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i.
She stands tall and raven haired and though her dark eyes hold fear and wrath, she stands every bit like the queen of fearsome Sparta that she is.
Helen, stolen queen of Sparta, much loved by her husband, noble and fierce King Menelaus. Though here she is a loathed woman and promised as wife to the very least of his brothers, she still stands proud and her dark eyes glint like a blade.
She does not smile. When she speaks, her voice, what must have once been musical and more beautiful than hymns is now cooled and lifeless. Though she moves through the world like a ghost, her eyes betray her keen mind, cunning and shrewd.
She speaks nothing of herself unless prompted and depending on who prompts she will say little. What is left to know about noble Helen is this, she was wife and queen to warlike Menelaus, favored by Lord Ares and Lord Zeus. Her beauty is what she is known for, what she has been prized and coveted for, and it is evidence of fair and laughter-loving Aphrodite’s favor.
How strange for a favored one of such a joyous goddess to never smile.
Towering and long-dressed Helen may have Aphrodite’s favor in beauty, but in her eyes it is clear that the stolen queen Helen must be best loved by old woman Mnemosyne, lady of long memory.
Hector, best among the sons of Priam and tamer of horses, learns this for himself and believes he might be the first of Ilion to be graced with such knowledge. The stolen queen is a whisper of a presence in the palace. She moves through shadows even under the harsh light of day, as though mourning her own death, the life that is buried somewhere in her homeland. Hector, though a warrior, is a man who feels compassion.
He has never held much fondness for brother Paris, careless and cowardly. Not fit to look after sheep nor dogs, much less horses or a kingdom. He is a shallow and vain thing, valuing beauty and little else. Hector has an appreciation for it but is a man of practicalities, it is why he loves Andromache so well. Her stern brow and calm mind, her mastery over anyone and anything placed under her care, extended to him only by a very good fortune.
When he happens upon the mourning lady, and they lock eyes in the hall, it is like this:
Her eyes are startled, but still she stands with her back straight as a well constructed tower. Her feet are sure and ready to stand her ground as though she is her husband with a team of armored men, and he realizes he recognizes this color.
He has seen this glittering and blackened shade, knows them. These are the eyes of men of many schemes and exploits, of knowing queens, and startlingly, they are a sadder and older shade of the eyes of best-loved Andromache. Perhaps this is when he learns most Aphrodite, goddess of love, is not the only one to favor the stolen queen.
He tilts his head to her. Though she may be stranger here, she has also become stranger to her home, and it is a heavy grief to carry. He knows Helen does not really love his brother and he knows he cannot blame a woman entangled in violence so heavily, especially one so far from the home she is well known to have loved so well.
He invites her to join him on a walk. She accepts, if a bit cautiously. He is not hurt nor insulted. Helen has encountered many men, and very few of them pleasant. Fewer still pleasant in this hostile land. Worse than any highwaymen who might bleed a coffer and a purse dry are of course, the noblemen who will win you through a false game.
Helen brightens when brought before some of the horses. There is a night-dark mare his loved wife adores, perhaps more than him. The mare has a wild gleam in her knowing eyes, and she only seems to behave for Andromache; occasionally the mare can be bribed into a peaceful interaction with Andromache’s husband if he provides her with fruits.
Hector arrives to the horse prepared, but he does so with a lingering suspicion that the mare his wife so loves will quite like Helen.
He tells the stolen woman this as they approach the pen where the mare, and Hector’s favorite of the horses, a strong and sturdy creature the color of finely polished cedarwood, graze and trot. Helen’s mouth catches at the corners in an echo of a smile.
Dark-eyed Helen muses that it reminds her of her home. Husband of Helen, Menelaus’s favorite horse is an old mare that he has had since before their marriage. The mare is a vicious and cunning thing, though old she will steal eggs from any chicken coop left undefended if not kept under locks and guards. The horse could be tamed by none, and though Menelaus was most successful, it is a fairly delicate relationship and she likes to rebel against him to keep the king sharp. This was true of course, the queen tells him with her eyes wrinkled with a recollection of laughter, their marriage. Menelaus’s favorite mare always seemed to love Helen best, the mare permits the king of the Spartans to ride and attend to her, Helen is the one who can move with the mare in the way that warriors do.
Hector sees the long memory in her eyes when she tells him this story. When the night-dark mare is lured over with promises of sweet apples, she takes a single bite and ignores the man in favor of Helen, who seems to win her approval as though by magic. He thinks perhaps, in another lifetime where he did not meet this woman through such an unhappy circumstance as this war, that maybe Helen might have been able to leave with this loved and night-dark horse.
ii.
The only other man of Troy to have such knowledge of Helen is Hector’s father, Priam.
When Priam attempts to identify the men of the battle, he is aided by Helen, who although the least of his sons may complain is a bad wife and benefited only by her beauty, is clearly more than young Paris deserves. Helen is a patient woman, a clever and kind woman too, all things considered.
Hector has spoken highly of her. As has his most loved, Andromache. She is quick-witted and clever. As thoughtful as she is lovely, but stands with the dignity of a queen who knows war. Though plucked from her homeland by the goddess who bestowed upon her many favors, she refuses to grovel or apologize for her anger. Priam finds he agrees with the assessment of his best son that the woman’s beauty is a mask for the true favor she holds from the elder and far-sighted Mnemosyne.
Though removed from the scene, she can confidently point to many figures and recall them quickly on how they fight and move alone, and she knows a great deal of them all. Despite the length of time between the stories and the last she saw of them and the current and terrible now.
While he puzzles over the identity of one particular man, when he points the figure out, her eyes brighten with mirth for perhaps the first time he has ever seen her.
Helen says to him that the figure he points to is the cunning king of Ithaca, Odysseus. He is widely known not only for his temperament and grace as a ruler but also for his keen mind. He is a man of a million schemes and plans, while not always armed, always prepared. He is the man who is never at a loss, a tactician, and a gifted diplomat, though his propensity for work like building has given him a frame leaving strangers to think him a common laborer.
Ithaca is a roughened land but he is a good ruler to his people and a man to be respected. And then Priam recalls the man, how he had expected nothing of the king until he spoke and quickly found himself to be embarrassed for doubting such a king.
Odysseus has narrower eyes and a sharp smile that betrays Athena’s favor. Priam thinks Helen’s glint is sourced from a certain kinship with the king, and grants it. But he knows Helen’s eyes burn too differently from the tactician to be connected to the war goddess. This is not the gaze of bright-eyed predator birds. Helen’s eyes are much murkier. She is too young for eyes this old.
He points to a man named Ajax next. As she points out the men, she notes the absence of her brothers, Castor and Polydeuces.
Priam’s heart sinks in the same way it did when he first laid eyes on Helen. He says nothing.
They watch the fighting.