Young Lovers
The night was cool and moonlight sparkled down onto the courtyard where people gorged themselves on delicious foods and wine brought by the beautifully dressed slave girls and listened to the soft sounds flowing from the flutes and lyres of the musicians. The luxurious scents of sweet fruits, meats and heavy perfumes hung thick in the air. At the head table, King Menelaus of Sparta sat and toasted his guest, Paris, the young and hansom Prince of Troy. There was a drunken applause and Paris heartily thanked his host, grinning profusely.
Along side Menelaus, dressed in a stunning golden linen gown and gazing absently down upon her plate of untouched food, sat the most beautiful woman in the world, Queen Helen of Sparta. She possessed immaculate golden curls down to her waist, framing her creamy, pixie face and sorrowful, cornflower blue eyes holding a wisdom far beyond her years. Her beauty was so astonishing and well known that her father, Tyndareus, made all potential suitors of Helen to swear an oath to protect the chosen bridegroom against any wrong done to him in respect to the marriage. They all agreed, otherwise they could not be legible to wed the beautiful Helen and Menelaus was chosen; Helen was thirteen and half the age of her husband, a loud, powerfully built, bearded man.
As the night progressed and the food was consumed, the plates were cleared to make room for more wine and the music quickened, signalling the beautiful, female dancers to begin weaving their way in and around the guests, swinging their hips and sending the trinkets embroidered into their skirts tingling. The courtyard filled with laughter and joy and discussion of trades and women began between the many men; it was now that Helen seized her chance to escape and snuck away from her occupied husband and made her way down into the colourful, sweet smelling gardens.
She hurried across the lush grass towards her favourite and most secluded area of the glorious vegetation and seated herself on a skilfully crafted oak bench, where she buried her face in her hands. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the approaching foot steps. Feeling a gentle hand rest itself on her dainty shoulder, the Spartan Queen raised her eyes suddenly and found herself gazing into the concerned face belonging to Paris.
Helen opened her mouth to speak but no words escaped and she turned away from him with a sigh, her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around herself. Slowly, Paris came to sit next to her, never once taking his eyes off her beautiful but miserable face. "Will you look at me?" He asked, pleadingly.
Gradually, Helen turned to face the young Prince, biting her lip with tears glistening in her eyes. Paris became distressed at the sight before him and raised a finger to Helen's face, gently brushing her tears away, whispering, "Please don't cry."
At this, the tears in Helen's eyes began falling like the monsoon rains. She sniffed and sobbed, struggling to find her voice, spitting out, "Why shouldn't I cry? What have I to be happy about? Tomorrow you leave for Troy and I may never see you again and though I know it's what must be, I can't bear to be without you!" She collapsed into Paris' arms, saturating his navy robe with her tears.
Paris felt his heart aching in his chest at the sight of his depressed love and knowing there was nothing he could do to console her. All he could do was embrace her for what could be the last time, burying his face into her soft, perfumed curls and resisting, with great effort, the urge to weep along with her. But what would weeping achieve? Nothing! In the morning, he would still be setting sail across the miles of Aegean Sea, back to his home, the golden walled city of Troy.
Placing his hands upon her upper arms, Paris lifted the sobbing back into a sitting position and pressed his lips gently against hers, but Helen pushed him away with the remaining strength she had, whispering, "No, no…" and shaking her head. Taking a deep breath, the young Queen tried to regain herself, wiping her eyes clear of salty water and running her hands through her damp hair, forcing it out of her face. The wind gently blew, chilling her moist skin, filling her lungs and calming her with its soothing embrace.
Paris watched her patiently, holding each of her hands in his, stroking them gently. Quickly he glanced back towards the courtyard where it was doubtful anyone had even noticed their absence. Not even Menelaus, who Paris had last seen with one of the slave girls perched upon his knee and a tall glass of wine in his hand. He couldn't believe how Helen's husband could treat her with so little respect and love; she was a prize to him, a trophy to parade around in front of everyone. Helen's feelings were of no matter to him.
"Come away with me!" Paris blurted it out without much thought at all.
Helen was shocked at first by the suggestion but then shook her head regretfully. "I can't," she told him, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Still, Paris persisted. "Come back with me to Troy and we can be together."
"Oh Paris," Helen began, cupping his face with both hands, "I would love to, but Menelaus…he would never allow me to go. He would hunt me to the ends of the earth. He would kill us both…we'd never be safe."
"My father will protect us. The walls of Troy cannot fall; we will be safe there!" Paris begged and begged with his brown eyes wide and pleading. "Please Helen, you said you couldn't bear to be without me…well, I cannot bear to be without you and who cares what consequences arise as long as we can be together."
Helen smiled sadly. "You are so very young at heart," she said, "and it is a lovely idea but it's impossible. Menelaus would go to his brother Agamemnon and he's been waiting for an excuse to war with Troy for years; you know this!" She sighed, brushing back Paris' thick, black curls. "If only we could…" She smiled sadly and went to stand up but Paris grabbed a hold of her arm at the elbow and stared up into her sparkling, blue eyes, never wanting to let go.
"I love you, Helen…" He began, gripping her tighter. "I need you! Come with me…please?"
Helen stared down into Paris' wide eyes, so filled with bitter fear at the thought of losing his love. She felt it flow into her, taking control and ridding her of all self control. She loved Paris, more than she thought she could ever love anyone. It was true that she hated her life with Menelaus and she had always wanted to leave, but where would she have gone? Now she was being offered a new home, with Paris, and although she knew the terrible consequences leaving would give rise to, she felt powerless against the love within her, passionately ordering her to abandon all reason and logic and follow her heart.
Slowly and shakily, Helen nodded. "Alright…" she said, knowing she would later regret it. But if she stayed, she would regret not leaving and would be forever left with the sorrow of being parted with Paris, which threatened to be unbearable. "Alright, I'll come…" She took his hands and smiled as only he could make her.