HELEN: The Wine Dark Sea

Odysseus stood back as Diomedes followed Philocletes into his hut. He grazed at the isle's uninspired landscape and had he been marooned there, he would have swum home.

* * *

Eager to present himself in the best possible light, Philocletes bathed, trimmed his hair and beard and donned a new kilt and shirt before he accompanied Diomedes and Odysseus to see Agamemnon. He held Hercules's mighty bow made of a long-horned sheep's horn reinforced with wood, and he grasped the great leather quiver decorated with figures of Hercules's Twelve Labors, his legendary encounters with monsters and adversaries. "How may I serve you, my lord?"

Agamemnon broke into a wide welcoming grin. "How good it is to see you after all these years. You'll fulfill the prophecy when you enter the battle using Hercules's fine weapons, and all will regard you as a great hero."

"When I vied for Helen and swore my allegiance to Menelaus, I never expected to devote the remainder of my life to that effort," Philocletes replied with surprising candor.

"None of us did," Diomedes muttered under his breath.

"We're fighting for more than a beautiful woman," Agamemnon countered. He argued for the increase in trade with the Black Sea cities that would make them all rich, and for the new lands that would be open to them all. "There is a great deal to gain," he emphasized. "Fight beside Odysseus and Diomedes today, and use Hercules's bow well."

"It will be my pleasure." Philocletes regarded him with a knowing smile. "I have used the bow often to hunt the island's deer and wild boars and maintain my strength while on Lemnos. I won't fail you." He had fought the war often in his mind, but he had only imagined the magnificence of Troy, and the beautiful tiered city stunned him now. He followed Odysseus and Diomedes to the Scamander plain where the troops were preparing for the day's battle and held high Hercules's bow to whomever wished to see it.

Diomedes took him aside. "Wait for my order and aim with care. If Paris fights today, he'll be your main target. Do not waste an arrow on another."

Philocletes understood, and he had always relished a hunt for men.

* * *

Helen knelt in the crowded, sweltering shelter caring for the injured when a helmeted Kastros carried the badly wounded Paris inside. She rushed to him and found a place where he could rest comfortably. An arrow had pierced his chest, and he was bleeding badly and breathed with great difficulty.

He gripped her hand and whispered, "Find Oenone. She can heal me."

Helen had never heard the name. "Who is she?" she asked Kastros, who was removing his helmet and trying hard not to weep over his prince he had guarded for so long.

"A maid from Mount Ida he knew in his youth," the warrior answered.

Helen believed Paris had suffered a mortal wound, but if there were any chance he could survive, she would gladly grab for it. "Hurry, you must leave at once to fetch her," she urged.

Kastros knelt beside Paris. "Oenone and her aunt, Chrisoula, have taken refuge in the city. I'll bring them here at once."

"Hurry. I'll have Paris carried into the palace, and you'll find us there," Helen responded. Warriors who had followed Kastros were eager to do her bidding, lifted the wounded man upon a long bull-hide shield, and carried him with slow, cautious steps to the palace. The women standing along the route covered their mouths and fought back tears at this latest tragedy for Troy. The king and queen rushed to their son's side, and wept as though he were already gone.

Helen gripped Paris's hand. She spoke of the love they'd shared, and prayed Aphrodite who loved him so would guard his life now. When Kastros returned alone, he pulled her aside so Paris would not overhear him.

"Oenone said Paris made his choice long ago, and she refused to come."

Helen knelt to kiss Paris's pale cheek and rose shakily to her feet. "I should have gone with you. Take me to her at once." She raised the hem of her blood-splattered skirt and ran beside the tall warrior. He led her through a maze of narrow streets to the home Chrisoula and Oenone shared with others. He knocked loudly at the door and called her name.

Oenone swung the door open. "I told you..." She stared at Helen, instantly fascinated by the lovely young woman.

"You must come with me to the palace," Helen stressed. "Paris believes you can save him, and you must try."

Chrisoula stepped behind her niece. "Helen," she remarked with hushed awe. "If Paris has fallen in battle, you're to blame."

She had accepted the blame for the war long ago and was untouched by the insult. "Please, he believes you can heal him, Oenone, and you must come with us now. He has very little time."

Oenone shook her head and sent her long dark hair flying. "Paris chose you. You heal him." She swung the door closed with a heavy thump.

Kastros took Helen's hand. "Oenone loved him, and she's never forgiven him for marrying you. Her heart has turned to stone, and she'll be the one to bear the blame if we lose him."

Helen squeezed his fingers. "Death has chased Paris from the day he was born," she murmured. "Let's hurry, we must be there with him even if there is nothing more we can do."

When they returned to the palace, Paris opened his eyes, and she took his hand. "Oenone?" he asked.

She shook her head. "We couldn't find her." She looked up at Kastros, and he understood the loving lie and nodded. She leaned close to whisper in her husband's ear, and her memories of their time together were all so dear to her now. "You are the great love of my life. I'll carry you in my heart forever. Do you remember the warm nights we spent in Egypt, where the sky was ablaze with shooting stars?"