Leda nodded to summon the stable boy standing nearby. She circled Helen's shoulders in a warm hug and urged her toward the palace. "Thank you, Menelaus. The horse is a beauty."
"Like Helen," he whispered softly to himself and nodded to her.
* * *
On the day of the wedding, Helen danced in the palace with the women and young girls. The music was loud, and their twists and turns often frenzied. When the brightly frescoed walls became a blur of red, blue and yellow, she fled the women's quarters with Omalu for the breezy air of the roof terrace. She was dressed in her finest clothes, a skirt with colorful horizontal bands and a pretty bolero, gold earrings and bracelets. Her long hair floated free, and she blew it out of her eyes.
"The women dance and the men drink and feast. Does it not seem a foolish way to conduct a wedding?" she asked her diminutive maidservant.
"It's not for me to say." Omalu had new clothing too, and ran her fingertips over her beautiful skirt. It was the prettiest one she'd ever owned.
Agamemnon's emblem, two royal standing lions embracing a sacred column had been beautifully wrought in gold and embellished on the front of his chariot. The remainder of the impressive conveyance had been decorated with flowers and ribbon streamers and stood out among the others lined up near the stable. Helen wished she could take one, ride away and not return home until dawn.
She'd caught a glimpse of Menelaus, or at least a flash of red hair, when Agamemnon had arrived. She knew none of his other kin, but no one expected her to be acquainted with another royal family.
"Are you hungry?" Omalu asked.
Helen shook her head. "No, the dancing made me too dizzy to eat, but there will be plenty of food later. If you're hungry, go find something for yourself."
Omalu leaned against the railing beside Helen. "I'm dizzy too. Are brides supposed to be lightheaded when their new husband carries them away? Maybe then they won't cry when they tell their family goodbye."
Helen's laugh bordered a rude snort. "Clytemnestra won't shed a single tear. She's heard Agamemnon's palace is even finer than our father's. It's told Mycenae is rich in gold, and she'll be the queen. She won't miss us, and I'll not long for her haughty company either."
They remained on the roof terrace until Leda found them. "I'm so glad you're here rather than in the stable in your new clothes." She drew in a deep breath, and released it slowly. "Time is passing too quickly. I remember being your age so clearly and watching my sisters marry, and then I became a bride, a mother, and I'll probably be a grandmother before you're wed."
Her mother was so young and beautiful; Helen could not even imagine her growing old. "Men don't mark time the same way as women, do they?"
"No indeed," Leda responded, "they count the years by the wars they have fought and love to recite their heroic battles endlessly. That's why women don't join them for a feast, where we would have to listen to their tiresome bragging the whole night. Now come with me. You must eat with your sister on the last evening this will be her home."
Helen went along without complaint, happy to celebrate her sister's departure in every way possible. Clytemnestra had burned her childhood playthings as a tribute to Artemis, goddess of life's transitions, but Helen had no collection of pretty toys to sacrifice, when hers were so easily lost and broken. When it came time for her to wed, she would have to gather some quickly, rather than disappoint Artemis by having none to offer.
* * *
Clytemnestra bathed in water scented with rose perfume, donned her beautiful new clothing, and Leda placed a crown of roses in her hair. The women lit torches to light her way in a lovely swaying line to where Agamemnon waited at the palace gates. He took her hand, and accompanied by the torchbearers, they made their way to his festively decorated chariot.
He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, thick dark curls and a rakish grin, but Helen didn't like him. He was a fierce warlord noted for his bravery, but he had never given her more than a distracted nod, and he struck her as being arrogant and cold. Clytemnestra walked beside him with her head demurely bowed,
wearing a shy smile, while surely she relished becoming Agamemnon's queen. He was the high king, the most powerful ruler in all of Greece, which added to the young woman's innate pride.
Helen looked up at her parents and found her father wiping a tear from his eye. "You don't like him?" she whispered.
"Hush," he scolded. "I'm sorry to lose our dear Clytemnestra, but a young woman must go with her husband to his home. Her marriage to Agamemnon honors us all."
Leda held her husband's hand tightly. "Before you know it, we'll be lighting torches for you, Helen, and while we may shed a few tears, it will be a joyous day."
Helen wondered if Agamemnon would teach Clytemnestra how to use a bow, and quickly decided he wouldn't even think of it.
Chapter 7
Sparta
Palace of King Tyndareus
Time passed as quickly as Leda feared, and at twelve, Helen was considered at an age to marry. Leda worried about her daughter, however, for she showed none of Clytemnestra's eagerness to wed. Clytemnestra had already given birth to a son, Orestes, and as expected, exalted in being both a queen and a mother. Helen still preferred horses to men, and Leda thought they would be wise to wait until she showed some inclination toward marriage.
Tyndareus disagreed. "Helen is a great beauty and there will be a long and fierce competition for her hand. We could begin the contests now, and not see her wed for a year at least, perhaps two. By then, she should have grown more mature in her thinking."
"It's not her thinking that poses the problem," Leda argued. "She's smarter than most and doesn't hesitate to speak her mind. If she dislikes the men who come to woo her, she will say so. I refuse to allow her to marry a man who would abuse her for her independent ways."