Chapter Text
Thrust and guard; spear and shield!
Menelaus remembered the basics of fighting and he had practiced plenty in Sparta. He knew he wasn’t the greatest warrior around; probably a huge bunch of soldiers around him had even better chances of survival than what he did and yet he was not half-bad and he intended to perfect his hold no matter what. Furiously he attacked the soldier that was on duty to train with him that day, his spear deflected by his shield. His torso was glistering with sweat and his hair had plastered on his forehead.
He was imagining his face there! Paris! That accursed thief in the night that had stripped him off anything he ever had!
Strikes of metal against metal kept on coming like thunders in a thunderstorm. He had made several preparations. He had ordered his stable-masters to train his best horses to every single event that might occur. He had ordered his best fillies and colts to be ready just in case his horses grew old. He had to train them for every occasion; flashes of armor or the tremendous sound of battle. The roars of battle could disarrange even the best of men yet alone horses. He had to be ready. He stopped another hit from coming at his head and he gave the order for a break. He removed his training helmet and allowed his wavy, sweaty hair to be free. He moved to the water jug by the field and poured a hefty amount of it to his head before chugging down some thirsty sips.
Thank gods Agamemnon provided me with what was necessary! Hadn’t it been for him, none of this would have been able to happen!
He was still boiling with fury every time he thought of it! How Paris had taken everything from him! His beloved wife, his dignity, his credibility and his fortune as he ran away like a thief into the night! And the domino of reactions that followed.
Cursed Paris! You took everything from me! Even my own mind and heart! Gods, give me this one pleasure to smash his head under my hand and then you can claim my life! Let me have that one at least! And then you can take me to Tartarus!
Oh, had he known the snake he had put in his own home! He would have torn the man’s throat out himself! But now it was too late. He was a ruined man! He could only move forward at that point. He signed to his slave to come and pick his equipment up. He had no idea what made him look up but he did. At the window she saw the silhouette of Pieris looking down towards him. She had her hands upon her rounding stomach. Her pregnancy was moving relatively fine although he could see that she was a bit under the weather during those final weeks. She had complained about some dizziness or feeling tired. Sometimes her heart would beat faster. Sometimes she had trouble walking.
He was worried to see that and oftentimes asked the physician about her symptoms; if she was alright or if the baby was growing fine and all. He noticed some swelling particularly around her feet. His physician has said that he had witnessed symptoms like that before in women who were pregnant and it was hard to tell whether something should truly worry him or not. He even heard some people imply that it was because she was of common blood (given that Helen never complained of such things before). Menelaus didn’t know what to believe. It wasn’t like he had witnessed many births in the past. He was young when his sister Anaxibia was born and he had only one child of his own. For a moment he had considered writing to his brother and ask for advice but he dismissed it.
Yeah right! Write to your brother in regards to your pregnant slave! I am sure he has more to worry about on the mess that YOU made!
He sighed in self-pity as he once more ended up to the conclusion that there was no use for him to think about it all the time. He was also occupying himself with the construction of the fleet and he had to come and go from the palace quite often to get down to the docs and inspect. He had manage to organize around 30 ships so far and he was hoping to double that, or at least get 20 more. He had also inspected some of his old fleet and they seemed well enough to go for the trip with a bit of preservation. Funding the whole operation was already becoming difficult! The ships had extracted almost all the profits from the good year’s harvest and some sold goods from the palace itself. He had managed to take some talands of bronze that was owned to him by one of the northern kings but that was still not enough.
Even if the fleet is complete...how can I leave Sparta without decent amounts of money or goods to survive the war? Who knows how long the war’s gonna take?
And yet he couldn’t dare to get less ships. He was the reason the expedition were to happen. He couldn’t settle just for a small number if he wanted to prove his power. Plus he would be damned if he entered Troy and only a handful of ships bore his sigil! He wanted Paris to know on the true power of Sparta! He hit him the only way that could bring him down, by taking his beloved wife away from him and on top of that he had robbed his palace dry. He had seen his fleet once and admired it. Now he was planning on making an even grander one! Even more magnificent one!
Paris! You have tried to break me! You took the one thing that mattered to me more than my heart itself! You have managed to take that one thing that could bring me to my knees and then you left me for dead and bankrupt! I will show you though! I am my father’s son on that! I will strike you down with a thousand times more force than you would ever expect me to!
Gods, allow me to uproot that bastard’s heart out and then let me die, he was thinking, give me that one chance to take revenge and then claim me for all I care!
*
He had plenty to take care of and one of them was the problem of his armor. He had hired the best he could afford to come and form a new armor for him. He was now posing for the final adjustments. He realized he had lost plenty of weight the past months (something he was struggling to reverse by at least trying eating more regular meals and exercise his muscles more the recent weeks of preparation). The armor he was trying was simple, really. Good quality of good metal but he realized he had to skip on the grandiose decorations apart from some rosettas to the shoulders and some horse hair painted scarlet red to his helmet.
To invest more on the function than the appearance…! Agamemnon would laugh at me! But I can’t ask him for more economical support on this one! I have to do that on my own!
He looked himself at the bronze circle before him. Yes, he looked good enough in the shimmering bronze. The shield was heavy and yet comfortable in his arm. The sword he had always for as long as he could remember being in Sparta was well-polished and ready to be used. He made a small turn to see how the armor sat on his body from the side or up-front. He felt like he had trouble recognizing himself. Yes, he had noticed the changes before but now that he was dressed in all the shiny bronze, he was truly concerned. That helmet was sitting on him, almost hiding his features and shading his face; shedding some darkness that scared him. His eyes had sunken in their sockets under the dark circles they had formed, making them look like holes under the helmet; holes that sparkled in fury and sadness.
This man is me now… Helen drained anything human from me! This is how the look of a beast is like, I am sure!
In one way he hoped that were true; he hoped his appearance was fierce enough to hide the turmoil of his broken soul; just like the soft blanket of snow in the winter would cover the mountain glens so that the broken or stomped over twigs of the forest would no longer be visible and the dead trees would hide their nakedness with the false cot of snow and ice, similarly did the king of Sparta hope to hide all the uncertainty and all the fear in his heart under the layers of bronze and wool and fleece that consisted his armor. And yet it disturbed him. It was as if that boy he used to be and then that husband and the father that used to be tender and meek had long gone now. Killed by the knife of infidelity and drowned under the layers of booze and sorrow.
“My king” the voice of one of his slaves drew him out of his self-reflection
“What?” he grunted
The last thing he needed was more delays! He already had to delay a lot for the birth of the child, the repair of the part of the fleet and the construction of new vessels.
“Th-...” the stammering was not a good sign, “th-there have been some...some issues with the construction… Three of the new ships were damaged by improper wood and...a ladder collapsed. Three workers were injured….one is not expected to live the night….”
He knew he should be concerned. He knew he should probably show compassion. Instead he felt anger; fury. How dared the fates mock him again and bring delay after delay after delay to his plans for his rightful revenge? His body moved on its own; as if he were in a trance. He grasped the man by the collar and with the other he waved the naked sword above his face; point barely a few inches apart from the guy’s throat.
“I want it done!” he growled like a lion in a cage, “Do you understand? I want it done! Finished!”
“P-Please...m-my king...”
“I don’t bloody care if you will hire more workers but the fleet WILL be done before the next turn of the moon! Do you understand me?”
“Y-Yes...p-please...please my lord...”
Seeing the man almost crying in fear brought him back to his senses. It wasn’t his fault. Accidents always happened in constructions...it was normal. He should have known so far… He backed down, running his hand over his face, letting the man go. His heart was still hammering in his chest, pumping blood to his temples.
“I’m sorry...” he mumbled, removing his helmet
He was rasping for breath, as if his heart could no longer be contained within his chest.
“...I’m sorry...”
The man was staring at him; lost and mute. Yes, they all remembered how he was when he came back to find his palace practically stripped naked and his wife gone with their guest.
“FIND THEM! FIND THEM!”
His voice still echoed to the halls of Spartan megaron.
“BRING ME THAT THIEF! ALIVE OR DEAD! AND THAT WHORE! FIND THEM!”
He had thrown down objects from tables, those that still remained or that were of small value and the couple had left them behind.
“AND WHOEVER HELPED THEM...BRING ME THEIR HEADS! FIND THEM!”
Meek and calm Menelaus, the one that most of the time blushed like a virgin boy when his wife would smile at him; that boy that was practically raised to adulthood within those walls and despite his temper and attitude was always obedient and sweet was now beyond himself; a lion in a cage, wounded and starved. None of them had ever seen him like this. And they knew he meant every single word he had said. It was the explosion of rage before his sinking to desperation especially when the search was fruitless and the realization that they had left upon a swift ship that rode the wind and that they could be miles away now.
“Go...” he softly ordered, “I’ll… I’ll take care of the matter...”
He was at loss for words. It wasn’t like he could do anything else. The messenger seemed more than just eager to run away from there.
“Wait...”
He stopped. His king walked closer with a bit of hesitation.
“Tell...the man’s family can have the bag of grain to feed themselves if the loss is indeed to occur… The public physician will pay a visit to the injured...”
“Very well my lord...”
Yes, that kinda resembled himself. He sighed miserably as he struggled out of that armor. Yes, it was good enough. He might as well not need any more of testing for it… He covered his mouth with his palm, stopping the groan that was about to come out. Or maybe it was a sob. He no longer knew. He hurried out of his chambers.
He needed Pieris…
He needed to rest his head upon her knees...hoping her soft touch would calm him down a bit.
He hoped the drops of love would shower him like a rain after a drought
Even if it was an illusion…
*
Pieris screamed in pain one more time as she was holding herself to the back of the chair and pushed hard upon the order of the midwife that was holding and supporting her. The contractions had started for good for quite some time now and the young woman, naked like the day she was born, showered in sweat was doing the important job of bringing the life to this world. It certainly had been some time ever since such a miracle had occurred in that house; a house once full of children of the royal family, the elders would remember.
They would still remember Castor and Polydeuces breathing for the first time in the halls and filling everything with their cries; strong and determined as they were supposed to be. And then the beautiful and blessed by gods as they said Leda would bring to the world other children; the god-like Clytemnestra, Philonoe, Phoebe and Timandra. Last the divine Helen had come to life in the most miraculous way of all, definitely blessed by the gods themselves as they said. The children that used to fill with their happiness and glory the palace. Then the son of Atreus arrived, yet another lively soul, the young Menelaus started to live with them and little Anaxibia who was to be married years later.
Now the palace was empty; all the voices were silenced. And no more children seemed to roam about. The only happy change was little Hermione. When she had come to the world crying loudly and showing already that she would be ready to face everything bravely, Menelaus was ecstatic! It didn’t matter that she weren’t a boy to be the heir. He had set full on celebrations that lasted three days! His daughter was also born soon after their marriage, which seemed to set the prospect of more children ready to arrive. Oh, how foolish had he been in his expectations! Years and years had passed and the palace of Sparta had lost hope that they would hear the cries of a woman giving birth through its halls.
He was nervous
How could he not be? Pieris was arguably in incredible pain judging by her screams and the maidens that were supporting her and calling out to her when to push and when to breathe. He could even hear her crying. He couldn’t remember any of these during the time Helen was giving birth! Something seemed terribly wrong inside him! He wanted to run away; to block his ears and leave but he forced himself to stay. He was determined to take responsibility this time! So he remained to his offices that were still at ear’s range from the chambers of the women. Pieris yelled again and this time the sound of furniture falling was heard.
“Help me lay her down!” the slave girl called as she grasped the birthing mother’s armpits, “She is too weak to stand!”
Three women helped her recline to the bed. Normally they would expect her to squat or kneel and allow her to push but Pieris had been trying for hours; her naked body was soaked in sweat, her face almost turning purple from effort and her knees were shaking. She had been disoriented all morning ever since the first contractions had happened. Now she was totally out of the world in her pain and blood-loss. She clearly needed to rest her head. As she lay there, crying and yelling in pain, the midwives helped her keep her legs open and a good position, if possible. The first birth was always difficult but none of them remembered their mistress have difficulties that great before.
“I see the head!” the elder midwife called out finally, “Come on, my dear! One more try!”
The poor woman screamed once more as she tried, one last time.
And then there was the cry.
It was loud and it was redemptory
“It’s a boy!” the midwife cried out, “It’s a son!”
A servant rushed to inform the king that the birth was done. However the poor woman could only shed her eyes and give a smile upon her baby son, kiss his cheek softly and enjoy that small creature that came out of her. For violent shivers and trembles took over her body as minutes passed from the birth. Like a beautiful lean sardine that was just caught upon the hook of the fisherman and pulled out of the salty depths of the sea to the sandy shore with her scales shining under the rays of the sun, similarly Pieris shivered and trembled as her skin glistered from sweat of her effort. That lasted for a few seconds until she lay down her head and she did move no more…
Menelaus arrived at the room finding the midwife waiting. Her clothes were all bloody but the little bundle in her arms cried loudly. His heart was pounding in his chest upon perceiving that pink-red creature he had no idea he could actually produce. His eyes were tearful and that didn’t allow him to see the look of distress that the woman had. As he held the baby, his hands trembled.
“Come here...welcome…!” he whispered almost beyond of himself
“Congratulations, my king” the woman said, “It’s a son!”
The king of Sparta shivered all over. The words he never expected to hear. The words he had hoped so badly to be able to hear within the halls of his palace were heard now of an event that occurred out of the most unlikely source he could ever imagine. He lifted that little creature in his hands, looked at him from top to bottom. He could hardly breathe as he felt the warm flesh under his fingers. There was warmth spreading inside him as if transferred from that little creature. The boy was calming down, as if he could recognize him already. The face was round and that little nose was well-shaped.
“I have a son…!” he heard himself whispering
His voice was barely audible; drowning itself within the depths of his throat. There seemed to be the warm rays of the sun that shone over that little creature he so much longed for. It was as if he didn’t know a piece of his was missing until that very moment; the discreet smell of chamomile and rosemary; the smell of sweet summer. His lips kissed that soft cheek and his soul shivered within his wide chest; tears running down his own cheeks as no words seemed to be enough to express any kind of emotion that was rushing inside him. One of them was bitterness
Why, gods…? Why could Helen not give me a son…? Why couldn’t I give her one…?
The thought shook him out of his delirium; the child’s mother.
“How’s she?” he eagerly asked, “How’s Pieris?”
And then he saw it; there was darkness in her eyes. Sadness and fear. Something inside him cracked; it was as if his heart sank from its leaping spot all the way to his feet and stumbled by accident.
Oh, no!
His legs had a will of their own as he handed the baby to the maid and rushed in. He ignored all the calls and warnings of the maid behind him that seemed to be preventing him from doing anything rush. Every sound seemed like a buzz to his ears; every image just another element to the vertigo surrounding him. No one seemed to truly exist; not the room or the women in the bloodied clothes that bowed and moved out of his way. The room seemed cold compared to the outside world. Cold and uninviting; heavy by the aura of death. He was familiar with that now; the aura which felt like a stone slab sitting on his chest, blocking his breath, making it seem like he were about to faint. He saw that small head; that head he had held close to his heart so many times, the head he had kissed and held onto for comfort, emerging under the bed sheet. The eyes were closed and the mouth, those heart-shaped lips of hers, was slightly parted.
She looked like she was sleeping.
No! Gods no! No! Not her...oh, no…! No…!
It was as if he had screamed, cried and scratched his cheeks; as if he had doubled over, striking his chest with his hands like the women who had mourned the dead body of Leda. And yet his numb brain realized he had done none of that. Instead he was standing there completely frozen. The eyes of his were blurred by tears and yet he felt empty. It was as if the hole that Helen had left to his chest was never filled in the first place. Coldness and cold wind had filled it. His muscles were tight. His gaze void. It was impossible for him to move or even avert his eyes from that body; that young body covered with linen till her neck as if she were asleep. He didn’t even have tears to shed anymore!
“Everything I touch...” he whispered, “…I destroy...”
There was a knot holding his throat. He could hardly swallow.
“...Everything her memory touches...gets corrupt...!”
He could hardly stand it anymore. He had nothing else to break inside him. Everything turned into a sharp mass of broken pieces that would literally cut to shreds anyone close to him! He closed his eyes and took some raspy breaths. Yes, he had tried to be meek. He had tried to be kind. He had tried to be trustworthy. That was all he got! Piece after piece after piece of himself was now destroyed! Softness had brought him pain. No more mercy for anyone! No more! If he had to be ruthless, if the gods wanted that of him then they very much had achieved that!
I had worshiped beauty! I worshiped love and kindness! I worshiped my wife! I loved her more than I have ever loved anything else in the world and she betrayed me! She left me! She destroyed me! I adored Aphrodite and her gifts to this world only for her to use them against me! I worshiped beauty and it destroyed me! She brought the seed of destruction within my home! She poisoned the air of my home and the mind of my wife! She poisoned me! Cursed beauty! I disdain you and I denounce you! Cursed you be a thousand times and more!
There was nothing beautiful in sorrow! There was nothing beautiful now! Every beautiful memory he had created within the walls of Spartan palace were twisted with the ugliness of death; of destruction. And yet this he could trust! This ugliness, his rage and hate! Yes, he could understand it! He tried to find love! He tried to find beauty and it turned out to be a double edged sword! This hate was sharp but it had a target! He remembered that image he saw to the polished bronze; the man dressed in sharp metal and hard leather. That man that scared him before now seemed better to sustain.
Let Ares blow his bugle! Let this accursed war begin! Let it all be damned to hell! Love destroyed me! Hatred will put me back together! Hear me Hera, Queen of the Heavens! Breathe in me the righteous anger towards them who destroyed me and made me suffer! Gods bear witness! They will pay! They will pay for what they did to me!
He nearly swayed and fell but at the same time he didn’t. It was as if he were watching himself from above. He felt the midwife trying to move towards him. He yanked himself away before she had the chance.
“Don’t touch me!” he half-yelled
He almost stumbled out of the door. There was a lot to be done.
“Find me a wet nurse!” he ordered on his way out, “Take care of my son!”
His children...the only thing he had left...the only thing he could channel the last bits of humanity he had...and yet both caused him pain.
His daughter’s resemblance to her mother…
His son’s meaning for his mistress’s death…
The last bits of his heart shattered. Turned into a mass of broken sharp edges…
He was afraid they would tear these children to shreds...if they dared to get close…
And he could never forgive himself if he allowed that to happen…
*
The weeks had passed. And the weeks became months. During the time of the funeral and the cleansing taking place several things seemed to have happened in the world. The preparations were almost done. Somehow the appropriate amount of ships was made or repaired and soldiers were ready to leave at command. It all passed in a blur for the king. He could hardly remember everything that occurred. He remembered his brother letting him know he could finally move, finally the accursed wait to come to an end. He remembered traveling once more impromptu to his ancestral home to meet Agamemnon. He remembered getting in the chariot with him or in a ship and touring about every place he knew to belong to his previous rivals.
Everything was a blur.
Even the most eventful of all; the trip to rocky Ithaca. He remembered their cousin, Palamedes, throwing that baby before the plow, nearly tearing that poor boy to shreds. Odysseus, the Man of Many Wiles, who before seemed mad and out of the world like Bacchus himself after the Heavenly Queen made him roam the world for ages, now miraculously revived, stopping the ass and the ox.
He had hardly reacted.
It was as if the war was occupying his mind to its totality. He had no more space for tenderness or empathy inside him! And yet he would be a liar to say that he wasn’t at all affected. Like the goldsmith lets the glass mass to make a gem for a pendant or a ring, something inside him soothed at that. He remembered his children; his children that for weeks and weeks he had neglected out of his very pain. The two motherless children of his; one because of betrayal the other because of death. Upon his return, king Menelaus felt the intense need to see them.
His children…
How strange it seemed to him even now that it was now plural! For a decade almost he had only one. His little Hermione. However now he had two; one of them a son. Upon his return he wanted to spend time with them, knowing he was to leave them for a long time. He had no idea how long the war would take place because his heart yearned for it! He heard some kings like Odysseus or even Agamemnon speak on negotiations but his own soul desired this bloodshed!
Paris’s head under my sword! That’s the only thing I want! The only thing that matters! His head and blood on my hands and then I can die! By gods grant me my revenge and then claim my life!
However deep down the closer he got to that departure the more he came to realize the separation slowly boiling inside him… No, he couldn’t allow his daughter, his legitimate heir, to die motherless. He had arranged everything with Agamemnon; Hermione were to be sent to Mycenae. She were to be raised by Clytemnestra. She would have sisters...a brother figure to play with and forget the scandal...forget everything that could potentially drag her down to the depths. She could even get to know her fiance…
Her fiance
He had absolutely forgotten even to let her know of his deal with Agamemnon! Oh, his little Hermione had hardly spoken to him! He hardly had even communicated with her! He knew she wasn’t at fault and that he had to do something about it anyways since the time was coming closer. He would never forgive himself if things didn’t set a bit straight between them before he were to depart. He had spent some days with his baby son at the nursery. He was so small! So sweet and soft and yet he was growing bigger and stronger by the day. That baby, his son. He never knew he could still be tender; that something inside him would be left to show kindness to another person. And yet that baby was easy to love...so easy to hold and nurture! However Hermione didn’t wish to talk to him much. The past days that he remained in his palace, making the final preparations and making the final arrangements with Tyndareus, his daughter and he had hardly exchanged five words. He had to fix this somehow.
He was waiting feeling strangely calm as he poured a cup of wine for himself and stared out the window. It was as if the day after wouldn’t be his departure for war, for conflict and gods knew what else. He felt strangely serene. But also sad. The next day would also be the day he would see his daughter off, see her leave for his ancestral home…gods only knew when he would see her again. If he ever saw her again…
Strange he thought the prosper of my death at war doesn’t scare me...somehow seems like...a happy prospect… I will not face any of these ever again...and maybe just maybe this is how my shame can be washed off… The hero of Troy...such a prospect would bring honor to my family…
Maybe the most prosperous thing he could do for his family would be to die after all… The thought felt strangely soothing...it had almost an intoxicating effect...deeper than the intoxication he caused himself with wine the past weeks of his mourning.
Menelaus, gods have made the wine so it will be the perfect remedy to soothe away the mortal torments…
That was what his now ally Nestor of Pylos had told him when he spoke to that table of theirs where they dined in the name of the gods, wishing safe journey.
No… he thought bitterly, death is...all the others are just balsam one places upon the wound so they will bring the pain to sweet oblivion… Maybe I knew the answer all along when I called out the sound of bugle of war… Yes, maybe that is all that I can do for my children...for my family… Die and gain some essence of glory for them…
He drained his cup in one go.
But I will die taking the bloody Trojans with me! Gods bear witness to what I say! If I die to the war it won’t be as a coward! I will die taking every single one of those bandits with me! And Paris! That bandit of my everything! That above all I will drag with me to Tartarus and beyond!
He poured himself another drink and looked outside. He poured one small portion out the window and into the small bush of rosemary that bloomed a few meters below.
Gods have mercy on my soul...and every Trojan that might fall under my sword! For I shall have none to give to them!
He was about to take a sip when he heard that small knock on his door.
“Who is it?”
“Your daughter has arrived….” he heard the slave discreetly replying from outside, “just like you requested it my lord...”
This is it…
“Thank you. Let her in”
She walked in; showered in moonlight, in beauty. Menelaus felt his broken heart skip a beat. How close she looked like her mother! Oh, he had sworn he wouldn’t look at beauty ever again and yet who could remain untouched by such a beautiful creature? Who could say that turned so blind inside their soul to ignore the marvel of nature that was standing before him? He smiled softly. Yes, his Hermione was beautiful. She was his pride and joy. He would never say otherwise.
“My Eyes...” he whispered tenderly, “Welcome...”
She slowly lowered her eyes; those beautiful honey orbs of hers. He saw her giving him a small bow. She was never typical with him. Not like this. The stance hurt him more than what he had imagined.
“Please...” he whispered, “Come closer...come and embrace and kiss your father...for I shall depart tomorrow...”
And so she did; slowly and in a hesitating pace. She placed her little head against his chest and he embraced her with his strong arm, placing his lips on top of her hair. He could feel her being awkward as if she didn’t recognize him anymore.
I barely recognize myself at this point…
He remembered that little girl that was always eager to come to him…
If only I had done more for you…
He smiled and showed her his double-handled cup.
“Do you want to have a taste? Like when you were little?”
He remembered the festivities when his little daughter used to climb on his knees and smile at him. He would allow her to dip her little finger in the cup and taste the year’s blend and she would smile at him making his whole world bright. That was the voice he tried to use on her as if they were back in the happy days. However his daughter looked now at the depths of the cup and she wouldn’t move. Then shyly looked back to his eyes. Of course she didn’t want that. She probably had seen or had heard of the whirlpool of his chambers the past weeks… That image was anything but welcoming to her… His Hermione was smart.
She knew. He was sure she did.
He sighed defeated and placed the cup on the table. He sat to his chair and ran his hand over his face. He tried to put some words together; thing he never had been good at. He was heading for war after all and he now realized this might be the last time he ever saw his daughter.
“Light of my eyes...” he started, “I am finally going...”
“Why?”
Such a soft and simple and yet so difficult question!
“Because I have to” he finally replied, “I will have to go and get your mother back”
“When are you coming back?”
Another straightforward question. His daughter never beat about the bushes.
“I don’t know, my darling” he couldn’t lie to her, “Sadly...I don’t know. It probably will be a war for this insult, for this disrespect to Zeus’s laws...and our house’s dignity. I cannot promise you I will come back...”
“A war...”
The word just hovered in the atmosphere like something terrible; like the smell of sulfur and incense from the funerals of the past weeks. And then he saw her shoulders trembling. She clasped her chest with her little hands and then she looked up anew. Her eyes were liquid with tears.
“Why, papa…?” she whispered, “...why did things have to go this way…? I-I don’t understand...”
“I don’t either, my love...” the man Dear to Ares mumbled, “I honestly don’t know...”
His daughter acted like a golden mirror. It was the only moment that he looked back his life and made an evaluation of everything that had occurred. Indeed though; why did things had to come this way? Why did Paris have to come? Why did he have to be the one to receive him? Why did Helen choose to disgrace herself and her home? What if she never did? What if he was wrong all along? No, Helen was not stupid. She must have known what was going on; what type of person Paris was when she received him.
She was always a better judge of character than what I ever was… he thought bitterly, she would never be so naive as to be taken like this...right…?
How would it be possible for her to be taken so easily without a fight? Without alarming the guards in the process? How did Paris manage to get through with his plan without finding any resistance from her? No guard ever reported the sound of a struggle. Were they all lying? Why? No, it made no sense! No, his cause was logical! It had to be!
Every life she took with her...including mine… No, she could have better stabbed me that day! It would have hurt less! It would have hurt less instead of snapping every single good thing inside me and shattering it everywhere as if none of this ever mattered!
His baby girl was now sobbing, albeit quietly. That little chest of hers was jerking up discreetly even if she was making a herculean effort to hold herself back.
“What happened to mama?” Hermione whispered again, “Where did she go?”
The tortured man sighed deeply; filling his wide chest with air and then exhaling it, slowly.
“Your mother has betrayed us, child...betrayed me. She ran off with another man to a place far away from here. I have to get her back”
Silence passed between them, thick enough to be cut with a knife. Finally it was broken by his daughter anew.
“She ran off...with another man…? That prince that lived here?”
“That’s right, my darling, she was disloyal to me”
“But...” suddenly his little girl seemed hesitant as if she expected some sort of retaliation for what she was about to say, “...you also had another woman, father...someone you were sleeping with...”
The words blew like icicles traveling with the winter wind. Menelaus froze. He had expected this would come up sooner or later. He had expected it but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt anyways.
“That’s different!” he immediately rushed to defend himself
It almost seemed like his pride was taking a hit he couldn’t handle, almost as much as he couldn’t handle his daughter’s large eyes in his.
“How, papa?” came a question again, “How is this different?”
“Because-...”
He stopped; every single word had chocked into his throat. She was a slave, someone without rights; by definition a living object. Another human being that was no different than some precious livestock in their legal system. Therefore she didn’t count as “a person” in the legal essence. Also him being entitled more lenient judgment on his extra marital affairs was also pretty much established to society. However he had to be honest with himself; would Helen feel okay with it?
Somehow he knew the answer.
And the answer would be no.
Helen was a proud woman; a woman who knew her worth. She would never have approved her husband taking a mistress to his bed much less to their bed. He tried to picture it if the roles were reverse or even if the situation was as it was now; would he like it to hear his wife enjoying someone else’s embrace even if that person happened to be “a living object” of their household. The shudder he felt down his spine gave the clear answer of no. No he wouldn’t.
“No, you’re right...” he admitted, “It’s exactly the same...”
He felt stripped naked once more under the intense gaze of his daughter and her sharp wits; wits so much like her mother’s. It hurt him to admit it but his daughter was right. It didn't matter that he felt safe with Pieris; that she fulfilled some piece inside him like balsam over an open wound. It didn't matter if his intentions, as confused as they were, were intentions not purely of lust but also desire for closeness, for love... Hermione was still right. It was the same...it was the same type of betrayal anyone would feel!
“However...” he continued in a pitiful attempt to justify himself, “...I have never shamed your mother while we were together. Never had I soiled our wedding bed and you have to believe me, my beloved daughter, when I say to you that I never loved or took another woman to my bed apart from your mother ever since we were married. I swear that to you, my child, upon the names of the immortals all!”
He kissed his daughter on the brow, just like when she had a nightmare; the unpleasant visit by the malicious brothers of Hypnos that plundered her sleep with terrible images.
“However I need you to know that none of this is your fault and I want you not to hold bad feelings against your brother. He is my child just like you are but he would never replace you in my heart, do you understand?”
No answer. It was not encouraging.
“And you have nothing to fear, my baby girl” he cooed at her, “You are still my heir. Your brother is not entitled to my estate and kingdom due to his humble origins. That hasn’t changed just because your sibling happened to be a boy...”
More silence. Menelaus couldn’t stand it. His daughter was frightened and sad to see him off. He hugged her and kissed her tears away, again and again.
“Please don’t be mad at me, my eyes!” he whispered deeply touched, “now that I am leaving you I just want to hold you close...enjoy you and drink you in me so I will always have you like an amulet in spirit to my endeavors. And I will always fly like a bird to you at nights!”
She cried now almost openly.
“I will miss you, papa!” she cried out as she wrapped those little arms around his neck, burying her little face to the crook of his neck.
Just like the broken and sharp shards of glass are being warmed up by the strong flames of the kiln so that the jeweler can mold it into a beautiful glass bead for a necklace, similarly so Menelaus the King of Sparta felt his soul warming up and he embraced his daughter tightly, crying now too, planting kisses to her head and nape. Just like the little cygnet cries after witnessing its little nest destroyed and its mother dead while protecting it, within the bosom of its father who arrived heartbroken to the terrible sight, similarly the daughter or Menelaus cried to the arms of the son of Atreus that calm night.
I’ll miss you too! More than words can say!
Pulling back from that desperate embrace and mopping his tears and hers with his fingers, Menelaus tried to smile again, trying desperately to evoke some lightness to her sad features.
“I know you will have a very good time to your Aunt’s home, my darling. You will have your cousins close to your age to play with...see where your father got to grow up into...”
Fixed her upon his knees, smiling at her.
“And I didn’t tell you, we might as well have found you a fiance”
She halted her moves and her clever eyes looked at him curiously. She definitely didn’t expect that.
“A fiance?” she echoed, “So soon…?”
“Ah, no, my light, nothing that you will need to decide just now. But I am sure you will be pleased that regardless your future is not at all uncertain!”
“Who is it, Papa?”
“Your cousin, Orestes, the son of my dearest brother”
She seemed thoughtful.
“Will I get to meet him? Talk to him?”
“Well...he is too young for now. He was born barely a few years ago”
He brushed some hair behind her ear.
“Which is why there is no rush. You can take your time to know each other and...get to see how you feel about each other and how things will go. Nothing is settled after all.”
He kissed her small head again. Gods, he couldn’t stop feeling her, drinking every single detail in his soul. The thought that this might have been the last time seeing her in one way pierced his heart and made him realize how fugitive fate was.
“I just want you to be happy, my sweetheart…that’s all I need from you...”
“Papa...”
“Be good girl and listen to your aunt while living under their roof...be nice to your cousins and try not to blame your brother...please. Can you do that for me?”
She hesitated only for one second and then nodded her head slowly.
“I’ll...try, papa...I promise”
Menelaus of Sparta smiled sadly. His throat was burning with unshed tears he was holding back. He wanted his daughter to be happy. He wanted the last memories he would have of hers before he went to be her smile; her sweet voice and softness in his arms. He forced a smile to his lips; fighting all tears back.
“Come and hug me, my child...” he whispered opening his arms for her, “Wish me good luck...and smile to me, please. With this sweet smile of yours...”
Little Hermione trembled. Her lips trembled; that little chin of hers trembled...tears that had burnt her pretty cheeks never seemed to stop. She instead wrapped her arms around his neck desperately.
“I’ll miss you, Papa!” she repeated, “I’ll miss you so much!”
Does it take much for a man’s heart to break? This time not of just sadness though, but out of tenderness and out of strong emotion...out of longing…? Menelaus was not sure. He only wrapped his arms around his daughter and squeezed her tightly against his body; tightly as if he aimed to make her merge with him, so he would have her in his heart with him!
“I’ll miss you too, my light...” he heard himself whisper in a trembling voice, “More than words can say…!”
He couldn’t bring himself to part from her! He only remained in that position allowing her to cry herself against his neck; him having his nose buried to her hair, breathing in her scent and giving her consoling kisses to her head. He couldn’t let her go; he couldn’t break the silence and the closure. Not even when his baby girl fell asleep on him with her little arms wrapped around his neck; exhausted from crying and worrying, could he carry her back to her room. Instead he held her close to his heart, on his knees where he sat, rocking her back and forth, enjoying the silence of the night and the stars traveling upon the night sky.
If only Selene kept my girl’s eyelids asleep forever like she did for her beloved…! If only this moment were to stay forever…!
*
The port was blaring with different sounds and orders of the various captains that prepared the spartan fleet to depart. The rendezvous point was the port of Aulis. The only one that seemed to be big enough to host the numerous ships of the fleet. He was informed from his brother that the fleet would be enormous. Over 900 ships had heard the call for war and joined; a few kings that didn’t even need to arrive for Helen’s sake! It was the greatest army the world had ever seen and it all seemed to follow his purpose! That was somehow gave him a boost of confidence and pride. The war seemed to start with positive connotations for them. Menelaus was observing the sea turning all sorts of colors from the sails and the hulls of the ships with some hidden pride indeed. It would be his first true war endeavor and it was of this magnitude. Oh, yes, as monstrous as it sounded, he was feeling wild pride to look at it.
I’m coming for you, Paris, bloody bandit of the night!
The triumphant thought made his chest boost up; filling his lungs with air smelling of salt and iodine from the sea; the sea that was about to take them around the Peloponnese and towards the narrow paths between Eboea and Attica, to Aulis. He watched as the necessary offerings were being poured into the water; thanking wishes towards Poseidon, hoping for a smooth trip. His ears filling up with the sounds of the port mixing up with the voices of men, cargoes and horses being loaded and orders of captains as well as the singing voices of priests and priestesses that were making the offerings to the gods. He could also hear the voices of women and children saying goodbye to their fathers and husbands. His heart ached for one split second.
I’m coming...Helen…
That voice in his head almost sounded hopeful...almost sounded...sad. Was he still doubting his wife’s guilt? Did he suspect that his wife was innocent, or that she had second thoughts? Was he even considering...forgiving her for everything that happened?
Did she ever truly love me? No, the moments of happiness we passed together couldn’t have been a lie! There is no way that they were! I felt it! There was something special between us! There had to be!
And yet...if his beautiful wife was indeed swayed by that kind of men like Paris then how could he ever trust her again? How could his heart even now bear some love for her? He sighed deeply. No, no more thoughts now. It was time for action! He would leave his heart behind, here in Sparta where it always belonged. There was no space for sentimentalism in the battlefield. Yes, he had to leave his heart behind. It was unnecessary baggage! He observed women kissing their husbands goodbye. He turned around to see his own entourage; his father-in-law, his beautiful daughter and his son in the arms of his wetnurse. He covered his mouth with his feast to drown the pained sound that was about to escape him and he approached them. He shook Tyndareus’s hand and pulled him into a typical albeit warm embrace.
“Get to the bottom of this...” Tyndareus whispered to his ear, “Do what’s necessary”
“I will, sir...” came his response.
His daughter was holding her tears back, she was standing tall and proud, dressed in her beautiful crimson clothes. She was holding a garland in her small hands; a large wreath made out of celery leaves for Poseidon’s blessing, wild olive of Zeus for victory as well as early buds of white lilies to honor Hera, the Queen of Heavens and protector of all Argos and Greeks. Hermione had picked those early blooms herself, hoping to bring luck and success to her father and his cause. Shyly she approached, trying to appear as composed as possible; to make her father proud. Menelaus spoke no words but knelt down allowing his daughter place the garland around his neck. He smiled emotional but he kept everything deep inside. He kissed his daughter tenderly. He knew she was programmed to leave for Mycenae soon. She had a long trip before her. He turned his attention back to the woman that was now holding his son; that little boy, already growing to a toddler; with his beautiful reddish hair that would probably turn brown as he grew up, glistering in the sunlight. Those big, doe eyes shone so smartly. His heart clenched remembering that look Pieris gave him the first time; it was similar childish innocence but also sadness to that child’s eyes. His son made a sound and extended his little hands towards him.
“A...tta...” he cooed at him
Menelaus felt his heart ready to burst. He opened his arms.
“Let him come to me” he whispered almost mirroring his brother that day he visited him in his desperation, “Please...let him try!”
He expected the toddler to slowly crawl to him but that tiny, plump creature as he was put down by the girl that nursed him, stood to his plump little feet and as he hesitated, he extended those tiny arms towards him and made a tiny, wobbly step and another and another. It was as though he was witnessing the miracle of life as he met his almost collapsing son mid-way and then embraced him tightly. This time he couldn’t hold his tears back. That tiny creature felt like her...almost smelled like her… He was his mother’s son. His mind went back to a hazy memory, one of those endless days he spent to the brim of passing out from alcohol.
His head was resting in her lap. His eyes were tearful and burning. The world was spinning around him like a top. His naked flesh was resting safely against hers; her tiny chest barely touching the back of his head. Had he been crying? When? How? He couldn’t remember. The last traces of the fatigue of his body were leaving his system as he clumsily was touching that naked thigh that he used as a pillow. He was feeling her hands softly caress his hair like a mother would to her baby when it had had a nightmare.
“Picus the blonde little bear...was crying alone in the forest...”
That voice was whispery, barely singing the song that she was mumbling almost like a lullaby that was ringing like a glass bell to his hazy, inebriated brain...it was soothing and yet sad…
“...the poor thing had a mother...and the hunter had only one arrow...”
His eyes were constantly tearful; his chest jerking up from sobs and yet he was calming down.
“He was drinking water...feeling bitter sorrow...and there he goes...for he had no one to love...”
What a sad song you’re singing...he thought, why are you so sad…? Let me help you…
“One day down the small creek...a small squirrel smiles at him...”
He knew he couldn’t move. Wine had tied his limbs on the bed, he could hardly do anything but cry and mumble apologies he had no idea what they were from...get lost to the soothing magic of her tiny voice
“...They play so much...gods, let this happiness not be over...”
Happiness...when was the last time he said that word…?
“He was drinking water...feeling refreshed...and there he goes...he has a friend...and he loves him...”
That hand caressed his red locks, pushing some behind his ear. The world was spinning and his eyes were tearful...and yet tears would begin to calm...burning lines to his cheeks. Then the drink finally did its job...driving him to oblivion...to darkness…
“He clenches him upon his heart...but he used too much strength...” he heard himself finishing that song in that kneeling posture
When had he started to sing that lullaby? Why now?
“...and the little honey-colored squirrel...leaves its final breath...without a kiss...”
He kissed his son’s hair, his little cheek.
“He was drinking water...withering away and there he goes… No one had ever taught him...how to love...”
That song Pieris had sung at him...it was the only thing he could offer that child from his mother. He realized he had nothing else of hers! Even her perfume belonged to someone else! He was now regretting that… He could only hope that tiny song would be something he could hold in his little heart...even if he forgot it the next day, like he had because of the effects of the wine in his mind… He slowly stood up, cradling that child within his strong arms, allowing him to feel his cheeks and beard. He didn’t know if he could see him again...but he knew one thing for sure. He was his beloved son, his first and dear son.
“Be well, my son… I love you. I want you to never forget it!”
He kissed that little cheek one more time before handing him back to his wet nurse.
“He will need a name, my lord...” she whispered
Menelaus froze. A name...yes. He realized he never had named him out of his sadness he neglected it, out of his fear that he wouldn’t survive he postponed it. However he knew now he couldn’t leave without that. So far he was calling him “my son”, “my baby”, “my little warrior”. He needed a name. He looked at those eyes, already liquid as if he understood everything through his childish innocence. That sadness...all that sorrow he had been through, cured by the presence of his mother and his own… He searched the depths of his memory, his family and his world…
He had his answer.
His hand touched the child’s head, softly running it through his soft hair, tenderly tickling that little chin as if trying to make his son smile. Yes, he had to leave his heart in Sparta but he hoped that this would be to his children’s favor.
Let them have my best piece...the one that I cast away...the one that is broken...let them have one piece each...remember me...hopefully at my best...and not the beast I have become after she left me…
“Megapenthes”
The whisper somehow traveled with the breeze and hovered over them; louder than any battle cry, for it was coming straight from his soul...the last bits of his.
“His name shall be Megapenthes...”
Great Sorrow