Time Remaining: 15 Days
Odysseus had been keeping score, and the final result of the contest placed him in a tie with Menelaus and – surprisingly – Paris. Apparently, Agamemnon had been keeping score as well, because the night before the winner was to be announced, he approached Odysseus with concern.
“I don’t like you, and you don’t like me,” he said.
“You have an interesting way to start a conversation,” Odysseus said.
“Well, I may not have always shown it, but I do respect you Odysseus,” Agamemnon said, “too much to play schoolyard politics.”
“Ah, so adult politics, then?”
“Yes.”
“What’s on your mind?” Odysseus asked.
“I’m right in thinking you aren’t serious about Helen, correct?”
“Well… Penelope’s father still hasn’t given his blessing, so… maybe I should be.”
“But… if her uncle were to pressure her father into accepting your marriage proposal, you would have no cause to remain in the contest?”
“Yes, that’s true. If only I knew someone who had King Tyndareus’s ear,” Odysseus said.
“Hm,” Agamemnon smiled, “Very smooth Odysseus. You’ll have her father’s blessing by tomorrow morning.”
Odysseus didn’t say anything, but he was amazed at how everything had come together – Athena had asked him to make Menelaus the winner, and had promised he would get Penelope’s hand if he did what she asked. There was still a rub though.
“By my count,” Odysseus said, “That still leaves us with a tie between Menelaus and Paris.”
“Does it matter?” Agamemnon said, “Granted, he may have had some amazing luck, but he’s only a child. He was never a serious contender.”
“I imagine Paris would have a different opinion,” Odysseus said.
“No man would marry a grown woman off to a 14 year old boy, though.”
“Debatable, but either way, it’s not a man your second-guessing, it’s Aphrodite.”
“Ugh,” Agamemnon whispered, “Between you and me, she’s not really what I imagined.”
“I believe Athena described her as having the maturity of freshly squeezed grape juice. She’s petty and cruel – at least when it comes to someone she’s conjured a grudge against, and unfortunately it seems Helen somehow made her list.”
“Do you think we could appeal to Zeus?” Agamemnon asked.
“I think in this case we could count on him having a level head,” Odysseus said, “but if we go to Zeus and ask him to overrule a Trojan prince ‘winning’ a Spartan princess in this contest, what impact is that going to have on Greece’s political landscape?”
“It’s not like Paris will ever see the throne…”
“But Priam may see it as an insult to his family. And there’s another problem, too – all those suitors who were very supportive of this game when they thought they could win soured pretty early.”
“You think they won’t honor the results of the contest?”
“I think there are a lot of men who really want to be king of Sparta,” Odysseus said, “And that any halfwit could make a case that Aphrodite’s contest was unfair, their scoring was confusing, or the whole thing was just a sham.”
“And that’ll come back to bite us in the ass.”
“Eventually,” Odysseus said, “but, I do have a plan – I just need you to back me up on it. And bring some straw.”
***
The next morning, a crowd gathered to watch the announcement. It was Apollo who announced the final score, and as predicted it was a tie between Menelaus, Odysseus, and Paris. The crowd gasped, there was drama, there was debate. Odysseus took Paris aside to talk to him privately.
“Look kid, I’m going to bow out so Menelaus can be the final winner. For the sake of our respective nations’ futures, you need to step down as well.”
“What?” Paris made a rather obnoxious face, “Hell no. I proved myself, I deserve to have Helen just as much as Menelaus. More even, because I did just as well as he did and I’m not even in my prime yet.”
“Look, Paris, you did do well. There are no end of girls here your own age who are wildly impressed by your performance.”
“I don’t care about girls,” Paris said, “I’m in love with a woman.”
“Okay, tough love time,” Odysseus sighed, “Paris, if you don’t withdraw with me, I’m going to have to have you disqualified. I don’t want to do that, because I really don’t want to embarrass your family.”
“Disqualified?!” Paris cried, “On what grounds?! If I was too young to have Helen, they shouldn’t have let me risk my life competing for her!”
“If you push me to do this, I will be a lot more underhanded than that. Please, withdraw honorably.”
“Screw you Odysseus!” Paris snorted and spit at Odysseus.
“Right, underhanded it is then.” Odysseus put a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder and steered him up to the front of the room, before the crowd.
“Salutations and blessings fare friends,” Odysseus said, “I’m afraid that I have to stand before you with regrettable news – our young friend Paris, who tied with myself and Menelaus in the competition, cheated to win.”
“What?!” Paris said. Odysseus deftly plucked the coin he’d given Paris off of him. “Hey! Give that back! That’s my lucky coin!”
“Indeed,” Odysseus nodded solemnly, “Paris won because divine forces interceded on his behalf. Furthermore, I know this because I was the one who gave him the coin,” Odysseus continued, “Which is why I too must forfeit the competition.”
“How do we know it’s a lucky coin?” one of the men shouted.
“How else do you explain a fourteen year old boy besting over two dozen grown men in every one of these challenges? Either the coin’s lucky, or Greece has a grim future in our generation.”
Some of the people laughed, and the suitors agreed – the coin had to be lucky, there was no other reasonable explanation that allowed them to save face.
“Then Menelaus wins by default!” Teucer shouted, “Congratulations Men!”
“To Hades with that!” Diomedes said, “If that coin was giving Paris good luck, then it was giving the rest of us bad luck! There’s no way I could lose to a quim like Menelaus in a fair contest!” Another man argued that Paris’s luck had led to the gods choosing challenges that were unfair to the rest of them.
“True!” Odysseus said shoving Paris off to his cousin Aeneas, “True, the entire contest has been rendered invalid by the manipulation of Lady Fortune!”
The men clamored and argued, Helen hung her head in silent frustration.
Aphrodite finally broke into the drama, “Well, clearly the only way forward is to start over, to have everyone compete in a new set of trials.” She was practically giddy at the thought of what more chaos that could wreak.
“Yes!” Odysseus agreed, “If we do another set of trials, we may, in fact, see who the real winners are, but before we start making plans, I have to ask, how many of you are confident of your chances in a second round with Ares? Or Artemis?”
The men mumbled – only Diomedes seemed to be unflaggingly confident in his ability to win the contest if given a second try.
“So, I propose this,” Odysseus said, “Every man here who participated in every challenge will draw lots, and the man who draws the longest straw will wed Helen.” Requiring participation in every challenge effectively excluded all of the gods who hadn’t really wanted to compete to begin with, which would placate some fears of divine bias. “And – and I can’t stress this enough – the decision will be final, if we do it this way, we all have to agree to support the winner’s marriage to Helen, and rebuke any challenges to it!” Most of the men nodded that that certainly seemed fair.
“That’s a stupid way to choose a husband!” Aphrodite scolded Odysseus. Much to everyone’s surprise, however, Agamemnon jumped in to support Odysseus.
“It’s a wonderful idea!” Agamemnon said, “Think about it, are our kings not chosen by the hand of fate?! The fates decide to whom we are born, do they not? If luck is a fair arbiter of who should rule us, then should it not also be a fair decider of who should be wed?”
The suitors, most of whom would have latched onto any excuse to avoid another round with Ares, enthusiastically agreed. Agamemnon quickly produced a handful of straw, the pieces already cut to different lengths. Aphrodite tried to question the plausibility of that, but Apollo and Hermes interrupted her and steered her away to discuss Artemis’s hunt.
“You sure you can pull this off?” Agamemnon whispered nervously as Odysseus drew first.
“If you do it the way I showed you,” Odysseus whispered back. Agamemnon shuffled the straws until one particular straw stood slightly above the rest. Odysseus quickly pulled that straw, and allowed the next man up. The men took their turns – Odysseus even insisted Paris be allowed to draw – but when Menelaus drew, Odysseus immediately set upon him.
“I just wanted to tell you how impressed I was with your performance in the competition,” Odysseus said, grabbing Menlaus’s hand to shake it.
“Oh… uh, thank you.”
“And I’m really sorry it all had to turn out like this,” Odysseus added his other hand to the shake, “Honestly, I’m rooting for you to be the final winner.”
“Really?”
“Hey, you tied with someone playing with a lucky coin; in my mind, that makes you especially worthy of Helen. So how’d you pull?” Odysseus released Menelaus’s hand – the same hand that had been holding a mid-sized straw when Odysseus shook it, but which now held the straw Agamemnon had dealt Odysseus – the longest straw in the lot.
“Wow!” Odysseus said, “Menelaus, I think you won!” There were murmurs of surprise throughout the room. “Does anyone have a longer straw than Menelaus?”
Diomedes made a joke about Menelaus’s endowment, but when Teucer pointed out Diomedes’s short, broken straw, the man’s attempt at humor deflated quickly. In the end, no one could produce a straw to match Menelaus, and so it was at last decided – Menelaus would marry Helen of Sparta.
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