Chapter Text
Clytemnestra nudged Helen with her elbow, stuffing some more pastry into her mouth. Helen’s eyes trailed to the direction her sister had pointed, but she didn’t notice anything unusual. There were just tables, food and people. Many people. From nobles to servants to civilians, it was like all of Sparta had gathered in their palace for the festival. “What? There’s nothing there.”
“They’re outside,” Clytemnestra mumbled back, mouth full. She pulled a face, straining to swallow, but ended up choking anyway. Helen half-heartedly patted her on the back, more focused on craning her neck to get a better look at these mystery people. “They’re really cute,” Clytemnestra wheezed.
“Not cute enough to die for. Come on, catch your breath first.” Helen waited for her to clear her throat before continuing. “I still can’t see them.”
Clytemnestra suddenly stood up, patting herself off before dragging Helen up by the elbow. “We’ve got to go anyway.” She picked up her bag of goodies, took Helen’s hand and they wove in and out of the crowd seamlessly like a needle and thread. They sat down on the other side of the hall, closer to the door than before.
Helen didn’t dare look back to the spot they had just escaped from. “What was wrong with this one?” she asked instead, voice barely a whisper. They were close enough together that her sister heard her over the overbearing chatter. “Twice our age?”
“Quite the opposite. He looked twelve. Hasn’t even grown a beard yet—I don’t think he has even been taught what marriage is.”
Despite not having been announced marriageable yet, suitors swarmed around Helen. Vultures around a living fawn. Most of them weren’t even thinking of marriage themselves, but other less honourable things instead.
“Can you see them now?” Clytemnestra yanked her out of her thoughts.
“I see them.” Like she had said, the men stood apart from the crowd, outside, in the blaring sun. They had their heads tucked together, whispering and wary of anyone that passed them, not unlike Clytemnestra and Helen themselves. In their bright-coloured tunics and golden breastplates, they looked like they had just stepped out of a battlefield. Not a Spartan battlefield though, not in their Mycenaean armour. Helen had overheard that there was trouble in the House for Atreus. She wondered on whose side these two were fighting.
“What do you think?”
Helen knew her sister well enough to know that she had her eyes on the seemingly older of the two. He was after all everything she wanted in a man. Tall, muscular, bearded and brunette. Helen on the other hand found herself drawn to his companion. He was shorter and a bright stubble was the only trace of a beard he had. His fiery hair was tousled and barely reached his ears. His eyes hung on the other man’s—his commander’s?—every word. “The redhead seems nicer,” she finally said.
“The short guy? Really?” Clytemnestra stared at her in disbelief, then shrugged. “Up to you. More brunette for me then.” She smiled and went back to watching them. “At the festival of Aphrodite,” she cooed. “How fitting. I don’t know about you but I see a great love story ahead of us.”
“What do you want to do? Do we go up to them?”
“Are you crazy? No! We wait for them to fall to our feet and beg for us.”
“Out of everyone in this entire room, you really think they’re going to come to us?”
“Yes,” Clytemnestra said curtly, offering Helen some of her pastry but no explanation.
Helen watched as they stepped in, eyes scanning the room. When they didn’t find whoever they were looking for—probably Helen’s father—the taller of the two approached a guard and spoke with him instead.
“Found you!”
They both jumped and Clytemnestra squealed. “We were just about to— Oh, it’s you.” Helen turned. Castor and Pollux stood behind them, quieter than she had ever heard them. Maybe they weren’t lying when they said they were the best hunters in the palace.
They sat down beside Clytemnestra, crossing their legs. “Who did you think we were?”
“A creep.”
“Where is Penelope?”
“She left. Two minutes ago.”
“Why?”
Clytemnestra peeled her eyes of the Mycenaeans to scoff at Castor. “Do you ever stop speaking?”
He grinned. “What are you two doing?”
The guard gestured in the princesses’ direction. “None of your business.”
Pollux leaned forward. “We’re not leaving until you tell us.”
Clytemnestra inched closer to Castor and pointed with her pastry. The Mycenaeans were approaching, so she tried to be discreet, failing miserably. “We are fantasising about how hot those two guys are.”
“Ugh!” They both pulled a face and stood. “We are definitely leaving,” Pollux announced. They had barely taken a step away when the Mycenaeans redirected. Of course. The king wasn’t there so they wanted to speak with his sons, not his daughters.
Clytemnestra practically flung herself on the floor to grab Castor’s arm and pull him back. “Come back. We’ll talk about whatever you want. How’s wrestling? How’s your horse? How many innocent deer did you kill on your last hunt?”
The Mycenaeans stopped right in front of them. All four of the quadruplets tilted their heads back to look at them.
Clytemnestra smiled. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Are you the children of Tyndareus?” the tall one asked.
Silence. Helen and Clytemnestra exchanged a glance, as did Castor and Pollux. The correct answer would be yes and no. Helen finally spoke up. “Yes.”
The hesitation did not go unnoticed. The redhead raised his eyebrows at her. Though she would never say it out loud, he was truly handsome. Sharp eyes, sharp nose and an even sharper jaw. She looked between them. The taller man’s jaw was hidden by a growing beard but she was certain that underneath it, he was hiding the same sharp jaw as his companion. They did have the same brown, geometric eyes after all. Military brothers dispatched on the same mission. Weird.
“Where is he?”
“He left with our uncle just moments ago,” Clytemnestra said. “You can sit with us while we wait.” So much for not being direct. Even Castor and Pollux gave her a weird look.
The soldier had turned to the entrance, but looked back at her and Helen now, a small smile playing at his lips. His eyes lingered a little too long. “Maybe some other time, princess.”
Helen had noticed immediately that he wasn’t addressing them with their titles, and neither of them had bowed, but referring to her as ‘princess’ was lower than she could have dared to imagine. Either they trained their soldiers very differently in Mycenae or these were extraordinarily bad examples. Weird, either way.
“What did he leave his festival for anyway?” the shorter guy in the back asked.
Helen leaned against the wall. “He’s interrogating a suitor.”
He frowned. “Aren’t you a bit young for suitors already?”
She shook her head. “Not for us. For our cousin.”
“Nevertheless, we have plenty of suitors though, I’ll let you know as much,” Clytemnestra added. She nudged Castor and pointed out a staring man. “Get rid of that guy, by the way. He’s been lurking for too long.”
They jumped up, happy to have been dismissed from the conversation.
“Where is he?” the tall one asked. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to disturb him. We came here on foot and we have something very urgent to discuss with him.”
“Your father, that is,” his brother butted in. “Not… Not the suitor.”
Helen looked between them. “He’s outside, in the courtyard. He’d be closer to my uncle’s palace though, so you might have missed him.”
The brunet walked off without an additional word but his brother turned back—“Thank you”—and he walked away.
Clytemnestra nudged Helen as soon as they were out of sight. “Did you hear him? He said ‘some other time’!”
Helen nodded, smiling, but she knew that he was hardly going to reject the princess of Sparta when he needed something from the king. They were messengers, probably here to call for the assistance of an army. They would never see them again.
***
The doors to the dining hall swung wide open in front of them and the three girls strutted in, hand in hand, gossiping about one noble or the other. Helen was the first to let go, stopping dead in her tracks, eyes wide. Clytemnestra entered the dining hall right after her and gasped loudly. Penelope, on Helen’s other side just stared at them weirdly and sat down beside her sister at the table.
“Girls, good morning,” Tyndareus said. “I’d like to introduce you to the newest members of our family.” He gestured to the Mycenaeans that sat beside him. The Mycenaeans that sat exactly opposite of where Helen and Clytemnestra would be sitting.
“What?”
“What do you mean, ‘members of our family’?” Clytemnestra grabbed her sister’s wrist and squeezed—tight. Of course her mind went right to marriage.
“These unfortunate men have lost their home and have turned to me for aid. I have decided to take them in. From now on, they will be like your brothers.”
The soldiers—could they be mere soldiers if the king treated them with such high regard?—stood up and bowed. Oh, now they know proper court etiquette. Again, the tall one was first to speak and he did so with a playful smile. “Disappointed?”
Helen stepped in for her sister. “Not at all, just … surprised.” She yanked her wrist out of Clytemnestra’s grasp and returned the gesture, pulling her to the table. They took their places in the empty spots between the Dioscuri and Penelope. She looked between her father and the Mycenaeans. “I’m just … I’m sorry but… Who are you exactly?”
They smiled and the redhead said, “I told you they didn’t recognize us.”
Heat rose to her face. They had spoken about them.
Her father responded. “Iphtime, Castor and Pollux have already met them, but, girls, these are the princes of Mycenae, the sons of Atreus. Agamemnon”—the tall one—“and Menelaus”—the redhead. “They will be staying with us.” Clytemnestra nudged Helen with her knee under the table repeatedly, unable to contain her excitement. Princes. Her dreams were coming true in front of their very eyes.
“For how long?” Clytemnestra asked. Her pale face glowed bright red. Helen knew her sister. It was not shame, only uncontainable excitement.
“Eager to get rid of us?” Agamemnon asked.
“Well, if you’re going to act like that, then yes.” Helen pinched her under the table and she pinched back.
Agamemnon just laughed. “We’ll be here as long as your father’s hospitality allows it.” Helen’s eyes flitted from one brother to the next. That meant forever, and they knew it.
“Surely you know how tricky the situation in Mycenae is,” Tyndareus continued. “Agamemnon and Menelaus will be staying with us until it subsides.”
“Subsides?” Castor asked. Helen had never seen him so attentive. “As in, on its own? You’re not gonna fight?”
“We are. As soon as I have an army ready, I will kill the uncle and cousin who betrayed me.”
“Cousin?” Clytemnestra asked, and the prince began to tell his story.
Helen leaned into Penelope. “Would you ever do such a thing to me?”
Penelope popped a grape into her mouth. “Helen, I would defend you if you started a war. Now eat. It would be a shame to let all of this go to waste.”
Helen glanced over the table. It was decked with all sorts of fruit, bread, cheeses and honey fit for the gods. Agamemnon reached forward to grab a grape from in front of Clytemnestra. He was in the middle of telling his story. “It was a feast just like this one,” he was saying.
“Olympus’ sake, Agamemnon …” Menelaus pulled a disgusted face. “Leave this part out? We’re eating.”
“The story doesn’t make any sense without this part. They can hear it.” He turned back to the Dioscuri. “He killed his sons, had them cooked into the food and attempted to feed them to their father; his brother and my uncle.”
Clytemnestra gasped and covered her mouth, a wildly exaggerated reaction. Helen couldn’t help but roll her eyes, which ultimately landed on Menelaus who was looking at her attentively. She felt the heat rise to her face in embarrassment, but he just smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, and Helen quickly turned away to her brother.
“And why are you here now?” Pollux was asking, leaning back in his chair. “Your father is king, is he not?”
Menelaus’ face suddenly turned sombre and even Agamemnon looked down for an instant. “He was. You see, at the banquet, he did not feed all of my uncle’s sons to him. Aegisthus, the youngest, remained alive and swore to avenge his brothers.” He fiddled with the knife in front of him. “He killed my father, allowing his own father to take the throne.”
“So Thyestes is king of Mycenae now?” Castor turned to their father. Tyndareus nodded once. He turned back to Agamemnon. “And you fled? Do you not want your throne back?”
Agamemnon’s eyes flashed momentarily. “We are wanted dead by our uncle, our cousin and our own people. There is no future for us in Mycenae as of now.” He went quiet, calculating his next words. “Soon, the crown will be weak and I can take back what is rightfully mine.”
“So… You’re going to be king?” Clytemnestra asked, leaning forward. She toyed playfully with her fork.
Helen and Penelope exchanged a look. Penelope raised her eyebrows and Helen just smiled. She didn’t even dare look at Menelaus, for fear that he would be looking at her as well. Instead she moved closer to Penelope and took a bite of the golden-brown apple pastry. “What happened to that suitor your father was talking to?”
Penelope snorted a laugh and looked at her father, who was sitting beside the king. “He was everything you could wish for in a husband,” she said, lowering her voice, “until he failed the final test.” She imitated the pompous voice of a commentator at a bullfight for her last words.
“What test?”
She looked deep into Helen’s eyes. “He lost in a foot race against my father.”
Helen frowned. “You’re kidding.”
Penelope shook her head and sipped from her golden chalice. “I’m telling you right now, Helen, my father wants me to marry a hunting dog, not a king. Between you and me, I think he tripped him.” She shook her head. “Word of advice, Helen, have some fun with your suitors. Mess with them. Your dad will take care of the rejections for you.”
“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” came Menelaus’ voice from across the table, “but I couldn’t help but overhear something about suitors taking part in a foot race? Is this a Spartan thing or just something you do within the royal family?”
Penelope glanced at Helen and seemed to notice her annoyance at the Mycaenean prince’s interruption and stepped in to respond. “Neither. Only my father occasionally likes to entertain himself at the expense of others.” She paused. “Why the question?”
“Well, if I’m going to be staying here, I will be taking a Spartan bride. I was just wondering if I had to go back to training my legs.” He inched his chair away from his brother, who was still relaying his story to Clytemnestra and the Dioscuri in his booming voice.
“I thought you were a general,” Helen said, frowning. “A good soldier.”
“Oh, I am. The best. After …”—he gestured to his brother—“him, obviously.” Agamemnon didn’t even seem to hear him.
“Are you speaking by Mycenaean standards, or by our standards? I believe there is some incongruity there.”
Menelaus smiled and rubbed his jaw with a knuckle. “Is that a challenge? I’ll gladly fight either—or both—of your brothers if that’s what you ask of me.”
She laughed. “Why my brothers? Are you trying to escape the challenge? You can fight me if you’re truly a man of your word.”
He chuckled, but his neck and ears quickly turned red. “Oh, I don’t think so. I… I don’t do that.”
Helen smiled victoriously and shrugged. “What happened to being a man of your word?”
He looked down and scratched his ear in what Helen thought was an attempt to hide the redness. A failed attempt, as he only drew more attention to it. He shook his head. “I can’t—”
Agamemnon, having finished his story, butted in. “Where we’re from, we don’t fight girls.” He looked at his brother. “That’s what he’s trying to say.”
Helen cocked her head to the side in faux disappointment, eyes still on Menelaus. “But I thought you wanted to integrate Spartan culture into your life? You know, Spartan bride and all.”
“Not that quick,” he responded.
Clytemnestra leaned into Helen. “Do you reject all kinds of physical altercations with girls or just fights?”
Helen elbowed her sister, hard. Above the table—she didn’t have the clarity of mind to hide it from their guests. Even Penelope leaned forward to glare at her. Agamemnon’s eyes flitted to the king, but seeing he was distracted with his sons—thank the Gods for that—, he allowed himself to grin widely. If Helen had thought Menelaus’ ears were red before, his entire face was turning a whole new shade now, almost becoming one with his hair.
“We’re honourable men, princess,” Agamemnon finally said, “despite anything you might have heard.”
Clytemnestra looked down at her plate and pushed the pastry around with her fork. “I haven’t heard anything about you. In fact, I didn’t even know who you were before this.” Helen and Penelope exchanged another glance. So now she was playing hard to get. Sure, they hadn’t recognized them at their first meeting, but there wasn’t a person left in Greece who didn’t know of the Atrides, the sole heirs to the richest dynasty north of the Mediterranean. “So…,” Clytemnestra continued, “what do they say about you?”
Menelaus glared at his brother, his eyes like daggers. He didn’t say a word, nor did he move, and Agamemnon didn’t even seem to notice, but his disdain for his older brother’s slip-up couldn’t be any clearer.
“Nothing your innocent ears need to hear.”
Finally, Menelaus elbowed Agamemnon as conspicuously as Helen had Clytemnestra moments earlier. Helen smiled, satisfied, and covered her mouth with her fist, as to not give Menelaus the same satisfaction. Agamemnon absent-mindedly patted his brother on the shoulder, eyes locked on Clytemnestra, who, for once, had nothing to say.
Penelope took over. “If that’s what they’re saying, I, for one, believe every word.”
Agamemnon smiled. “You know, they do say Spartan women are a feisty breed, but I never expected this.” He nudged Menelaus. “We’re outnumbered, Laos, we need another brother.” Menelaus only groaned, evidently not hearing anything beyond the delightful nickname.
“What about that cousin of yours?” Helen suggested, leaning back in her chair.
Menelaus slowly closed his eyes and hid behind his hand. The smile was immediately wiped off Agamemnon’s face. “You have a charming cousin, Helen,”—his eyes trailed to Penelope—“but not everyone can boast of the same fortune. Our cousin is not a cousin at all, let alone a brother. He is a thorn, he is a snake, he—”
“Enough, Agamemnon,” Menelaus muttered. He peeked at Helen through his fingers, his bright eyes piercing through her from the shadow of his hand. “She was just joking.”
“Aegisthus is not a joking matter. She should know that if we’re going to coexist.”
Helen pushed her chair back, hands on the table. Menelaus immediately dropped his hand, mouth and eyes wide like a thirsty puppy. “If we’re going to coexist, I will not have you speak with me in that way.” She stood up and turned to the head of the table. Her father’s eyes were already on her. “Excuse me, father. I’m full. I’m going to take a walk.” He only nodded, with a pained smile. As Helen turned to leave, Penelope grabbed her hand and looked up at her, questioning with her eyes. Helen squeezed her hand once and let go. They had a lot of catching up to do.
“And, for the record, your cousin seems more deserving of everything that you’re after. I wasn’t joking.” She walked off, her steps echoing in the silent hall.