King of Ithaca by Glyn Iliffe Page A

men hated each other and would not want their rivals to steal a march on them. Though they would want to come with a full retinue, they would also be keen not to waste time in getting to Sparta: each would want to stake a claim on Helen before some other suitor could work his way too deeply into Tyndareus’s favour. He imagined that within a month the cold, echoing walls of the great hall would be filled with the clamour of many mighty voices.
    He sighed again and tugged desperately at his beard. Though he admired his son-in-law, he was also frequently vexed by Agamemnon’s ability to persuade him into doing things that he did not want to do. Helen was a good age for marriage, but he had not wanted her given to another man just yet. In truth, he had hardly put his mind to the matter before now, probably because he was too happy having her about his palace. No doubt she was a moody girl and not as disciplined as a daughter should be, but Tyndareus knew he was clay in her hands. She only had to bat her long-lashed eyelids or pout her full lips and he was helpless. Hence the thought of actually losing her, now that he had milled it through his mind for a couple of days, made him very unhappy.
    If Agamemnon had not headed home at first light yesterday, to tell his brother Menelaus to make ready, Tyndareus would have confronted him on the matter. Losing his beloved daughter was one reason for concern; feeding the most ravenous appetites in Greece was entirely another. Sparta was a rich state, but he resented having to give one copper piece of its wealth for the sake of Agamemnon’s grandiose strategies. For that reason he intended to make a full inventory of everything in the palace, from each head of livestock and bushel of corn right down to the smallest clay drinking krater.
    ‘Tyndareus, are you in here?’ asked a female voice.
    ‘Yes, Leda,’ Tyndareus answered, turning to greet his wife as she entered.
    Helen was with her and together they crossed the floor to join the king. Leda was a tall and attractive woman, beautifully dressed and wearing her long black hair over her shoulders. The only sign of age, other than the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, was the two thick streaks of grey hair that sprouted from her temples. She kissed her husband and took his big hands in her slender fingers.
    ‘Are you busy?’ she asked. ‘Helen and I would like to spend some time with you before retiring.’
    Tyndareus shook his head. ‘I’ll be grateful of your company, my dear.’ He looked at Helen. ‘Why the frown, daughter?’
    ‘I’m saving my smiles for the best men in Greece,’ she told him sharply.
    ‘Then you’re still unhappy,’ he sighed. ‘How can you be sad when kings and princes from every city in the land will be coming to pay homage to you?’
    The king looked at his daughter as she stood before the hearth. As usual she was dressed in white, and with the light behind her he could clearly distinguish her naked silhouette through the gossamer material. He shook his head, silently wondering how any man could ever hope to resist her. Agamemnon might not have considered it in his great plan, but Tyndareus knew there would be bloodshed as soon as a husband was picked, if not before. All those proud warriors! Did his son-in-law really expect them to form an alliance under his leadership, when any fool could see they would be at each other’s throats within days?
    ‘Father,’ Helen said angrily, ‘you intend to parade me like a prize cow before a pack of over-preened simpletons, and expect me to be pleased at the prospect?’
    She forced a tear into each eye, which was easy to do considering the frustration she felt about the situation, and looked away from her foster-father.
    Tyndareus was a great king and a formidable fighter, and as such he knew how to read most men. But about women he knew nothing. Although the rumour was well known amongst all ranks at the palace, never once in all the years since the