It was early evening when the two girls returned back to the palace.
"Where have you been!" Snapped Alisa upon seeing them. "We don't have much time to get you two ready for the banquet."
Clytemnestra immediately turned pale, knowing exactly what the banquet was for, but Helen grinned: banquets meant she got to dress up.
Clucking under her tongue, Alisa, and Clytemnestra's nurse Cassia bathed the girls in rose-scented water. The girls were both clothed in simple, yet elegant gowns made from fine Egyptian silk. Helen's was blue to match the hue of her eyes, and Clytemnestra wore one of deep purple, to emphasize her royal status.
With a practiced hand, Cassia twisted Clytemnestra's hair up into braided knot, allowing several curls to hang lose. But as she was younger, Helen wore her hair unbound.
Along with their attendants, the girls made their way to the state banquet hall. It was a large room, decorated with frescoes depicting Sparta's many conquests, and in honor of the room's purpose, the revels of Dionysius and his fair dryads.
Leda and Tyndarecus were positioned at couches at the head of the table, and beside them, in the places of honor, were two men. One, however shone with a Godly radiance, and his muscled, athletic body drew the attention of every female in the room. He was Achilles. The other was a less impressive, stockier man with a stern impression plastered over his weathered face. While his body was just as toned, it was not as beautiful to look upon as that of Achilles. This was the famed Agamemnon, King of Mycenae.
It was next to him that Clytemnestra was seated, to her obvious consternation. Helen watched the young men with childlike fascination, and was startled when she felt both their eyes fixate upon her. She felt herself blush, and she expressed a small smile, not made up of pride, but embarrassment.
"And who is this?" Agamemnon enquired, eyes rooted to Helen.
"That," Said Tyndarecus with a cough, "Is my youngest daughter, Helen."
"How old is she?" Was the next question.
"Twelve years of age," Leda said protectively, eyes darting between Agamemnon, Achilles, and her daughter. Much as she disliked the attention Helen received from the older men, she could tell it would be something she would have to become used to. It was well known the emphasis men placed on beauty, and Helen possessed more than her fair share.
"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever see," Achilles commented, almost dreamily as he gestured towards Helen.
Out of the corner of her eye, Helen noticed Clytemnestra's jaw stiffen.
But Helen smiled. Distractedly she pushed a stray blonde curl behind her ear.
"Yes," Tyndarecus said stiffly, I have been blessed with two beautiful daughters."
"Helen," Agamemnon said, addressing her, "You are destined to be something special. The Gods have marked you out with the gift of beauty."
"Thank you," Helen murmured, not quite sure what to say.
An awkward silence descended upon the table, broken only by Leda's traditional comments of weather, and the Clytemnestra's suitors one word comments.
Never once that evening, did the eyes of the two men leave her, and as soon as possible, Helen escaped from the table.
Not long afterwards, Clytemnestra joined her sister in their chamber, though Helen soon wished she hadn't.
"Which one did you prefer?" Helen asked innocently from where she lounged upon her bed.
Clytemnestra did not say anything; she merely stared at her sister, with eyes in which a host of emotions fought for dominance. "I did not care for either," She said finally in an unnaturally controlled voice.
"Why?" Helen asked with a yawn.
Clytemnestra stared at her sister, slowly shaking her head in disbelief, "How can you not know?"
Helen shrugged and rolled over on her side so she was facing her sister.
"Did you not see where their attentions lay?" Her voice was rising, with every word, and her face grew redder and redder.
"They said I was beautiful," Helen said with a shrug.
"They did not pay any attention to me at you. Can you even see what I was forced to go thought tonight? Agamemnon and Achilles- my suitors, could not take their eyes off you! You and your stupid beauty will rob me of what is rightfully mine! And all you can do is shrug and give me one of your innocent looks!"
Helen stared at her sister, unsure what to do. Never before had she seen her sister so riled up. "I'm sorry," She ventured.
"You're not sorry!" Clytemnestra snapped, "You smiled at them shamelessly. Oh- that way you use your beauty to your advantage!" She threw herself on her bed, not bothering to change, but yanked out the jeweled pins that held up her hair.
"I did not choose my looks," Helen said softly.
"No, but you like them too much! I see the way you look in the mirror all the time, brushing your hair, trying on different rouges and powders! And the way you smile when complimented... It's disgusting. You're in love with yourself!"
"I am not," Helen snapped. She was angry now, these accusations had hit close to home, and as was instinct, she denied them. "I pay no less attention to my appearance that you do yours!" But this was not strictly true. Clytemnestra hardly ever bothered with her appearance. She submitted to her attendants when necessary, but bothered with her looks no more than was necessary.
"You narcissistic little thing!" Snarled Clytemnestra. "Like Narcissus, your beauty will be your downfall."
Helen sneered at her sister, but did not reply. She knew she could not battle with her sister while she was in this mood.
The fires were thicker that night, searing her skin; and she never stopped running. She could hear the steps of pursuers, felt their hands on her dress. And there was a hole inside of her. A dark, gaping whole that pained her beyond expression. And always that sooty, leering face was there, restraining her....
"Where have you been!" Snapped Alisa upon seeing them. "We don't have much time to get you two ready for the banquet."
Clytemnestra immediately turned pale, knowing exactly what the banquet was for, but Helen grinned: banquets meant she got to dress up.
Clucking under her tongue, Alisa, and Clytemnestra's nurse Cassia bathed the girls in rose-scented water. The girls were both clothed in simple, yet elegant gowns made from fine Egyptian silk. Helen's was blue to match the hue of her eyes, and Clytemnestra wore one of deep purple, to emphasize her royal status.
With a practiced hand, Cassia twisted Clytemnestra's hair up into braided knot, allowing several curls to hang lose. But as she was younger, Helen wore her hair unbound.
Along with their attendants, the girls made their way to the state banquet hall. It was a large room, decorated with frescoes depicting Sparta's many conquests, and in honor of the room's purpose, the revels of Dionysius and his fair dryads.
Leda and Tyndarecus were positioned at couches at the head of the table, and beside them, in the places of honor, were two men. One, however shone with a Godly radiance, and his muscled, athletic body drew the attention of every female in the room. He was Achilles. The other was a less impressive, stockier man with a stern impression plastered over his weathered face. While his body was just as toned, it was not as beautiful to look upon as that of Achilles. This was the famed Agamemnon, King of Mycenae.
It was next to him that Clytemnestra was seated, to her obvious consternation. Helen watched the young men with childlike fascination, and was startled when she felt both their eyes fixate upon her. She felt herself blush, and she expressed a small smile, not made up of pride, but embarrassment.
"And who is this?" Agamemnon enquired, eyes rooted to Helen.
"That," Said Tyndarecus with a cough, "Is my youngest daughter, Helen."
"How old is she?" Was the next question.
"Twelve years of age," Leda said protectively, eyes darting between Agamemnon, Achilles, and her daughter. Much as she disliked the attention Helen received from the older men, she could tell it would be something she would have to become used to. It was well known the emphasis men placed on beauty, and Helen possessed more than her fair share.
"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever see," Achilles commented, almost dreamily as he gestured towards Helen.
Out of the corner of her eye, Helen noticed Clytemnestra's jaw stiffen.
But Helen smiled. Distractedly she pushed a stray blonde curl behind her ear.
"Yes," Tyndarecus said stiffly, I have been blessed with two beautiful daughters."
"Helen," Agamemnon said, addressing her, "You are destined to be something special. The Gods have marked you out with the gift of beauty."
"Thank you," Helen murmured, not quite sure what to say.
An awkward silence descended upon the table, broken only by Leda's traditional comments of weather, and the Clytemnestra's suitors one word comments.
Never once that evening, did the eyes of the two men leave her, and as soon as possible, Helen escaped from the table.
Not long afterwards, Clytemnestra joined her sister in their chamber, though Helen soon wished she hadn't.
"Which one did you prefer?" Helen asked innocently from where she lounged upon her bed.
Clytemnestra did not say anything; she merely stared at her sister, with eyes in which a host of emotions fought for dominance. "I did not care for either," She said finally in an unnaturally controlled voice.
"Why?" Helen asked with a yawn.
Clytemnestra stared at her sister, slowly shaking her head in disbelief, "How can you not know?"
Helen shrugged and rolled over on her side so she was facing her sister.
"Did you not see where their attentions lay?" Her voice was rising, with every word, and her face grew redder and redder.
"They said I was beautiful," Helen said with a shrug.
"They did not pay any attention to me at you. Can you even see what I was forced to go thought tonight? Agamemnon and Achilles- my suitors, could not take their eyes off you! You and your stupid beauty will rob me of what is rightfully mine! And all you can do is shrug and give me one of your innocent looks!"
Helen stared at her sister, unsure what to do. Never before had she seen her sister so riled up. "I'm sorry," She ventured.
"You're not sorry!" Clytemnestra snapped, "You smiled at them shamelessly. Oh- that way you use your beauty to your advantage!" She threw herself on her bed, not bothering to change, but yanked out the jeweled pins that held up her hair.
"I did not choose my looks," Helen said softly.
"No, but you like them too much! I see the way you look in the mirror all the time, brushing your hair, trying on different rouges and powders! And the way you smile when complimented... It's disgusting. You're in love with yourself!"
"I am not," Helen snapped. She was angry now, these accusations had hit close to home, and as was instinct, she denied them. "I pay no less attention to my appearance that you do yours!" But this was not strictly true. Clytemnestra hardly ever bothered with her appearance. She submitted to her attendants when necessary, but bothered with her looks no more than was necessary.
"You narcissistic little thing!" Snarled Clytemnestra. "Like Narcissus, your beauty will be your downfall."
Helen sneered at her sister, but did not reply. She knew she could not battle with her sister while she was in this mood.
The fires were thicker that night, searing her skin; and she never stopped running. She could hear the steps of pursuers, felt their hands on her dress. And there was a hole inside of her. A dark, gaping whole that pained her beyond expression. And always that sooty, leering face was there, restraining her....