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Pirithous
The wine was excellent. Better than any he had ever tasted, smooth and rich in his mouth and filling his nose. He poured himself another glass. Nikki had all but dragged Thalia off after he’d eaten. When she’d returned to him with linens for his bed, they had only been able to exchange a few hushed words before she left him again, and even his patience for Nikki’s concerns was beginning to wear thin.
Thalia’s claims that her affairs were her own did not feel like lies, nor did he sense any deception behind anything else she had shared with him. He couldn’t fault her for wanting her freedom, and he would be more than happy to benefit from her desires if Nikki would stop insisting on standing in her way. And perhaps Thalia would change her mind about marriage once they spent the night together. Perhaps she would be willing to travel on with him to Thessaly, if only to escape the impositions of her family. She would make a very fine queen, strong and beautiful, and perhaps her people would not bother his if he were married to one of their own.
He sipped the wine while he studied the shelf opposite him, trying to keep his mind off the taste of Thalia’s skin, the softness of it beneath his fingers. Books, Thalia had called the contents of the shelf, suggesting he might read them if he wished. She’d mentioned something else in passing about “television” but the nonsense word meant nothing to him. Reading was at least not wholly foreign, even if he had never known anyone who engaged in it for pleasure.
He recognized the symbols from what he’d pulled from Thalia’s mind, and it had surprised him even then that she knew how to write. Pirithous removed one of the books from the shelf and stared at it. In Egypt, he knew, they used Papyrus to write upon, rolling it into long scrolls, but he had never seen it cut and bound in such a way. He traced the characters along the spine, so foreign to him but so familiar to Thalia, the alphabet song from her mind humming through his thoughts.
T-H-E I-L-I-A-D. And then further down. H-O-M-E-R.
“You probably know that story better than I do,” Thalia said.
He returned the book to its place on the shelf before looking up. Her hair fell loose now, framing her face and spilling over her shoulders. The tunic she wore covered her from her neck to her mid thigh, much like his own, but it was a deep brown with something written across her chest in white. Though he could recognize her alphabet, Hermes’s gift had not extended to reading or writing.
“Perhaps if you told me something of it,” he suggested, hiding his ignorance. “To remind me.”
She laughed. “Everyone knows The Iliad. The great rage of Achilles for Agamemnon, and poor Menelaus who only wanted his wife back.”
Pirithous froze, his body going suddenly cold. “Menelaus?”
“I always felt kind of sorry for him. Helen didn’t deserve his love, and Paris didn’t deserve hers. But I guess I shouldn’t talk about everyone knowing it. I only watched the movie, with Brad Pitt. The rest I know from Nikki complaining about it and art classes.”
“Helen married Menelaus?”
“Of course. And then she ran off with Paris to Troy.”
“No.” His heart raced so fast it hurt. “No. That cannot be right. What of Theseus?”
“Is Theseus one of the Greeks who fights? I can only ever remember the giant Ajax. And Odysseus, of course. Sean Bean is one of my favorite actors.”
He grabbed her by the arms, his fingers digging into her skin. “Where are they?”
“Ow!” She stiffened. “What do you mean where are they? Dead for three thousand years, if they ever lived at all. Ouch! Pirithous, let me go. That hurts!”
Dead. The word turned his stomach to iron, and his hands fell away as he stumbled back a pace, then two. Then it was too late. They’d already found Achaea, his people. His eyes burned with tears. Three thousand years. Was that how long Hades had held him in that chair?
“What happened to Helen?” he heard himself ask.
Her golden hair. He remembered her golden hair, her spectacular beauty. He had smuggled her out of Sparta himself, helped Theseus to hide her in Athens, to keep her from Menelaus. With Theseus to protect her, to love her, she had been happy, and they had all been so sure she would be safe. She had begged them not to go to Hades. She had begged him to leave Theseus out of his plans to steal Persephone, and he had ignored her, so confident he would succeed. How long had Hades kept Theseus from returning home?
“She married Menelaus, then ran off to Troy with Paris, like I said. Menelaus went to Agamemnon, and Agamemnon called all the heroes of Greece together and led them to war against Troy to get her back. But the Trojans refused to give her up. Achilles killed Hector, Paris killed Achilles, and then Paris died too, along with most everyone else who mattered. Troy fell, and Helen went home with Menelaus after ten years of war. Isn’t Thessaly near Greece? How could you not know this?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.” He closed his eyes to stop himself from weeping. Everything they had done, for nothing. “She was supposed to stay in Athens, hidden and safe. She and Theseus paid the gods in blood!”
“You keep mentioning him. Theseus. He was Athenian, wasn’t he?”
“King.” The word came out harsh and broken. His hands balled into fists. “He was king of Athens. The hero of Attica. A man so great the gods feared his children. And you do not even know his name.”
“You don’t even know about the Trojan War and you’re pissed at me for not remembering the name of one man in The Iliad?”
He growled, his eyes flashing open, burning white hot. The roar of his blood swallowed the sound before it left his throat. Thalia’s face paled, her eyes widening. She stepped back.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He forced himself to breathe, to calm, to relax his hands. She wasn’t responsible for this. If she spoke the truth, Theseus was three thousand years dead. Why should she remember him? And she couldn’t have known how her words would hurt him. She couldn’t have known how much it pained him to hear a story she didn’t even realize was true.
But they were all dead. All his people. Everyone he had known. Why would the gods send him into this world? What possible purpose could he serve, so alone? If his people were dead, he was king of nothing. He could not build Persephone her temple. He could not make her an offering of a hundred anything. He had nothing. He was nothing.
Nothing but a son of Zeus. To be used by the gods as they saw fit.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, turning away. “I’ve forgotten myself.”
Silence, but for the whirlwind of his thoughts, struggling to come to terms with what she’d told him. He need not bother finding his way to Thessaly, now. What good would returning there do him? If Thalia, a woman bearing the name of a Nereid, did not even know Theseus, he could not expect anyone living to remember him.
“Pirithous?” She touched his arm, her hand warm, her fingers gentle. “Are you all right?”
He pressed his lips together, biting his tongue on unkind words. Thalia had been nothing but generous. She did not deserve his anger, now. The blame for this rested upon his own shoulders and no one else’s.
“It’s just a story, Pirithous.”
The laugh burst from his throat, miserable and bitter, hollow as his heart. “No, Thalia. It is life and death and the blood of Achaea’s sons. Much more than just a story.”
“But it was so long ago.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen at all. Not like that.” His hands balled back into fists again, his nails digging into his palm. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. “Not over Helen.”
“You say her name like she was someone you knew.”
Helen’s smile, brilliant and bright as she looked up at Theseus beside her at the wedding banquet. Yes, he had known her. If Theseus hadn’t married her, Pirithous would have. Maybe it would have been better for all of them if he had. Even if Helen hadn’t loved him, who would have looked for her in Thessaly? There would have been no trip to Hades, no time lost in the chair as punishment. No devastating war.
“It doesn’t matter. As you said, it was a long time ago.” Lost in the past, now. But he took no comfort in the thought. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Are there no other stories about Helen? An abduction, before her marriage to Menelaus? How did she fall back into Mycenae’s hands?”
“I’m sure there must be something, but I don’t know it. Nikki might, or she would know where to look at least.” He could feel her watching him, studying him. The concern in her thoughts washed over him like a balm. “I can ask her in the morning, if it’s so important to you.”
“It is.”
“Then I’ll ask.” Thalia ducked her head, catching his eyes. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
He forced his hands to unclench, raising one to her face, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. As soft as silk. A blush rose up into her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away or flinch or hesitate. Her courage pleased him more than even her beauty.
“I’m sorry for frightening you,” he said quietly. “This is all strange for me, being here. I thought it would be simple to find my way, but with every step I take, I feel as though the road crumbles faster beneath my feet.”
“But you’re a king,” she said, pressing his hand to her cheek. “Can’t you just call your security people and have them whisk you back home?”
He shook his head. “I’m a king without a people. I had hoped to return to them, but I am too late, now. You reminded me of that, with your story.”
“Oh.” She fell silent, her forehead creasing.
He smoothed the lines away, then pressed his lips to the place between her eyebrows. “Go to your bed, Thalia. There is nothing more to be done before morning.”
Her mouth twisted, as if she couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown. “You really are used to being obeyed, aren’t you?”
“Only a very poor king does not get his way in most matters,” he said. “That is why men like Agamemnon and Menelaus are so quick to wage wars if they are refused. When they win, it is a proof that they are still fit to rule.”
“Then I guess I’d better go to bed before you declare war on me,” she teased, stepping back. “Good night, Pirithous.”
“Good night.”
He watched her go, waiting until the door shut behind her and the glow of lamplight disappeared. Then he took up the wine bottle, still a quarter full, and slipped outside.
It was a small offering for so many lives lost, but it was all he had at the moment. Later, he promised them as he poured the libation into the coals of the fire. Later, he would light them a true pyre, with incense and scented oils. And strawberries, for Helen.
She had always loved strawberries.
Persephone, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me when you set me free?
The goddess gave him no answer. But then, he had not truly expected she would.