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Menelaus stepped off the coach, brushing back his hair with a hand. His advisor was standing at the entrance of the palace, but it wasn’t for a normal welcome. His face was grim. Menelaus groaned. He’d hardly arrived back home and the trouble was starting again.
“What happened this time?” Menelaus asked, pushing open the gates with his forearm. He dusted off his black tunic and readjusted the maroon cape. “Where are Helen and Hermione?”
“That’s the problem, Sire.”
Menelaus halted. “What is?” The advisor outwalked him by a few steps before also stopping.
“Queen Helen is missing.”
Menelaus’ heart dropped. His blood boiled and rose to his face. “What? And you didn’t think to tell me about this before?” He ran his hand through his hair again. “How long has she been gone? Did she tell anyone where she was going?”
“She was last seen two days ago and, no, she didn’t tell anyone. We’ve interrogated everyone who was in the palace at the time.”
“Ares’ sake … She’s not sixteen anymore, does she still need her brothers and I to follow her around everywhere?” Menelaus rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Who did she last talk to?”
“Your daughter, Sire.”
“Where is she? Don’t tell me she’s disappeared as well.”
“No, Sire. She’s waiting for you in her room.”
Menelaus stared at him for a moment before running up the stairs, taking them two or three steps at the time. Without hesitation, he burst into Hermione’s room. She was sitting on her bed staring at her folded hands, but jumped up when her father entered the room.
Menelaus steadied his breathing and kneeled next to his daughter so Hermione was looking down at him. He stretched out his hands, palms facing upwards and she put her own small hands in them. “Where is your mother?” he asked. Slowly and quietly, in an attempt to steady his breathing.
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?” His voice grew louder and he had to hold on to Hermione’s hands tighter to stop his own hands from shivering uncontrollably.
Tears pooled in her eyes. Menelaus swore under his breath. “Look, honey, I’m sorry. It’s just … This is very important. Your mother might be in danger.” He paused, contemplating. “So … If you know anything about where she could be, I need you to tell me. When did you last see her?”
She frowned and a tear fell onto her cheek. “Two days ago. She came to my room.”
“And? What did she say?”
“She … She said she loved me, and that she will always love me. And that she was sorry. She didn’t say why she was sorry.”
Menelaus’ heartbeat picked up its pace. “And how did she look? Was she … Was she happy, angry, sad? Scared?”
Hermione hesitated. “Sad. She was crying.”
His heart fell. Something was wrong for sure. “And you didn’t see her after that?”
She hesitated again. “Well, she left, but I looked out of my window and I saw someone. I’m not sure if it was her, because they had their back to me and they were hunched over and limping a little bit.”
“Why do you think it was her?”
“She was covering her hair with a white stole. It looked a lot like mother’s.”
Leda’s shawl. Unique in all of Greece and holy to Helen. She would never give it to anyone. “It was her.”
“But she wasn’t walking like her.”
“Hermione, your mother is an actress, you know that. She can walk however she likes.” He stood up. “Was anyone with her?”
“A man, yes.”
Menelaus closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Do the Dioscuri know?” The question was directed to no one in particular. Surely there’d be someone in the room that could answer.
He recognized his advisor’s voice. “No, we thought you should know first.”
“Good. Don’t tell them.” He opened his eyes and turned, eyebrows lifted. “Where’s the Trojan prince?”
“Gone, Sire. He left before this all happened, so there is no demonstration of weakness to outsiders. He doesn’t know that Queen Helen is missing.”
Menelaus gritted his teeth and snarled. “Oh, he knows.” He brushed back his hair and walked out of the room, his cape and advisors following behind him. “Prepare a coach and horses. Bring everything we need, but as little as you can. I want to arrive by tomorrow.”
“Where, Your Majesty?”
“Mycenae. I need to talk to my brother.”
—
The coach, which was going so fast the dust rose behind them, came to a sudden halt and Menelaus’ head whipped forward. At least I’m awake now. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he stepped out of the coach and gazed up at the looming palace above him. However long he stayed away from it, it still always felt like home.
“Does he know we’re coming?”
“Yes, we sent someone with the message.” His advisor stepped out of the coach.
“Good.” Menelaus pushed open the palace door without the guards giving him so much as a second glance. He was Mycenae’s prince just as much as Agamemnon was its king.
Night had already settled and apart from the patrolling guards, the palace was empty. Menelaus paused outside and looked up, smiling for just a moment. The stars look beautiful tonight. His advisor tapped him on the shoulder and, without looking back, Menelaus headed right to the throne room—Agamemnon would be there surely. But just as he was reaching out to open the door, Clytemnestra stepped out. The corners of her lips were turned down and her hair was messy. She barely reacted to Menelaus, just cocked her head.
“Where’s Helen?”
Menelaus’ eyes widened. She couldn’t know, could she? If she knew, then the Dioscuri certainly knew as well, and if they knew— “Why didn’t she come with you?”
“She … She’s at home. With Hermione.”
Menelaus approached her, hesitantly, painstakingly aware of his advisor’s presence. She flinched when Menalus cupped her cheek to kiss her forehead. Menelaus frowned. By the gods, what has Agamemnon done to her? Menelaus remembered a time when she’d dance and play and sing with them on Sparta’s coast. He forced a smile and removed his hand.
“And what are you doing here? You were in Crete with Agamemnon just yesterday.”
“It didn’t seem appropriate to discuss … this during a trip intended for our grandfather’s mourning.”
“And what is ‘this’?” The smallest of smiles played at her lips.
Menalus returned the smile, but it was short-lived. She jumped back when the door flung open and Agamemnon emerged in the door frame. “Stop bothering my brother, Clytemnestra.” He nodded past her to the stairs. “Go.” She lifted her chin and stood straight, clearly not planning on going anywhere. Agamemnon ignored her and turned to Menelaus. “Come on in.” He entered before Menelaus who held the door open for a moment.
He turned to Clytemnestra. “Take care of yourself.”
She looked at him for a moment before turning and walking away.
Menelaus entered the throne room. Agamemnon was already pouring them two glasses of wine. He was also still dressed in black, but his tunic was significantly longer. “Long time no see, huh?” He passed Menalaus a glass and sipped from the other.
“Helen’s missing.” Menelaus downed the wine in one go and slammed the glass on the table.
“What?”
“Gone. She’s been kidnapped again.”
“When?”
“While we were in Crete. Two days ago. By ship.”
“Have you let the Dioscuri know?”
“No, but I’ll have to eventually.”
Agamemnon rubbed the rim of his cup against his lower lip, staring at the floor. After a while he looked back up to Menelaus. “Any ideas who it could be?”
“I know who it is.” Agamemnon raised his brows, urging him to go on. “The Trojan prince, Alexander. That whoreson.”
“So she’s in Troy?”
“Should be by now, yes.” Menelaus pulled a chair at the table Agamemnon had made his slaves prepare and sat down, refilling his glass with wine. “Can’t you get your men to fetch her? You have ports in Troy or something, don’t you?” He waved his cup around, pulling a face as he swallowed the wine. He knew Agamemnon had mentioned something of the sort before.
“Everywhere but Troy. Those bastards.” Agamemnon too sat down. At the head of the table, staring off to nowhere in particular. Only the crackling of fire was to be heard in the room. “What else did he take?”
“My gold. But I don’t care about that, I just want Helen back.”
Agamemnon snorted. “Bullshit. That’s your gold. Menelaus.”
“What’s your suggestion?”
“We go to Troy.”
Menelaus huffed a laugh. “‘We’? That’s a declaration of war.”
“It’s not just your gold and wife on the line, Menalaus, it’s your honour . What, do you want to be remembered as the coward of a king who let a fucking goatherd steal his wife?”
Menelaus sighed and slouched in the chair, rubbing his face. “If we go to war, everyone will know. This is between me and Helen. No one needs to know.”
“If the Queen of Sparta vanishes and reappears in Troy, everyone will still know. And they’ll think you’re a coward on top of that.”
“I can settle it on my own.”
“Then why did you come?”
“For advice.”
“And what did you think I was going to say?”
Menelaus sat up. “It just seems … a lot to start a war. You know? It’s one person.”
Agamemnon shrugged. “Castor and Pollux wouldn’t hesitate. And when they were sixteen they didn’t hesitate. You’re twenty-seven, Menelaus, don’t be a wimp.” He sipped from his wine. “Besides, it’s not just an insult to you.”
“Who else? My stupid guards?”
“Zeus himself. That fucking farmer disrespected your hospitality, kidnapped his daughter, that’s an insult to Zeus himself. If you let that pass, you’d be insulting Zeus too.”
Menelaus stood up and Agamemnon pushed his chair back as well. “You just want war, Agamemnon. You hate the Trojans and want to expand your territory, just admit it.”
“Yes. I want war. That doesn’t mean what I said is wrong.” He stood up and approached Menelaus.
“You do know that starting a war will get all of Greece involved? You remember the oath?”
Agamemnon rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. And it’s all the better. With all of Greece on our side, we’ll surely win.”
“People will die. We could die. This is not a joke.”
“I’m not joking, you are! You have to be.” Agamemnon put his hand on Menelaus’ shoulder. “Just think about it. I’m right, you know that.”
Menelaus rubbed his forehead. “You are, I know.” Sighing, he looked up and put his hand on top of Agamemnon’s. “We visit the oracle first. Then we start gathering the kings. We negotiate first, and, if possible, we leave Troy peacefully.”
Agamemnon smiled and lightly patted Menelaus’ cheek. “Now that’s my brother.”
Menelaus forced a smile. “Where’s Clytemnestra’s room, by the way? Need to speak with her.”
He turned to the table and waved his hand dismissively. “Upstairs, where mother’s old room was. Miracle if you get her to talk to you at all.”
“We’ll see,” Menelaus responded on his way out. His advisors hesitated but he gestured for them to stay with Agamemnon.
Menelaus took the stairs two by two and before he could even turn to his mother’s quarters, Clytemnestra was standing in front of him. “You’re being weird, you know,” she said.
“You too. You’re looking pale as well.”
“I’ve always been pale, Menelaus. I’m not Helen.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“What do you want from me?” She held up her hand. “Don’t give me that look. You want to be my brother, then answer me honestly.”
Menelaus inhaled. “I need to speak to Orestes.”
She tilted her chin up. “Why?”
“Agamemnon and I are leaving. For war. I don’t want Orestes to have to come as well.” Her frown only lasted for an instant. “I want him to go to Sparta, to stay with Hermione while I’m gone. He can take Pylades with him until we’re back. I'm sure my sister won't mind.”
She nodded solemnly.
Just as Menelaus was about to return to Agamemnon in the throne room, she grabbed him by the wrist. “I don’t care about Agamemnon, Menelaus, but bring my Helen back to me.”