CHARACTERS

Ithaca, Mycenae, Phthia, Salamis and Sparta

were ancient Greek kingdoms

Achilles : king of Phthia, Patroclus’s companion

Agamemnon: king of Mycenae, Clytemnestra’s husband, Orestes’s father, Menelaus’s brother

Ajax: king of Salamis

Atreus: a former king of Sparta and Mycenae, Menelaus and Agamemnon’s father

Clytemnestra: queen of Mycenae, Agamemnon’s wife, Orestes’s mother, Helen’s sister

Hector: a prince of Troy, Priam and Hecuba’s older son, Paris’s brother

Hecuba: queen of Troy, Priam’s wife, Paris and Hector’s mother

Helen: queen of Sparta, Menelaus’s wife, Hermione’s mother, Clytemnestra’s sister

Hermione: princess of Sparta, Menelaus and Helen’s daughter

Leda: an orphanage guardian who befriends Helen and Clytemnestra in their youth

Lukas: an orphan, Timon’s companion, Nestor’s nephew

Menelaus: king of Sparta, Helen’s husband, Hermione’s father, Agamemnon’s brother

Nestor: a shepherd, Lukas’s uncle

Odysseus: king of Ithaca, Penelope’s husband

Orestes: prince of Mycenae, Agamemnon and Clytemnestra’s son

Paris: a prince of Troy, Priam and Hecuba’s younger son, Hector’s brother

Patroclus: Achilles’s companion

Penelope: queen of Ithaca, Odysseus’s wife

Priam: king of Troy, Hecuba’s husband, Paris and Hector’s father

Timon: an orphan, Lukas’s companion

Chapter One

Timon

Helen, the queen of Sparta, often came to visit the orphanage I grew up in. She sometimes brought the king, Menelaus, and the princess, Hermione, with her.

After all, she liked to tell the orphans, she’d spent her childhood in the same orphanage.

They found me and my sister in a basket, she’d say, just outside the front gate.

Everybody knew the story. When the orphanage guardians discovered the basket, Helen was a newborn. The other child in the basket, who they assumed was her sister, was a year older. Her name, sewn into her tunic like Helen’s, was Clytemnestra. Their birth dates were embroidered next to their names.

That was only the beginning of Helen’s story. Eighteen years later, the kings of Greece decided she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Early in the morning of the day she was to marry one of them, Menelaus, the eighteen-year-old king of Sparta, she left in a ship with a wedding guest, Paris, also eighteen years old, a Trojan prince. The ship was bound for Troy.

The children in the orphanage, to say nothing of the guardians, couldn’t put aside the questions all Greeks asked regarding Helen. Had Paris forcibly taken her with him? Or had she run off with him of her own free will?

Whether Helen’s leave-taking was an abduction, the official story, or an elopement, as many believed, it precipitated the devastating war the Greek kingdoms fought against Troy. Parents of almost all of the children in the orphanage died in the war.

Helen

During our days on the ship sailing to Troy, the three guards Paris had taken with him to Sparta were somber, as if they anticipated nothing good would come from what Paris and I were doing. They were the same age as us, but they often seemed to me older than they were.

They’d initially assumed Paris and I would share a room on the ship, but he informed them I’d have one of my own.

We aren’t married, I heard him say to them. Not yet at least.

Helen

On the morning of our arrival in the harbor at Troy, Paris sent one of his guards to the palace. When the guard returned to the ship, he told Paris and me Prince Hector, who was Paris’s twenty-two-year-old brother, had agreed to speak with us in his chamber.

Paris and I seated ourselves on chairs facing his brother, who sat on his chair with his feet planted on the floor in front of him and his broad shoulders pulled back as if he’d already inherited his father Priam’s throne and was hearing pleas from his subjects. Hector’s eyes and hair were the same olive brown as his younger brother’s. Their skin was the color of bronze.

Trojan boys and men had chosen to do what the Greeks did then. As if they didn’t want to leave their boyhoods behind them, they began shaving off their facial hair as soon as it sprouted. Hector and Paris were no exceptions.

I understand, Hector said to me, you’re not royalty.

I grew up in an orphanage, I said. Nobody knows who my mother and father were.

And yet, Hector said, you were betrothed to King Menelaus of Sparta.

I was.

I also understand you left Sparta with my brother the morning of the day you were supposed to marry Menelaus.

I did.

Achilles, Odysseus, Ajax, Agamemnon and all the other Greek kings were present for your wedding?

They were.

You decided, nevertheless, at the last moment, not to marry Menelaus?

As you can see, I sailed to Troy with your brother.

Hector turned to Paris. They’ll demand we send her back to Sparta.

Paris nodded. I’m certain they will.

Hector turned to me. My brother’s guard told me the Greek kings consider you the most beautiful woman in the world.

I shook my head. That was idle talk. I hope there’s a lot more to me than my outward appearance.

Hector nodded. I’m certain you’re right about that. Paris is also more than the winning athlete the Trojan people celebrate and love. And that’s why I’m confused. If the Greek kings demand we send you back to Sparta, will you want us to comply?

No, I wish to stay here with Paris.

Hector turned to Paris. Do you want a war with Greece?

Absolutely not, Paris replied.

Hector turned to me. Do you?

No, I replied. But am I supposed to believe two great peoples would fight a war over whose bed an orphan shares? I’m certain Menelaus was in love with me, but I’m just as certain he’ll find happiness without me at his side. I’m also confident he’ll be a successful king. The Spartan people will come to cherish his fairness. He’ll always put their well-being above his own. And of all the Greek kings, he’s the one who most wants peace with your people.

Hector blinked his eyes. But you wish to remain in Troy?

Yes.

You won’t go back to Sparta voluntarily?

No.

If the Greek kings declare war on us, they’ll need to sail here to fight us. You’ve already seen the great walls of Troy.

I was most impressed when I saw them.

They were as high as the tallest trees in Greece. They consisted of rectangular stone blocks laid and mortared together as if they were bricks. Massively wide at their bottom, they narrowed as they rose but still seemed impenetrably thick at their top. Tall watchtowers rose over every entrance to the city like guardian giants from some other world.

The Greeks will never breach or climb over those walls, Hector said. And we can hold out here for a long time.

You make me think, I said, you’re willing to fight a war with the Greeks.

A defensive war, yes.

"Do you want to fight a defensive war with the Greeks?"

Yes, I do, Hector replied. Some Greeks have chosen to hate Trojans. They fear our rising power and influence in the world. I understand their leader is Agamemnon, the brother of the person you were supposed to marry.

I chose to remain silent.

A war, Hector said, can’t stop those Greeks from hating Trojans. It can, though, make them respect us and not wish to fight another war with us.

Again, I said nothing.

My father and mother, Hector said, won’t send you back to Sparta against your will.

Paris and I looked at one another.

We could only hope Achilles, Odysseus, Ajax and the other Greek kings would choose reason over emotion and remain opposed to the war Hector and Agamemnon wanted to fight.

Timon

When I was still quite young, I noticed a difference between the other orphans and me. They all had a connection to the world outside the orphanage. For some of them it was merely a location, a place in Sparta where they’d been born. Others knew the names of their parents and how they’d died. Some even had relatives they could hope to see one day.

Presumably, my father and mother died in the war, but nobody could say for certain they had. Nobody could tell me what their names were, where they’d lived or who their and my relatives might be. I had only my name and my birth date, sewn into my tunic like Helen’s and her sister’s. Even where that information had come from was a question nobody could answer.

Helen

A messenger from Agamemnon arrived on a Greek merchant ship. Two of the warriors who patrolled the harbor brought the emissary to Hector.

She told him the kings of Greece had met the day I was supposed to marry Menelaus, who chose not to speak. Agamemnon made his younger brother’s case for him. Achilles, Odysseus, Ajax and the other Greek kings agreed with Agamemnon this time. The Trojans would either return me to Sparta on the ship with the messenger, or they’d be at war with all the Greek armies under Agamemnon’s command.

Hector asked the messenger to inform Agamemnon, and through him the other Greek kings, his father and mother wouldn’t order my return to Sparta. I wished to remain in Troy, and my hosts would grant my request not to be removed from the people I’d chosen to live with.

The messenger asked Hector why the Greeks should believe that was my choice.

Because, Hector told the messenger, he said it was. And if the Greeks in fact started a war over such a trivial matter, they might begin to wonder if their reputation as a great people was no longer justified. Or were they simply using an orphan’s presence in Troy as an excuse to attack a people who sought nothing more than the enjoyment of equal status with their neighbors?

Helen

After the messenger left, the Trojans removed their ships from their harbor, choosing not to fight what Hector told Paris and me would be a losing naval battle with the invading Greeks.

They have too many ships, Hector said, as we viewed the harbor-clearing activity from the top of the watchtower above the main entrance to Troy, and we have too few.

He was adamant, though, he could defeat the Greeks by keeping them out of Troy for however long they’d be willing to attempt to break into it.

I told Paris and Hector I’d never wish to kill or injure a fellow Greek, but I’d consider it an honor to help the Trojans defend their city. As the other persons in Troy who could do so did, I spent every day, usually next to Paris, doing what had to be done before the Greeks arrived.

The main task was bringing into the city all the farmers and their moveable property, including their livestock and grain supplies. The countryside Trojan farmers occupied extended to the north, east and south of the city. After that was done, Paris and I helped block the entrances to the city, piling up the timbers and boulders the Trojans had used for that purpose on previous occasions.

Unusual storms swept the sea between Greece and Troy, giving the Trojans more time to prepare than they’d anticipated they’d have. But eventually the Greeks filled the harbor with their ships. I doubted they numbered as many as some observers chose to say later, but there were far more of them than even the most pessimistic Trojans had expected.

So many ships, so many sailors, so many warriors, I thought, and all because Paris had abducted me, or I’d decided to run off to Troy with him. The Greeks and their kings had become victims of Agamemnon’s madness. I couldn’t imagine sensible people would ever go to war over a broken promise to marry, no matter who the aggrieved person was.

Timon

Whether Paris had abducted Helen or she’d gone with him to Troy voluntarily, after the Trojan War ended, Menelaus married her and made her the queen of Sparta.

On the day of their marriage, he placed her in charge of the orphanage. On that same day, she promised the people of Sparta she’d make certain the guardians of the orphanage treated each and every orphan kindly and well. Most of the children she was now responsible for, she pointed out, had lost at least one parent in the war. But all of them, she said, deserved the very best upbringing and education Sparta had to offer.

She kept her promise. We spent part of every day receiving instructions in reading, writing, mathematics, chemistry, biology, botany, astronomy, history, geography, poetry, singing, dancing, playing musical instruments and competing in athletic games.

We spent part of every day working, too. Working itself wasn’t optional, but where and how we spent our time working were. The guardians expected very young children to do little more than wash themselves and their clothes and air the blankets they slept on and under.

By the time we reached our sixth birthday, the guardians encouraged us to spend parts of our days working on other things. Adhering to Helen’s kindness rule, the guardians couldn’t require how much time we worked or how much effort we put into what we did. They could only ask us to please do something worthwhile. A few of the orphans took that to mean they could do anything more than nothing and get by. Most of us, though, sooner or later saw the work requirement, as Helen told us she did—as a way to learn how to do a job we could get paid for doing when we turned eighteen and left the orphanage.

Another boy who was my age, Lukas, had become my friend. With our dark brown hair and eyes, we resembled one another so much we could’ve passed for brothers. He and I, always side by side like a pair of young