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Menelaus would often go to war with his elder brother, who'd call upon Sparta's excellent armies to join him in his campaigns. I hated Menelaus, but I hated Agamemnon even more. Perhaps it was because- to a certain degree- I could control Menelaus. Agamemnon could be controlled by no one; his greed consumed all other emotions.

Whenever Menelaus would leave I would have that sweet taste of freedom. It would last for a few weeks or even- if I was lucky- a whole two months. That was the longest he ever stayed away from me. But no matter the amount of time, I lived for every second of it. I would awake from my trance-like state and actually enjoy life. Polydora once said that that was the only time she ever saw me smile.

But his return was always the same. After forcing himself on me he would describe his "valor" in battle, all the goriest details of it. I had no desire to hear it, but it made no difference to him. The more that knew of his feats the better, for he received no glory when compared to his brother.

It secretly bothered him, though he never spoke it. I had ample opportunity to observe the two of them together, and while Menelaus accepted the fact that he'd never outshine Agamemnon, he still regretted it every so often. But his love for fighting and slaughter would bring him back again and again and again.

I remember one of his returns very clearly. It took place in the fourth year of our marriage, and they'd just won a great victory over another Greek city. Menelaus had thrown a celebration in honor of his valor. It had taken a full week to prepare, but when it took place a full nine days after his return, it was magnificent.

The officials dined at the palace that night, and the hall was vibrant with shouts of encouragement and jesting. I attended, sitting a little ways behind Menelaus, off to the side. I was the only woman there, for it is not our custom for husbands to invite their wives out. Women stay in the home, silent and hardworking, making sure the household runs smoothly. Since I was hostess, however, society demanded that I be present, though I'd had no hand in this feast dedicated to slaughter.

When the men were done feasting I started to leave the room, as usual, for Polydora would soon lead the women out to dance. Menelaus stopped me, his eyes bright with the wine.

"Helen, stay with me," he slurred, his eyes unfocused.

"I would be better if I were not here," I said, softly but firmly. Most of the other men were drunk, but the few that weren't were looking at us embarrassed. It was expected for Menelaus to have entertainment, they would not fault him for that, but it went against the strict codes to flaunt them in your wife's face.

"None of them can compare to you," he said laughing. Turning to the other men he said loudly, "Not the best of them, mind you, but no other can outshine this body." His hand snaked around my waist but I had had enough. Everyone's eyes were on me, some embarrassed and some lustful, and I could feel tears stinging my eyes. My face was red and I forcefully pushed Menelaus away and stood up quickly, well out of reach before his befuddled brain could think to recapture me. I strode off quickly, away from the feast area and my room. I went instead to the gardens where I hoped Menelaus would not find me.

The gods were not with me that night, for a few minutes later he strode out angrily.

"You are unaccompanied," he spat out. Fire blazed in his eyes.

"My handmaidens are all being used for other purposes," I snapped back, not caring for his anger. "I have no one to accompany me."

In two short strides he was upon me, yanking me up by my shoulders and raising his hand.

The hard slap that followed left me dazed for a moment, but his voice quickly called me back to my surroundings. "You humiliated me."

"You have our roles reversed; I was the one who was humiliated," I spat back.

"When you refused my wishes, in front of everyone?!" he roared.

"When you flaunted your affairs in my face and talk about me as though I was your slave girl!" I screamed back. "Much as I hate it, I am your wife and you will treat me as such. One of the privileges of carrying the title of queen permits me to not be humiliated in front of your officials! If you wish to discuss a woman, then make it one of your many mistresses but you shall not treat me that way."

He put his face close to mine, his hand behind my head hindering all efforts to pull away. "I shall treat you any way I please and you will submit," he said maliciously. His voice was dangerously low. "I have never treated you as a slave girl, but since you operate under such assumptions I'll prove you wrong. This is how I would treat a slave girl." His hand grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me with him. I recognized where we were going- I had traveled that hated path too many times- but always as his wife, never as a slave girl.

For the first time in my life, I was truly afraid.

He threw me into his room and spun around, quickly locking the door. I took advantage of my moment of freedom to grab at any weapon I could find. There was nothing in reach.

He turned back around and stood there a moment. That moment seemed to last both a second and a lifetime, all in the same moment. I could see the drunkenness on his face, the fierce rage that was released due to the excess of wine, the strength of his body. I stood there, stone still, as a rabbit looks when caught in a snake's deadly gaze.

Then the snake moved in for the kill.

A stinging pain erupted on the side of my face, and I realized he'd struck me again. The impact sent me flying onto the bed and I tried to leap to my feet. He was on me in a moment, his hands pinning my flailing ones with such ease as I'd never seen. He kissed me, hard and forcefully and I tried to pull away but to no avail. I was soundly trapped with no way of moving. But still I struggled. His rough hands ripped off my fine robes and tore at me with such a lust I'd never experienced. The pain was excruciating and I cried out for help. "Who is there to come?" he mockingly asked.

It seemed like a lifetime before he finally stopped, climbing to his feet and putting on his clothes again. I didn't move, I couldn't move. He spoke no words to me but strode to the door an unlocked it. Just before he left he spoke.

"That is how I treat a slave girl," he said, and laughed. The door clicked behind him and I slowly sat up.

I was covered in blood.

The sheets around me were covered as well and I slowly started to cry. It was a pitiful, longing cry and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop my shivering. I longed for a mother at that moment, or even my sister. But such wishes were for a child, I was an adult and I knew no one would come for me. I was alone.

I bit my lip to stop my tears and I slowly climbed from the bed, feeling the pain shoot through my body at that small movement. I put on my dress and slowly made my way back to my room, walking stiffly. There was an alternate staircase, so I had no need to pass through the hall again, for which I was grateful.

Once in my room I methodically dressed my wound and put on a clean dress, tossing the other into the fire pit. I lay down to sleep, trying to put my experience behind me.

Time passed, and neither I or Menelaus ever spoke of it. He contented himself with other girls and did not call for me for a few weeks. But by that time, I had realized something and confirmed it.

I was with child.