Monday, May 20, 2019

4.01: Shot Through The Heart

1195 BCE, Laconia

It had been nearly ten years since Paris made the fateful decision to award the Apple of Discord to Aphrodite, and now he would finally be paid his due. Aphrodite had, contrary to what she’d let him believe at the time, had some limitations on how quickly she would make good on her offer, though Paris didn’t know why - he imagined that Aphrodite's power as a goddess was limitless, the hearts of mortals subject to her whims.


The reality was that Aphrodite’s power over love and lust was great but finite. Everyone had fawned over Helen, and that had drawn enough of Aphrodite’s antipathy that she would have been willing to send the woman into the bed of a pimple-faced teenager, but there was a limit to what she could do. Paris needed to grow into the attractive, charming, and sophisticated man he would become, or the only way he’d get between Helen’s legs would be if Aphrodite drugged her. That was a solution she’d used many times before, but not a long-lasting one she'd promised Paris. The boy needed to have at least some appeal to Helen for Aphrodite’s magic to work. Almost as important, Helen’s investment in her marriage needed some time to wane. When Aphrodite had made her promise, Helen was still infatuated with the young prince who’d saved her from being married off to someone less desirable. Soon after, she was pregnant, and before long she and Menelaus were raising a child and ruling Sparta together. For Aphrodite to lure Helen away from the husband and child she loved, she needed the weariness of parenthood and the doldrums of monogamy to fully seep in to their marriage. Even a tiny crack in that foundation – an unspoken longing for something more, something new – would be enough for Aphrodite to do her work.

The Trojan ship moored at one of the docks of the port in Trinisa. The Spartans weren’t known for their architectural achievements, but the port was a testament to what could be achieved with large amounts of unpaid labor. The Spartans had reshaped the geography of the coast, bridging the sea to connect the shore to the three small islands off the coast. A Spartan herald greeted Paris’s retinue and bid the delegation to follow him to some waiting horses.

Although Paris had other plans, his official purpose was to secure the return of his aunt, Hesione. Decades earlier, Paris’s grandfather, King Laomedon, had angered Troy’s patron gods, Apollo and Poseidon, when he refused to compensate them for building Troy’s great walls. Apollo had cursed Troy with a quiet, deadly plague, that could clear whole households in one night. Poseidon, being older and more… grandiose… opted to be less subtle. The sea god had raised a great monster from the ocean that blockaded Troy, destroying its merchant ships and devouring its fishermen. Laomedon  had shrewdly negotiated to have the Greek mercenary Heracles remove the monster, but then – having learned nothing from his encounter with Poseidon and Apollo – refused to honor his contract with the soldier of fortune. Not having a sea monster or a plague at hand, Heracles had returned to Greece and massed a small army to attack the city. With Heracles – a veritable god in his own right – leading the charge, the defense against the attack had proven futile. The Greeks had laid siege to Troy, ultimately killing Laomedon and most of his sons, when they attempted an ill-fated counter attack.

The one surviving son of Laomedon’s line had been Priam. A young boy at the time, Priam had been among the last of Laomedon’s children into the fight. The battle had already been lost by the time Priam, a boy staggering under a man’s armor, had reached the field and found himself surrounded by hundreds of Trojan corpses and a great many bloodthirsty Greeks. Heracles had never been one to shy away from butchering children, but his own personal vendetta had been satisfied, so he’d taken the boy hostage and leveraged him to negotiate the city’s surrender. It had been Priam’s eldest sister, Hesione, who’d bargained for the boy’s life, ultimately trading herself to the Greeks for his safe return. King Telamon, Heracles’s ally from Salamis, had traded all the other spoils offered to him for Hesione, and taken her home to be his wife. With her he'd fathered the greatest of Greece's mortal archers, Prince Teucer.

Feeling an incredible debt to his sister and shame over her captivity, Priam had sent many delegations to negotiate her return. Telamon had passed some years ago, and – seeing his sister’s obligation as filled – Priam had entreated Telamon’s family to return Hesion so that she could live out her remaining years in Troy. None had succeeded in swaying the rulers of Salamis, but Paris had befriended Teucer years ago at a royal wedding, and Priam hoped that that relationship might be enough to sway the negotiations, sending Paris and his second cousin, Aeneas, to try one last time.

As they rode quietly towards the Laconian capital, Sparta, Paris reflected on how he’d come to this point. He was a bit of a black sheep in the family; owing to some early misfortune, Paris had been raised as a simple goat herder, not finding his way into Priam’s graces until he was about ten years old. Because of that Paris had always felt like the man on the outside, faking his way through royal affairs. At first, that meant he’d simply been defensive and petulant, but over the years he’d worked diligently to become a proper prince. Unfortunately, in Paris’s mind that meant fine clothes, perfect nails and teeth, and expensive, clever words. Coming from the home of a simple goat herder, all Paris could ever see was the luxury and spectacle of the ruling family’s wealth, never grasping their responsibility the way his eldest brother, Hector, did. On the one hand, that meant that Paris never took these sorts of negotiations as seriously as he should. On the other hand, that also made Paris the most charming of Priam’s fifty sons – Hector had charisma on the battlefield, but was too brusque for these sorts of polite negotiations. As the son of Aphrodite, Aeneas could be more charming than Hector, but the king opting to send the bastard son of his cousin, rather than one of his own sons, sometimes sent the wrong message.

So, Paris would try to find common ground with the Salamis delegation to secure the release of his aunt, but it would be secondary to his true purpose – to secure the prize Aphrodite had promised him; their host’s wife, Queen Helen of Sparta.

The Trojans rested briefly in the comforts of their host’s hospitality, such as it was. The Laconians  did not appreciate the finer things that most Achaeans and Trojans did. Sports, hunting, fighting… these were their arts, and anything else was a luxury one ought not to become too dependent on. Many in the Mediterranean imagined the Laconians, and the Spartans especially, to be dull-witted because of that, but Paris was at least world-savvy enough to know that wasn’t the case. Laconians tended to be a bit quiet, because they valued efficiency in all things – including speech. It made polite conversation almost impossible, but impolite conversation quite exciting, as a Spartan could produce the sorts of insults that could wound a god. It also made the Spartans good arbiters in negotiations. They were adept at keeping a conversation on track while not taking control of the discussion.

Of course, Menelaus wasn’t a true Spartan, something Paris reflected on as they all sat around the dinner table in the great hall. Helen’s father, Tyndareus, had been the king in Sparta when Paris was a boy, but his two sons, Castor and Pollux were twins, giving them equal claim to the throne. Neither of them was really interested in ruling Laconia, but both feared what might happen if that should ever change – a brotherhood broken, and a nation in civil war. When Tyndareus took in two exiled princes from Mycenae, Menelaus and Agamemnon, and the twins saw their sister’s growing friendship with Menelaus, they realized they had found their solution. They persuaded their father to pass the throne to the first child to wed, and then did everything in their power to groom Menelaus to compete for Helen’s hand and lead their country. That scheme had taken a jot to the left 10 years ago when Aphrodite had involved herself in Helen’s courtship, turning it into an international spectacle.

Paris had competed. Despite being the youngest of all the competitors, he'd actually won thanks to a lucky coin given to him by Ithaca's prince, Odysseus, at the beginning of the contest. In Paris's mind, that made him Helen’s rightful husband and proper ruler of Sparta. Unfortunately, Odysseus – who'd Paris had been quite fond of initially – had stepped in and claimed that Paris had cheated, revealing him to be in possession of the very coin that Odysseus himself  had given him. Agamemnon and Odysseus had then insisted that – with the outcome of the competition rendered null by an unfair command of Fortune’s favor – the suitors should simply compete one last time on a fully even playing-field by drawing lots.

Menelaus had won that draw and married Helen. Agamemnon had immediately married Helen’s twin sister, Clytemnestra, and Odysseus had married her cousin, Penelope, while Paris was left with nothing but a dose of public humiliation. That outcome had always made Paris suspicious, and antagonized his sense that he’d been the one who was cheated. But no longer – soon he’d have Helen, and the man who’d snatched the throne from him would be subjected to humiliation throughout the Mediterranean.

That man, rosy cheeked and laughing, interrupted his own boring story to toast the delegates, “May you all, one day, have the good fortune of a troublesome daughter,” he laughed. The man was obsessed with his daughter Hermione – all he wanted to do was brag about how smart she was and how talented she was. He seemed to think she was great at everything she did, like a veritable demigod. He talked about his daughter the way any ordinary man would talk about his son. To Paris, it was pitiful. Paris’s father had produced fifty sons and many more daughters, but in ten years, Menelaus had only fathered a single child by Helen. Paris was sure that he’d be doing Helen a favor taking her away from his bed.

“Is that a blessing or a curse?” Teucer asked, “I’ve never known a man that would want such a thing!”

Menelaus laughed, “You’ll understand one day – the best things in life are always worth the most headaches.”

“I think she just makes him feel young,” Helen’s beautiful voice drew all attention back to her, “He’s taught her every game and joke that his brother would never play with him.”

“Well, what else could I do?” Menelaus laughed, “Aggie was born with the temperament of a withered old widower. If it weren’t for Helen my childhood would have been entirely joyless.”

“Oh, you had other friends,” Helen said.

“Who were all sent off to begin combat training at seven years old!”

“True, after that it was just the two of you and a passel of girls, and Agamemnon seldom came out of his room.”

Paris thought that explained some things about Menelaus – for a man who had, to his knowing, spent his entire life striving to meet the masculine ideals of his adoptive country, Menelaus seemed exceptionally weak where women and girls were concerned, blathering on about his daughter and allowing his wife to regularly talk over him.

Of course, given his wife’s beautiful voice, maybe that was for the best. No one could object to having her soft lyrical notes drown out his coarse, stilted talking.

“How are your in-laws, majesty?” Aeneas asked politely, “I heard they have five children now?”
“Yes, four girls and most recently, a boy; Orestes.”

“Old Agamemnon must have been happy to finally see a baby boy in their home,” Teucer said, “After four daughters, I’d have lost hope.”

“Ha!” Menelaus said, “You should hear how Aggie talks about my eldest niece! Her brother has a lot to measure up to; it seems she can do no wrong!”

“Every conversation between them turns into a bragging contest; how strong and fast and sharp our Hermione is and how graceful and wise his Iphigenia is.”

“Wisdom? A girl?” Aeneas laughed at the idea.

“Beyond her years,” Menelaus said, “She could be a far better statesman than her father someday.”

“Well, thank the gods that wouldn’t be allowed!” Teucer said, “Agamemnon’s difficult enough, I can’t imagine being vassaled to a woman like him!”

No one would have disputed that Agamemnon was hard to work with – he was ambitious and always anxious. It was his will that held together all the non-aggression pacts and trade agreements between Greece’s kingdoms, but he seemed to live in a state of certainty that all of his work was one diplomatic debacle from falling apart. Menelaus wouldn’t have denied any of that, but he and Helen both went quiet after Teucer’s comment.

Paris quietly sighed – it was time to start employing diplomacy, the art of telling everyone what they want to hear..

“As I recall, Teucer,” Paris said, “Your mother was quite the statesman when she was young. She negotiated Troy’s surrender to Heracles…”

“Not our finest moment…” Aeneas coughed.

“There’s no shame in losing a battle to a god, is there?” Paris said to his cousin, “Hesione helped us keep some grace in defeat, and ensured our father could take the throne and rebuild Troy.”

“Is that how she’s remembered in Troy?” Teucer asked.

“Is that not how you’ve heard the story told?” Paris asked.

“Truth be told,” Teucer answered, “Father was always something of a braggart – he liked to boast about how he grabbed mother and carried her all the way back to Salamis.”

“And she never said anything to the contrary?”

“Mother is a very humble woman.”

“Most women are,” Paris said, “they have to be. Isn’t that right, Helen?”

“Pardon?” Helen was clearly surprised by the change in focus.

“If a man boasts about his prowess, he’s kingly, but if a woman like you even acknowledges her… stunning beauty, she’s called vain. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose there is some truth to that,” Helen nodded.

“Some truth?” Paris said, “You have the sort of beauty and grace that armies of men would fight and die for, a face that could launch a thousand ships, yet you always act as if you’re just some ordinary Spartan woman.”

Helen blushed quietly; it was Menelaus who spoke next raising his goblet, “Thank you, Paris, for saying what my wife is too humble to say for herself.”

“King Menelaus, I know you would not argue if I said that Troy’s art and music outshine everything in the Mediterranean…”

“From what I’ve seen and heard, Laconia would do well to have some measure of Troy’s culture.”

“But it would be for naught,” Paris said, “For all the gifts our city has could never outshine the beauty of Laconia’s queen!”

“Oh brother,” Aeneas muttered.

Menelaus laughed, “Well, Helen, I think little Paris still has a crush on you.”

Helen was still blushing, “I’m sure he’s just being diplomatic,” she laughed, “After ten years, I’m sure he has somebody waiting for him back home?”

“No, no one, fair Helen. Every woman I’ve met has had to measure up to you, and all of them have come up short,” Paris changed his tone to make fun of himself a bit, “I’m afraid meeting you as a boy ruined romance for me!”

“Well,” Helen said, “That’s truly unfortunate. I’m sure you’ve just been too busy helping your father to get out there and look. Perhaps while you’re here you should take the time to meet some of Sparta’s women – I think you’d find there are more women out there like me than you believe.”

“How old is Hermione?” Teucer asked, “Paris would not be too old for her in a few years?”

“A few?” Menelaus said, “She’s only 9!”

“Most women are married by the time they’re fifteen,” Teucer shrugged, “To men twice their age.”

“We came to negotiate for Hesione,” Aeneas laughed, “not Menelaus’s one and only daughter!”

Teucer slid back and held up his hands, “Hey, I remember Paris fondly from when he was not too much older than Hermione – he deserves a good woman, and wouldn’t there be a certain symmetry to it? He was too young to marry Helen when he won that contest, but in five years he’ll be the perfect age to marry her daughter.”

“Well, I…” Paris had no interest in the young girl, but didn’t know how to say that without offending Menelaus and Helen.

Teucer continued, "Plus, I mean, what are Hermione's other leading prospects? Achilles hasn't had any children, and we all know he probably won't. Odysseus's wife is pregnant, but who knows whether she'll produce a boy or another girl. So then there's Orestes - who'd still be seven years younger than Hermione."

Paris scowled, "So your argument in my favor is that I'm preferable to a toddler and a fetus?"

“You know,” Aeneas said, “It would be good for relations between Sparta and Troy.”

“Are relations between us poor?!” Menelaus said.

“No! Of course not!” Aeneas was suddenly flustered, “But as you know, while all the Achaean kings are bound closely together by marriages, your cousins in Troa have far more tenuous connections. A smart marriage now might increase confidence among Troa’s merchants, and encourage them to make connections in Achaean ports, especially Laconian ports.”

“Helen and I will discuss it with Hermione tomorrow morning, and then we’ll think on it. There’s no rush after all. Now, about Hesione?” Menelaus gestured to Teucer.

“The truth is the situation has changed somewhat since Antenor and Anchises visited,” Teucer said.

“Is it too much to hope for good news?” Paris asked his cousin.

“Mixed – essentially, my family is open to releasing my mother back to Troy, but insists that she not be parted with her only son…”

“Oh, well that’s not a problem,” Paris said, “You can come to Troy and live with us for a few years!”

“Yes,” Aeneas said, “Priam will certainly agree if it allows him to see Hesione again, and who knows? Perhaps you’ll find a wife among one of Paris’s sisters? He has enough, it should be a statistical certainty.”

“Aeneas, I do believe you have a one track mind,” Helen laughed.

Aeneas smiled, “My mother wasn't around much when I was growing up, but she did teach me that three things in this world solve problems – money, violence, and marriage. Of the three, I’d always prefer the third.”

“That’s surprisingly romantic, cousin,” Paris looked at him askance, but Teucer continued on his point.

“I would love to see Troy and to get out of my family’s shadow for a few years, and your father is right – my mother deserves a chance to see her homeland once more.”

“But…”

“But I fear that the motivations my family have for encouraging me to make this deal with you are… insincere. My stepbrother Ajax is first in line for the throne, and he’s smarter than he looks, but, honestly… that’s not saying much. The two of us have looked out for each other since we were small – well, since I was small, Ajax never really was. I’m no genius, but I’m sharp enough to keep him out of trouble.”

“And you think they want you gone so they’ll be able to make a puppet of Ajax?”

“Yes, perhaps. Or more likely, dispose of him. I probably shouldn’t even be saying this – it’s not diplomatic to talk of family intrigues, and it’s not Troy’s problem…”

“No,” Paris said, “But you’re my friend, cousin, and I remember your brother fondly as well. If you’re afraid to be parted then Aeneas and I will respect that.”

“Will father?” Aeneas muttered.

Paris tapped his fingers together, “Priam charged us with securing Hesion’s return, and although sooner is better than later, eventually is better than never. Perhaps we can… strategically leverage some of our trade deals with Salamis in such a way that the members of your family that threaten your brother’s claim to the throne will find it difficult to maintain their current position. After all, why wouldn’t we favor dealing with our cousin, a half-Trojan, for all of our business?”

Teucer was stunned, “What happened to the impetuous brat I remember?” he laughed, “When did he become a diabolical genius?”

“Sparta’s court will be discrete about the nature of your agreements, of course,” Menelaus said.

“Perhaps we should not be,” Helen said, “While it might be inappropriate for us to explicitly take a side in the political matters of Salamis, we might do our friends some small favor by rattling about the extent of Teucer’s connections. If Teucer or one of Priam’s diplomats brings it up in a trade discussion, it may be seen as a threat. A small bit of gossip, however, can send the same message just as well as a diplomatic missive, and with much less overt hostility.”

It was Paris’s turn to be impressed, “That’s very shrewd thinking your highness. I think being as we have come to something of an informal accord, now would be a good time for the…” he looked at Aeneas.

“Oh yes,” Aeneas said happily, “the best part of diplomacy; gifts!” The others laughed and Aeneas summoned some of his servants to fetch a small chest they had brought.

Aeneas produced a finely crafted golden spear head first. “I’ve been told Laconia produces some of the finest spear shafts,” he explained, “But Trojans take great pride in their metal work, so I present this to you, our host, Great King Menelaus – a spear head master-crafted from pure iron, dipped in gold to prevent rust.” It was actually not a practical weapon – the weight and hardness of an iron head would be devastating, but the gold layer would fall away the first time the blade needed to be sharpened. Still, it was a beautiful display piece, and it would work very well once, and sometimes that’s all a king needed.

“For our old friend, the great archer Teucer,” Paris said, “the man who first showed me how to shoot,” they all laughed at the memory, “a fine bow from my own collection.”

Teucer took the bow in hand and stood up with it, flipping it back and forth in his hands. It was a recurve bow like those the Achaeans and Trojans used, but it felt lighter and… tighter, “Where did you find such a thing, cousin?”

“I’ve had occasion to make these sorts of diplomatic trips east of Troy as well – we have many allies in Asia with wondrous things to offer and often times we find that simple devices and inventions we take for granted have been truly perfected in other lands. Of course, visit us in Troy and I will be able to show you a great deal more.”

“I look forward to it cousin.”

“You said there was something you wanted to give Helen, didn't you?” Aeneas said, looking in the box.

Paris already had it in hand, “Helen, I realize our history is a little strange, but it didn’t seem fit to give you just any sort of gift. King Menelaus was right – I am still smitten by your beauty. When I foolishly tried to court you as a child, I could not offer you any tokens that would truly express my awe and affection, and I have always regretted that. I pray then, King Menelaus, that you will indulge Paris the boy by allowing Paris the man to present your wife with this gift on his behalf?”

Menelaus had been fortunate to marry his first love, but he was not so far removed from that age that he could not understand Paris’s feelings. Often times, it is a moment in our youth – a mistake, or an infatuation – that followed us the longest. Menelaus tacitly nodded to Paris, and the young man revealed a necklace. It was simple, elegant, the sort of token that stunned those who saw it by quality rather than quantity. In its own way, it was very Spartan – it was small and light enough that it could be worn every day, not simply to special state occasions, but its impossibly intricate design and faint glow made its origin unquestionable.

“It’s Olympian,” Helen gasped.

“Made by the hands of Hephaestus himself,” Paris said.

“But how?” she asked, glancing at Aeneas.

He held up his hands, “Don’t look at me. I've barely seen anyone on that side of the family since that soiree ten years ago.”

“Fortunately,” Paris said, “Aphrodite still owed me a favor from when I was a boy.”

“Such a gift…” Menelaus was shocked, “It’s… priceless. Will Priam not be furious when he founds out you parted with such a treasure?”

Paris shrugged, “It is mine to give, not his. And what else should I do with it? Sell it? It’s priceless, just as you say. I certainly can’t wear it myself; my brothers would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Nor your cousins,” Aeneas laughed.

“Paris…” Helen said, “I am flattered and deeply honored, but you will marry one day, should you not save such a gift for the mother of your future children?”

Paris smirked, “Assuming that’s true, I still have several years of adventures ahead of me, and now I know what to do with them, don’t I? Find my future wife the one token in the world that will make you as envious of her as I have been envious of your husband.”

Menelaus laughed, “How is it a man so honest can be such a fine diplomat? Paris, I’d almost think you were meant to be a Spartan!”

“Perhaps one day I will be,” Paris beamed, “But don’t expect me to call you ‘dad’ anytime soon.”

Helen laughed as she put on the necklace – if Paris was this generous towards an old crush, he might make a fine son-in-law one day. The necklace did not feel like ordinary jewelry – it felt heavier than gold, and the warm light it radiated made it warm. That warmth spread throughout Helen’s body, feeling a bit like strong wine. She felt light-headed and very relaxed.  The colors in the room suddenly seemed much more brilliant, as if she was seeing them in a new way.

She made eye contact with Paris; her heart fluttered and her skin flushed, as if she was seeing him in a new way as well.




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