The Hittite - Ben Bova [55]
If Paris was aware of their displea sure, he gave no sign of it. He turned back to Helen, his smile still radiant.
“Truly, I am honored that you chose to take your husband’s place this evening.”
Helen’s voice caught in her throat. She could do nothing but stare at Paris like a moonstruck girl.
“The gods spin out our fates,” said Paris. “Zeus himself has given me this chance to see you, and I should be content.”
“But you are not content?” Helen managed to utter.
“How should I be? I have been granted a vision of paradise and now I must leave and never see you again.”
What could Helen reply to that? She lowered her eyes and felt the warmth of his smile upon her— and the murderously cold angry stares of her husband’s kin.
Paris turned from her and began to describe Troy to the men along the table, the city’s many towers, the splendors of the royal palace with its gardens and beautiful tapestries and floors of polished stone. He seldom glanced at Helen, but I knew he was speaking to her, not the rough-bearded men who cared little for such elegance. Helen longed to see Troy, to see for herself the beauty and delight that he described. Paris was wooing her with words, in front of her husband’s kinsmen. My own heart raced at his audacity.
The meal finished all too soon. Helen rose from her chair and bade Paris farewell, knowing that he would leave on the morrow with the grudgingly given tribute that he was to carry back to Troy.
“Perhaps someday I can visit Troy,” she said, never realizing what thoughts it stirred in his breast.
Paris smiled his brightest. “Perhaps,” he murmured.
Then she left the dining hall and went to her bedchamber, with me beside her. Her face was downcast, her heart empty and sad that she would never see this handsome, exciting man again.
As soon as we stepped into her bedchamber and closed the door behind us, I told Helen, “You have won his heart, my lamb. He is smitten with your beauty.”
“What good is that now?” she asked, forlorn.
“You will see,” I replied, smiling. “You will see.”
I brought out her best nightgown and insisted that she wear it. When Helen realized what I expected she sat on the edge of the bed, so stunned was she with surprise and sudden hope.
“It cannot be!” she protested. “Apet, he would have to be mad to come here.”
“He is mad,” I replied happily. “Your beauty has driven him insane with desire.”
She was about to shake her head, but instead she whispered, “Could it be? Could it truly be?”
“I have prayed to the old goddess that you might be delivered from Sparta,” I told her as I slid the gown over her head. “And I have done more than pray, my nursling.”
“What do you mean?” Helen demanded. “What have you done, Apet?”
I smiled mischievously. “There will be no guard at your door this night, my lovely. No servants will linger in your quarters.”
Helen could do nothing but stare at me, knowing that I was risking my life for her. There were no secrets that could stand against palace gossip.
“Apet, by tomorrow—”
I placed a silencing finger against my lips. “By tomorrow the world will be changed, my pet. You will see.”
Helen went to bed, almost reluctantly, but she could not sleep, could not even close her eyes. I stood in the closet next to her room, waiting. But I fingered the Cretan dagger I always carried beneath my robe, just in case my dear one needed my protection.
Long after all the palace was quiet and dark, I still stood there while Helen lay awake, staring into the shadows. Then the door creaked softly. Someone entered her room. I knew who it was. I knew who I wanted it to be. Helen dared not speak or move or even breathe.
A crescent moon cast dim silver light through the bedchamber’s only window, past the fitfully billowing curtains. He sat on the bed beside her, his form a black shadow against the breeze-stirred drapery. My heart raced madly.
“Helen,” he whispered.
“Prince Alexandros,” she found the courage to whisper back.
“Paris,” he said.
“Paris.”
“I can’t leave without making love to you, Helen. Your beauty has enchanted me.”
“But