was still awake late that night when Paris entered her bedchamber. She sat up, and with only moonlight to illuminate her room, she could not see if he were well or if he had been injured. She slid off the bed to welcome him. "Are you all right?" she asked fretfully.
His wet hair dripped upon his shoulders. He picked her up and hugged her tight. "Fighting the Greeks was both horrible and exhilarating all at the same time. Orthis found armor for me that wasn't so heavy I couldn't move, and I waded into the fray with him by my side. When dusk came, none of the blood I washed off was mine, thank the gods. With the welcome we gave those Greeks today, many may seize the cover of darkness to sail away."
"If only they would all sail home," Helen cried and clung to him. "You were so certain Menelaus lacked the means or men to follow us, and we couldn't have been more wrong."
"Had I known, I would still have convinced you to come with me." He kissed her cheek and tasted salty tears.
She took a step back. "But had I anticipated this wretched warfare would be the cost, I never would have left Menelaus. Too many are dying on both sides because of us."
He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly before pulling her back into his arms. "I can't bear the sound of his name, and this is your home now. I'm speaking the truth, Helen. Don't doubt me. Once we'd met, I could never have left Sparta without you. What is done is done, so cease to worry over it. You're my wife, and that's all you need remember. The gods willed our union. Troy's walls are invincible, and we'll always be safe here."
Her anguish was too deep for his first tender kiss to touch her dark mood, but he kissed away her tears, and the soft curve of her breast, and his affectionate loving blurred her fears. He was a virile refuge, and for the night, she chose to glory only in being his wife.
* * *
Despite Helen's hopes, when the morning dawned, she saw the Greeks had failed to sail home during the night. Instead, they had set up a vast camp along the shore, fished, and began raiding inland for horses, cattle and any other food they could find to keep the thousands of warriors well fed. They spread over the Troad with relentless vigor, and each morning met the Trojans on the blood-soaked plain below their mighty walls.
"You must bring your parents from Mt. Ida into the city," Helen urged. "They have no way to defend themselves if Greek raiders want to take more than their cattle and sheep."
Paris paced her bedchamber. "I sent Kastros and a couple of other warriors to fetch them, but they were already gone. The cottage stood as we'd left it, and the village was deserted. Everyone must have fled inland rather than come to us. My father may have herded the cattle along with his neighbors', but I can only hope they've travelled well beyond the point the Greeks might follow."
"I doubt there is such a place." Helen seldom left her bedchamber, and she had no appetite for the meals Hecuba sent to her on trays, often decorated with a small vase of flowers. Paris would eat whatever he found when he came to her each night, without realizing she hadn't eaten her own meal earlier. She lived on watered wine and an occasional fig, and whiled away the time attempting to write poetry that unfortunately prompted near endless tears.
"We went on a hunt together, and you know I'm very good with a bow," she announced one morning. "I could stand in the tower with the archers and-"
Highly amused, he laughed at the thought. "The day Troy needs women to defend her will never come."
"There must be something I could do. Many men must be grievously wounded each day. Who tends them?"
He rested his hands on her shoulders. "There are healers adept with herbal remedies, but they are of little use to the dying. Don't concern yourself with them. Warriors expect to die each time they pick up their sword."
"Do you?" she asked, her eyes wide with fright.
"No, I expect to live forever with you." He kissed her with a tender passion and left her to face another troubled day a