Helen of Sparta Read Online Free PDF Page B

bronze from his skin and hid the breadth of his shoulders, and, for a moment, I saw the boy who had been a brother to me. “There is not a man who has seen you who does not wait for the day that Tyndareus calls us to compete for your hand. But I missed your friendship sorely. Did it mean so littl e to you?”
    I pulled my hand free, glad that it was dark and he could not see my face flush. “It meant the wor ld to me.”
    “Then why, Helen? Would it be so terrible to marry you r friend?”
    The pressure behind my eyes made his face swim into shadow. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
    He was silent for a heartbeat; then he laughed, low and gentle. “Why would I?”
    “ You will!”
    My voice rose, and he hushed me, touching a finger to my lips. I pushed it away, sitting up. My hand found his knee, and I gripped it so hard, he hissed.
    “You want to know what I dream of? I dream of war, Menelaus. The world turned to ash and fire. A golden city that burns while I hide in a temple, begging the gods to protect me, and then Ajax o f Locris—”
    I stopped. I did not want to think of Ajax the Lesser. I did not want to speak of it, for fear I would have the dream again. My father worried about the gods, but it would not be the gods who abused me.
    “Menelaus, in my dream, you hate me. There is no love between us, no kindness, no friendship. All of it is gone. And so many die, so many. I cannot risk it. You have to understand . Please.”
    He stared at me, and even in the dark I saw the whites of his eyes. He shook his head slowly, as if denying my words, and his hand covered mine on his leg, wrapping around it. His other hand was in my hair again, his fingers threading through the strands and cradlin g my head.
    I smothered a sob, but he pulled me to him, pressing my face against his shoulder and holding me in his lap while I cried the tears I could no longer hold back. He stroked my hair and wrapped his arm around my waist, rocking me against his body, warm and solid, and as familiar as the scent of leather and wood smoke that clung to his tunic.
    “It is only a drea m, Helen.”
    But I did not think he believed i t, either.

CHAPTER THREE
    L eda came to me not long after dawn, touching my shoulder to wake me, and pressing a finger to her lips when I would have spoken. Clytemnestra had not come to bed until the birds had started their early songs, and she slept like the dead beside me, her br eath foul.
    I dressed and followed Leda from the room. Slaves already ducked in and out of the other sleeping rooms, linens draped over their arms. Morning light poured into the hall through high-cut windows where the roof of the corridor rose taller than the rooms on either side. It painted the plaster walls sky blue, giving life to the purple-and-gold-feathered peacocks, which chased one another along the bot tom third.
    My mother had forbidden any symbols of Zeus in the women’s quarters, choosing to honor Hera instead. But Zeus’s wife was not known for her sympathy when it came to those women her husband had taken interest in. Proof, I thought, that these gods were not worth our regard, if Hera could be so cruel.
    Leda brought me to the baths, where she bade me sit on a high stool while she cut my hair. The sound of the shears filled my ears, and I held still as the strands fell around me to the limestone floor, like so much flotsam in the painted waves. The terra-cotta tub where she had scrubbed the dye from my hair still bore darker brown splotches in the grooves of the fish swimming along its edges.
    It had been for nothing. But I was not certain if I was more worried or pleased that Menelaus loved me for more than just my looks. We still could not marry. I still should not be his friend any longer. I had not realized how difficult a habit it would be to break.
    “Undres s, Helen.”
    Leda’s voice was even and soft, but my nails dug into the wood of the stool.
    “You may as well bathe, or you’ll be scratching at