Beauty's Daughter: The Story of Hermione and Helen of Troy by Carolyn Meyer Page A

together.”
    “But you’re going away from the fighting.”
    “That doesn’t mean I can’t see it. It’s far too dangerous for us to be there among them, but if you’ll allow me, I can describe to you exactly what’s happening.”
    His advice seemed wise. I followed Calchas into a small grove of fig trees. The seer lowered himself to the ground, leaned against a gray-barked trunk, drew up his sharp knees, and closed his eyes. I sat down nearby and waited.
    The seer, his eyes now opened wide and staring, began to describe what he saw. “The savage battle has been launched. Those hoarse cries you hear are the Trojans,” he said. “Our Greeks marched to meet them in silence. Clouds of dust swirl around them. Out of the blinding dust comes Paris, magnificent as a god, a leopard skin slung across his shoulders. He carries a bow on his back, a sword on his hip, two bronze-tipped spears in his hand. He strides forward, shouting out a challenge to any Greek who dares to face him in mortal combat, a fight to the death. And there, leaping from his chariot to meet the challenge, is mighty King Menelaus—”
    “Menelaus?” I broke in. “My father intends to fight Paris?” I was shocked. Somehow I hadn’t expected the rivals to fight—I’d thought the armies would do it for them. Blood pounded in my ears.
    “He’s eager for revenge. But what’s this?” Calchas leaned forward intently. “Paris cringes at the sight of Menelaus advancing fearlessly straight for him! The prince’s knees are trembling, his face is pale with dread, and he retreats back into the Trojan lines, hiding among his men. He will not fight Menelaus! Can you hear our own Greeks howling with laughter?” Calchas, too, was laughing shrilly.
    A wave of relief swept over me. “I hadn’t known Paris was so cowardly,” I said. “Tell me, what’s happening now?”
    “His older brother, Hector, is calling him a curse to his father, King Priam, a disgrace to Troy and to himself. Paris is covered in shame! And he agrees now to meet Menelaus and to fight it out. Hector strides between the two great armies and makes the proposal: Paris and Menelaus will meet one on one in mortal combat, the winner to take Helen home. The two sides will then declare peace.”
    “Surely Father will win!” I cried. My earlier relief vanished. “He’s a much better fighter, don’t you think?”
    “That’s not for me to say.” Calchas raised his bushy eyebrows. “Now old Priam is talking with Helen, who has been watching from a tower on the great wall of the citadel. Ah, Hermione, if only you could hear what I hear! Your mother speaks of how she regrets leaving her husband and her favorite child now full grown. You, Hermione! She’s speaking of
you!
”
    I was too caught up in thinking of Helen, my mother, and the tears she shed for me to listen to the seer’s description of the men’s preparations for their fight. The old seer grunted and struggled stiffly to his feet, his staring eyes focused on the faraway scene. I jumped up, too fearful for my father’s safety to remain still.
    “The duel has begun,” he announced. “Menelaus hurls his spear—it strikes Paris’s shield and goes straight through it, but Paris leaps aside and avoids death’s black cloud. Now Menelaus draws his sword and smashes it on his rival’s helmet, but the sword shatters in his hand! Menelaus lunges, seizes the horsehair crest of the Trojan’s helmet, swings Paris around, and starts to drag him off. But Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, sweeps in and breaks the helmet strap, setting Paris free!”
    I cried out, begging Zeus to intervene and help my father, but the great god ignored me. Calchas rubbed his eyes and sank down again beneath the fig tree. “The goddess has wrapped Paris in mist, snatched her favorite away from murderous Menelaus, and spirited him back to his bedroom in the palace.”
    “Aphrodite saved Paris?” I asked in disbelief.
    “It seems so. But Helen is