Sparta, Five years later
Palace of King Tyndareus
Helen held her twined basket close as she moved through the field of saffron crocuses. The pretty lavender flowers were cultivated not for their beauty, but for their three bright red stigmas. Dried for spice, the stigmas also made a vivid yellow dye. Clytemnestra loved to wear flounced skirts dyed in every shade of yellow from pale to bright as the sun. Helen wore purple, or pomegranate red. She loved dark, deep colors, while her sister craved only the light.
Omalu followed closely behind, watching for the stigmas Helen missed or dropped. She used far more care and could remove the stigmas from a blossom without leaving a shattered bloom. Helen used the same brisk yank she would use to pluck feathers from a goose.
"We must be gentle," the dark-eyed girl admonished, "or your mother won't let us come."
Helen glanced over her shoulder. She'd waited impatiently for the chance to walk in these fields, but now that she was eleven years old and the day had finally arrived, she felt only hot and sweaty rather than proud. "I'm not certain it would be a punishment."
Omalu shook her head. "You complain if you are left out and now aren't happy to be included."
Clytemnestra and her friends were moving far ahead on an adjacent path. They were singing as they pranced along, clearly enjoying themselves. "I'm beginning to believe this drudgery is called fun to fool us into doing it." Helen stretched to ease the ache in her back.
Omalu had to wait for her mistress to move forward. "I'm grateful to have something new to do."
Helen pushed herself on down the row and plucked the stigmas from the next bloom with exaggerated care. "Is this better, Omalu?"
"Oh yes, a tender touch works best. Ease the stigmas from the flowers so they won't be crushed between your fingers."
Helen waved her hand above the next crocus. "Is this too gentle?"
"Yes! Hurry, we must work more quickly or the amount in our baskets won't compare to what Clytemnestra and her friends gather."
"I really don't care," Helen replied. She had always preferred her brothers' company to her sister's, and after suffering through a day of gathering saffron, she would much rather be on horseback than strolling these fragrant fields.
* * *
Helen clenched her fists at her sides as her mother fit a colorful tiered skirt around her waist. "Clytemnestra is the one dancing in Artemis' temple, why must I go along?"
"So you'll know what to expect when it's your turn to dance. Your sister is old enough to wed, and we wish to dance and celebrate. Your turn will come in its own time."
Her mother had begun teaching her to dance as soon as she could walk. Clytemnestra had laughed at her lack of grace, but she was now old enough to perform the rhythmic steps and slow turns with a winsome charm, but she never lost herself in the softly strummed lyre music the way other girls so easily did. It was no longer enough simply to raise her arms and twirl in a lazy circle as she had as a child. Silent praise and prayers for a goddess were supposed to come with every step, and her mind tended to wander.
They would soon leave for the sanctuary devoted to Artemis overlooking the river Eurotas. Artemis was the Virgin Huntress, protector of mothers and their children. Once there, the women and girls would dance nude, but they would make their way to the temple wearing finely fashioned skirts befitting their status. Helen reached for Omalu's hand and skipped along behind Leda and Clytemnestra, delighted to think her sister would soon be wed and gone away for good.
* * *
The afternoon was pleasantly warm, the music of the flutes and lyres wafted across the sylvan landscape enticing Helen and the other little girls to dance on the grass. Stately cedar trees flanked the temple, and the temple's tapered columns were cedar as well surrounding the dancers with the wood's pungent aroma. Helen wove in and out of the other girls and then hopped in a circle around them. She made up steps of her own and as long as she did not bump into anyone, she heard no complaints. There were more giggles from the girls outside than prayers. Pretending to be Artemis in pursuit of prey, she pulled back the string of an imaginary bow and let an invisible arrow fly. It was much less effort than praying, and as close as she could come to reverence.
When they stopped dancing to drink from the river, Helen filled her mouth with the cool water and leaned back to gargle tickling bubbles in her throat. The other little girls stared at her wide-eyed, a couple laughed, but Omalu frowned and shook her head.
"You could at least pretend to be good," the maidservant urged. "Or I fear when it comes time for you to marry, no suitable man will want you."
Unconcerned, Helen tossed her curly hair and ran back to the temple to join in the next lilting melody. Her brothers played the lyre, and Castor had given her a few lessons, but given up when she showed minimal talent. She could play a few notes on the diaolos, the double flute, and beat a drum if no one were particular about having a rhythm. Thank goodness, girls were not expected to be fine musicians. For the afternoon, she was content to dance with her own playful steps, and let her mind move freely in her own inner world.
When they all grew dizzy and tired, Helen lay do
wn on her discarded skirt alongside Omalu. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The mothers and their older daughters were still dancing inside the glowing temple, and the music floated outside around them in soft waves. Helen slept deeply, and her dreams were strange and sweet. When Leda woke her, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
"I had the most wonderful dream about flying horses. They were white as milk and had enormous wings that lifted them into the clouds. Does Artemis own such a splendid mount?"
Leda wrapped the skirt around Helen's harrow hips and combed the fringed hem with her fingertips. "No, it is Zeus who owns a pair of beautiful flying horses, they're called Pegasai. They pull his golden chariot across the sky."
The heavens had dimmed in the gathering dusk, but Helen swept the sky overhead in a quick search. "Have you seen him coursing by?"
Leda would never reveal just how close she had come to Zeus, but she had not seen his chariot that wondrous day. "No, but his chariot flies above the clouds when he's on his way to Mt. Olympus, and no mortals are able to see him."