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“I thought I’d find you here.”
Helen’s voice startled Menelaus. He jumped and his hand immediately went to his hip in search of a sword. “It’s just me,” she said and put a calm hand on his shoulder, but it took a moment for his heart beat to become steady again. She sat down in the sand beside him, pulled up her knees and asked him, “Trouble sleeping?”
He scoffed. “I haven’t ‘slept’ in the past year.”
“I know.” She gazed into the nightsky. Menelaus’ eyes were tracing constellations in the stars. “When did you sneak out of the palace?”
“Guards’ shift change.” Helen smiled. “What can I say, you get good at sneaking after ten years of siege.” He paused before continuing. “Not too bad yourself, getting away like that in the middle of the night.” Patrols were all the more alert after Menelaus’ return to Sparta with Helen, and yet she’d found a way out, unnoticed.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me.”
The splash of the waves against the shore filled the silence, the only constant thing around. Menelaus sighed. If he was going to talk to anyone about the war, it might as well be Helen. “I came here because I thought the beach would calm me down, but now I can’t stop thinking about it.” Helen turned to him. Gods, she was gorgeous—even when she was frowning, even after a decade of death and grief. “I see the ocean and it reminds me of Troy. I see a bonfire and I think of Troy. I see my fucking horses and I think of Troy. It’s like every fucking grain of sand in this godforsaken place is a fucking memory that won’t leave me be.” He took a handful of sand and threw it, smashing his fist against the ground. “I feel like I’m there again. All the time.”
Helen brushed his hair out of his face. It had only just reached his shoulders again since he’d cut it in honour of Agamemnon’s death. He sat up straight and inhaled deeply. “Do you remember when we’d all come here? You, me. Agamemnon, Clytemnestra. Your brothers. You’d run races, we’d wrestle, then we’d all stay up all night long.” Menelaus could practically see them prancing lightly along the shoreline, not a thought on their minds and not a burden on their shoulders. “So young, so carefree. So naive.”
“So full of life,” Helen interjected.
“Yeah, well.” Menelaus nodded, smiling in melancholy. “They’re all dead now.” He turned to her. “Just us. Unlucky bastards.”
“Don’t say that, love.”
“I wish I were dead, Helen, I really do. I should be dead.” He shook his head. “Why me? Why am I still alive? It’s all my fault. It’s my fault that everyone died. Achilles and Patroclus. Agamemnon—he’d still be here.”
“You don’t know that. You know what he was doing to Clytemnestra. She was always on the brink of insanity.”
Menelaus shook his head. “We shouldn’t have split up after the war. I should’ve stayed with him.” He continued before she could interrupt. “What about the others then? Ajax—do you think he would’ve died if I hadn’t chased after you like a dog? The war isn’t your fault, I know that, but that makes it my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.”
He shook his head again. “I understand why Ajax fell on his sword and it was not because of Achilles’ armour.”
“What do you mean?”
Menelaus sighed, covering his face with his hands. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, then slicked his hair back by running his hands through it. “Whenever I do get some sleep, I dream that I’d been killed, usually burned, by Hector or Aeneas or one of the Trojan princes. Sometimes it’s you.” His voice broke and he wiped the tears off his cheek. “And then I wake up… I wake up and I’m disappointed because I wish it had been real and I wish I had the courage to do what Ajax did.” A tingle ran down his spine through his limbs and he shivered.
Helen inched closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his head down to her chest. He allowed the sobs to rip through his body, his chest to heave and his tears to drench Helen’s robe. Once he had calmed down—except for the occasional sob—Helen spoke up. “You’re here now, love. And you’re safe. The Gods wanted you to survive, so you did.”
Menelaus scoffed. “The Gods enjoy watching me, their little puppet, suffer. That’s all. They like watching us all suffer.” He slipped into her lap. “The Furies made Clytemnestra go mad. Apollo made Orestes turn on his mother. And Odysseus—who fucking knows what he’s going through right now.” Helen was running her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “They’ve taken over me. I’m not my own person anymore, just a shell. An oyster shell, but after you’ve eaten the good stuff. I’m the part you toss away.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know what to do, much less now that Agamemnon is gone. I don’t know what to eat, what to wear, what to say, what to like, what do hate. I don’t know how to be decisive, and that is already terrible, but it’s a million times worse in a king.”
“You don’t have to be decisive, Menelaus, you just have to be. You’re still you, that’s enough.” She turned his face to hers and kissed him. “I care about you, so let me help you.”
Menelaus gave her a small smile.
“Cherish that you’re here now.” She kissed a tear off his cheek and stood up. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
He sighed, but nevertheless reached out to take her hand. “It’s too loud. I don’t like it. “
She pulled him up. “I trust that you’re strong enough to get through this.” She kissed him again and held his hand as they turned their backs to the sea. “I have some herbs that Andromache would take after Achilles killed her family. I think they might help you.”