Helen of Sparta by Amalia Carosella Page A

after the princess, and Theseus jo ined them.
    She dropped back as the procession became more of a mob, hemmed in only by the thickening oak saplings on either side of the path. Adult oaks bared chestnut trunks where the cork bark had been harvested, but not yet regrown, and sword lilies bloomed in the pinks and oranges of a sunset around the shrine, more poppies scattered among them like drops of blood.
    Helen walked with Pollux, and Theseus smiled to see the men around them kept a respectful distance, though it meant they bumped elbows with one another. When Theseus managed to reach them, that distance increased even further. Pollux excused himself almost immediately, grinning at Theseus, and Helen frowned as she watched her b rother go.
    “I hope it isn’t my presence that causes your displeasure, Princess.”
    “No, not at all.” She smiled. “I did want to thank you for your generosity. My maid tells me that the gold and silver in my hair come from your gifts, in addition to t he bulls.”
    “A daughter of Zeus deserves more than I have to give. You loo k lovely.”
    Her face flushed, and she ducked her head, causing the decorations to ring against one another. “I’m afraid it won’t last, my lord. The ornaments are beautiful to look at, but heavy to wear.”
    “Yes, I would imagine so.” He lifted one of the delicately wrought discs from her hair and shook his head. “I admit that when I gifted them to you, I had not intended for you to wear them all at once.”
    “In your honor, King Theseus.” She bowed her head, and the silver and gold chimed again. She grimaced at the noise. “And I hope you appreciate my sacrifice,” she teased. “I’ll have a headache before I reach my room.”
    “I may have something to cure that ill since it seems I am responsible for giving it to you. Should I have my physician sen t to you?”
    She glanced up at him sidelong, and he smiled. If Menelaus had not been glaring at them, he might have been tempted to ask her what she wished to speak with him about. But if she wanted privacy, better that he play along with her ruse.
    “I don’t think my father would permit him in the women’s quarters.”
    “Then perhaps you could come to him,” Theseus suggested, pretending innocence. The excuse should hide a short meeting without trouble. “Surely your father cannot object to that.”
    Helen raised her eyebrows with all appearance of curiosity, and he had to struggle not to laugh. “Has your physician made great strides for the treatment of headaches i n Attica?”
    “Quite so.” He hoped no one was studying him too closely, or they would see the amusement in his eyes, even if he kept it from his lips. “In fact, he has invented a powder of his own that, when mixed with water or wine, can cure any ache. A very closely kept secret. I’m afraid he would not be willing to share even a sample of the medicine with your father’s physician, for fear of the mixture being deduced. If you are to be well enough to take part in today’s festivities, you must allow him to t reat you.”
    “You are too generous, King Theseus. I will have my maid bring me to his rooms as soon as I have removed the ornaments from my hair.”
    “I imagine it will take you some time to free yourself, or does your maid make quick work of such a chore?”
    Helen started to shake her head, then stopped when the metals sounded. She pressed her lips together as if to keep herself from a curse before forcing a sheep ish smile.
    “I’ll see him before the meal is set on the table,” she said. “Would you ask him to wai t for me?”
    “Of course.” He did smile then, hoping to reassure her. But Menelaus watched them both like an eagle about to strike; she would have a difficult time getting away from the man. “I’ll see that everything is arranged. If for some reason you cannot come, send y our maid.”
    “Thank you, my lord.” She squeezed his arm, looking up into his face. Her eyes were the