Thursday, April 11, 2019

3.16: The Plight of Helen

Location: Larissa, Aeolia

Time Remaining: 2 Months


Helen was nearly inclined to go back to her room. She understood her father leveraging her marriage as a way to choose a good king for Sparta, and she reckoned that being a good king and a good husband should go hand-in-hand, so it should work out well for her. Except, so far most of her suitors were appealing to her father’s avarice, trying to impress him with gifts and dowries. As a result, she felt decidedly like a cow being sold at an especially expensive auction. In the mass of men packed around her, she could only discern two that were sincere – her long time best friend Menelaus, who was practically penniless – and a fourteen year old Trojan boy, who was making implausible but novel promises like personally bringing her breakfast in bed every day.


“Helen,” Paris said, “If you marry me, I’ll build the biggest ship Troy can build, and have Poseidon himself bless it, and then we can live on it, and sail anywhere in the world, and I’ll mostly let you choose.”

“Mostly?” Helen laughed at the boy’s hedging.

“Well, there are a few places I would like to see before I die, but I’m sure you’d want to see them too, so it’ll be great.”

“Look, dweeb,” Diomedes said, “go play with Achilles or take your nap, grownups are talking here.”

“Yeah, sorry Paris, but I don’t think you got anything that’s going to interest Princess Helen,” Ajax said.

“Hey, ease up guys,” Teucer said, “Or are you afraid of the competition?” Teucer winked at his cousin, and Paris flashed him an appreciative smile.

“I can teach you to sail the ship yourself, too!” Paris promised her.

“That’ll be good when she needs to drop your scrawny Trojan ass in the sea and track down a real man,” Diomedes said. Menelaus bristled, glaring at the man, but didn’t say anything.

Helen, however, had had quite enough, “Paris, I will make sure that my father hears your proposal,” she kissed the boy on the cheek, and whispered, “Don’t ever let them change you.”

“Do all the contenders get kisses?” Diomedes moved towards Helen aggressively, and that seemed to finally push Menelaus’s line – he interceded forcefully, grabbing Diomedes’s hand in his strong grip.

“You’ll want to be careful where you put that, Diomedes,” Menelaus said, “She’s not your mama.”

“Right, well, I could make some jokes about your mama, too,” Diomedes said, “But, oh yeah – orphan. So sad. A boy without a mommy, a prince without a kingdom, a soldier without a war, and a man who’s never going to make it with-”

Helen felt her temper rising as Diomedes spoke, but fought to keep it in check. She squeezed her hands over and over, and bit her lip. She was just so… tired, tired of all this shit… and if she wanted to, she probably could have twisted Diomedes’s head off. But Menelaus was the only one who knew that. He was the one who’d taken the blame every time she’d angrily punched a hole in a wall or clumsily smashed an amphora. He’d covered for her for over a decade now, taking the rap whenever her abilities caused a scene, and narrowly averting disaster when it looked like she was going to get herself in real trouble.

Menelaus saw Helen’s hands shaking and realized she was struggling to hold back her anger. If Diomedes kept on going, there’d be a scene, so Menelaus decided to head off the situation by starting a scene of his own. He slapped Diomedes.

Menelaus didn’t punch him, he just slapped him to shut him up. He didn’t really know where to go from there, but he shook his finger at Diomedes as if he were preparing to deliver a scathing rebuke. Before he could come up with anything clever to say, though, Diomedes punched him square in the face. Menelaus fell backwards into Helen, and Diomedes rained down blows on him. Helen wanted to just grab the man and see how far up she could throw him, but instead she pushed herself between the men and pretended to be afraid. Diomedes immediately backed off, and Castor and Pollux finally pushed their way over to find out what was going on.

“Just a little head-butting,” Diomedes said, “All’s fair in love and war, right boys?”

“Why did you slap him?” Helen asked Menelaus as she helped him to his feet.

“Because if I didn’t do something, you would have killed him,” Menelaus said.

“Yeah, but why didn’t you punch him?” Helen said.

“It seemed… uncivilized.”

“We’re Spartans Menny, no one expects us to be civilized. It’s okay to use a closed fist.”

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you, Hel.”

Helen gave him a pained look, “I’m not embarrassed you didn’t punch him, I’m mad you let him punch you. I happen to be rather fond of you, and don’t much care for watching you get beaten while I have to stand aside and play the part of the damsel in distress.”

“Diomedes is the strongest, fiercest man in Achaea that doesn’t have a god’s blood in him,” Menelaus said, “If he wanted to punch me, there was nothing that was going to prevent that.”

“Damn right about that,” Diomedes overheard the last part of the conversation, and felt inclined to have a parting word, “Bitches get stitches ‘Menny’,” Diomedes mocked him as he turned to walk away and walked face first into a bronze wall. He’d completely failed to notice the crowd around them falling silent.

Diomedes stepped back; he was tall by Achaean standards, but the man before him was over eight feet tall if he was an inch, and his muscles were practically an anatomy lesson. Diomedes looked up to see a stern face glaring down at him. A heavy jaw was outlined by a five-o-clock shadow, and his black hair was cut close on the sides and back, with the longer hair on top pulled back tight. Diomedes could swear there was a red glint in the man’s eyes, and a little extra length in his canines.

“We were… we were just having fun,” Diomedes backpedaled.

“Fun?” the man said, “You think violence is ‘fun’?”

“Y-yeah… Don’t… you?”

“I am the GOD OF WAR. Do you think I’ve led Zeus’s armies for two centuries because I think it’s fun? Do you think I’ve spent two hundred years splitting men open and turning them inside out, because I don’t have anything better to do?” Ares picked the man up by the neck effortlessly, “Are you still having fun?”

“Well, I surely am,” A sultry voice came from behind Ares, “The air is just, thick with the pheromones of horny, repressed adolescents. Delightful.”

A redheaded woman stepped gracefully around him, the crowd parting to allow her to pass. She wasn’t as tall as the other deities (though still tall compared to the average human woman), but all attention immediately turned to her anyway.

“Helen, darling,” the woman said, “You look an absolute mess. This whole ordeal is clearly putting a severe toll on you.”

“Ordeal?” Helen asked.

“Marriage, courtship, friends-without-benefits,” the woman said, “Your father has absolutely taken the fun out of what should be one of the most hedonistically enjoyable parts of your life, hasn’t he?”

“Actually…” Helen said, “That’s… that’s kind of true. I feel like he’s just auctioning me off, and almost no one here treats me like anything better than livestock.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” the woman said, “Don’t despair, Aunt Aphy will come to your rescue.”

“You’re … Aphrodite?” Helen said.

“Was it not obvious the moment I walked in? I knew I shouldn’t have worn clothes today. Really it’s blasphemy for women who look like us to be modest, don’t you think?”

Ares was still holding Diomedes two feet off the ground. Aphrodite got distracted by the human's backside for a moment and reached up between his legs. Diomedes gasped and kicked.

“Hm,” Aphrodite said, “The mortal’s got an obnoxious mouth, but he could impale me with that spear any day.”

She turned and noticed Menelaus behind Helen, “Is he the other runner up? He’s looking a bit rough; what’s he got going on under those tassets?” Menelaus stepped backwards nervously when Aphrodite came towards him. She laughed, “Men are so insecure about that, aren’t they? As if every woman in Achaea doesn’t know how to bake a warm olisbokollikes when she needs to.”

Aphrodite clapped her hands, “Now! Who here wants to marry Helen of Sparta? I want a headcount!” In all, nearly two dozen men present raised their hands, and everyone knew that there were more who simply weren’t present at that moment.

“Well,” Aphrodite said, “What if I said I was willing to take any man who withdraws his hand from consideration, into my bed tonight?”

Only one suitor – Paris – waivered at the suggestion.

“Hm,” Aphrodite looked at the boys and men, “Well, she must really be something… special then. I suppose she is beautiful, and intelligent, and well connected, but… what are any of you offering her?

“I’ve promised fifteen head of my best cattle,” Diomedes gasped.

“If she eats fifteen head of your cattle, she’s not going to stay as pretty as she is now,” Aphrodite said.

“No, I mean, I’ve promised them to her father.”

“Ah, and there it is,” Aphrodite said, “Patriarchy in action. You think if you want a girl, you should just be able to pop down to the market and buy one. The only difference you men see between a princess and a whore is the opening bid.”

Across the room, Penelope clapped, “Yeah! I’m praying at her altar tomorrow!”

Aphrodite smiled. For all her talk of helping poor Helen, the truth was, she was annoyed that the human girl commanded such attention. That alone might not have been enough to invite Aphrodite’s antipathy, but the girl’s father – Tyndareus – had regularly excluded her name from Spartan festivals and rites. Spartans in general were not high on Aphrodite’s list – they were like all of the worst parts of Ares, without the godly muscles and stamina. This, however, was an opportunity for some spectacular entertainment.

“No, boys, this is how it’s going to go. As of right now, you need to get it through your heads that this woman is too good for any of you, and if you want my blessing – and trust me, you really don’t want to start a marriage without it – you have to convince me otherwise. That’s right, me – a goddess. So put away the cows and the goats and the trade, deals, because Aunt Aphy isn’t impressed by that noise.”

“What do we need to do, then?” Teucer asked, “How can we prove ourselves to you?”

The other men echoed his sentiment. They wanted to know how to prove themselves to Aphrodite, not to Helen. It was at that moment that Helen realized her situation was unlikely to improve with the goddess’s involvement.

“Oh! I know!” Aphrodite said as if she hadn’t had the idea long before she arrived, “We’ll hold a contest. Yes, we’ll make a game of it, and the winner will get Helen.”

“No no no no no,” Helen muttered. Now it wasn’t even her father sort of ‘selling’ her; a relative stranger was promising to give her away.

Menelaus squeezed her arm, “I’ll win. If you want me to.”

“What?” Helen asked.

“Whatever the contest is,” Menelaus said, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way to win. I won’t let her marry you off to Diomedes or Ajax.”

“Mene, I don’t think you can…”

“Hey, you said it yourself – we’re Spartans, no one expects us to be civilized. If I have to bite someone’s ear off or gouge them in the eye, then so be it. Diomedes and the others are just men. I can do this. I can do this one thing for you.”

Aphrodite studied the crowd, “You know what?” she said, “This isn’t fair to Helen.”

Helen felt a moment of relief, hoping Aphrodite had realized the err of her mistake, but that relief quickly evaporated.

“If we want to find the best possible husband for Helen, we can’t limit the contest to the men lining up to court her. We need to pull in some star power. I do, after all, have a good number of lonely, unwed brothers.”

“Huh?” Ares dropped Diomedes.

“Oh come now,” Aphrodite told him, “Look at her – she’s at least half-god. And who better to be King of Sparta than the God of War?

“I’ve seen Sparta,” Ares said, “becoming King of Kephallonia would be less of a demotion.”

“Hey, don’t disrespect Kephallonia!” Odysseus tried to stand up for Ithaca’s sister island.

“Point is,” Ares said, “I don’t have a dog in this race. Leave me out.”

Aphrodite walked up to him and put her hands on his chest, stroking his pecs and abdomen suggestively, “Oh baby, please?” she said, “Helen deserves to see her suitors pushed to be their very best, and how can we see their best, if the best don’t compete?”

“Ugh…” Ares didn’t say he agreed, but he didn’t try to continue arguing.

Odysseus, Penelope, and Hector had been watching Helen, and her despair was painfully obvious. The possibility of being wed to the God of War – a man renowned for his savagery, brutality, and cruelty – looked like it was about to bring her to tears.

Penelope looked at Odysseus with pleading eyes.

Odysseus looked at Helen, about to be given to Ares as a gift by Aphrodite, and thought of Adresteia and what Zeus and Aphrodite had done to her. The thought churned his stomach. He pulled his feet out of the pool and jogged over with a hand raised.

“Excuse me, excuse me… excuse me,” he pushed his way past the crowd of suitors to speak with the principal actors in this drama.

“Can I help you…?”

“Prince Odysseus, of Ithaca,” he bowed, “I think you have an absolutely marvelous idea with this whole, competition thing. I mean, competition breeds excellence, right? And this wonderful woman deserves excellence. But, I think it’s very important we consider the external validity of whatever framework we come up with to evaluate the suitors’ … well… suitability.

“He sounds like Athena,” Ares groaned.

“Thank you,” Odysseus said, “Now, what I’m thinking is that, because marriage is a complicated institution which demands a multifaceted skill set, and because luck could always allow a man to overcome any single challenge, we need not one competition, but several, scored in aggregate to determine the best suitor.”

“Ohhh…” Ares realized that, with the right challenges, he wouldn’t necessarily have to worry about going home with a white elephant prize in the form of a Spartan Princess, “Yes, that makes perfect sense. There are a lot of elements to marriage – communication, compromise, common interests, child-rearing – and many of those things don’t entail violence.” If they could steer the competition away from martially-oriented skills, Ares might have a fair chance of losing.

“Well,” Aphrodite said, “I confess that I’m not an expert on the institution of monogamy, but I suppose if nothing else, more games means more entertainment. Now, pray tell, gentlemen, what games will we be playing?”

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