The Abduction

"If you breathe a word, I will gut you here. Don't think I won't do it, girl," Theseus snarled into the ear of Helen. "Move. Do not fidget." He looked cautiously around as the people of Amyclees worked, bartered, and moved in monotony under the heat of the sun-drenched wharf. Ahead of him, Pirithous slinked through the crowd, directing their path. Helen's movements grew labored as they continued the laborious trek. They had circled the palisades and citadels multiple times in the event that her absence would rouse the city's alerts. But, no panic had ensued. To remain in the favor of cautiousness, Pirithous advised Theseus to keep the girl within the perimeters of the city for a reasonable period of time before the winds would spur them back to Athens. If they were caught, they could easily abandon the feat and leave her to the city.

Helen winced softly as she stumbled on the rocky trail, pushing Theseus' dagger point further into the delicate flesh under her ribs. The weapon was hidden under his blue cloak, which also hid her naked body. The hood of the cloak completely masked her face, leaving her helpless as no Spartan citizen could see their princess within the clutches of two, lecherous men. She hoped Castor had enough sense to search for his sister; she hoped her brother's stubborn, manic state of mind would clear just this once to at least sound the alarm at her absence. The Athenians found her as she was resting on the slopes by the Old Forest's waterfalls. Castor had challenged her to the swim race. She did not want to do it, but she loved her brother. He had never considered her his true sister and he never missed an opportunity to humiliate her at every turn; this specific opportunity was a race down the current of the Old River, by the cliffs of the forests. As always, Helen had obliged. She never missed an opportunity to attempt to gain the favor of her older brother. The race started and ended abruptly for her. A swift kick to the nose, from her brother's paddling feet ahead of her, stole her breath, leaving her disheveled and her face bloody. As she waded back to the shoreline, she could hear her brother's roaring laughter as the current took him further south. Her tears mingled with the blood pouring from her nose as she sat on the soft, padded soil, alone with the songs of the forest animals.

Unbeknownst to her, Theseus, King of Athens, kept his eyes firmly on her, from behind a large Hickory. He stooped down, so to not rouse her suspicion. He had been watching her as Pirithous scoped the land for any of King Tyndareus' guards. He had seen Prince Castor's uncouth behavior towards his sister, and his heart melted for the beautiful girl. He waited as she wiped the blood from her face with her discarded dress and washed herself. Vaguely, he hoped the kick had not moved her nose out of place. He came to Sparta for a goddess, and he would not leave with a marred one.

"No soldiers, "Pirithous breathed as he crouched down by Theseus. "The prince is long swallowed by the stream. He won't hear her cries."

"Good," Theseus nodded towards his old friend, his forehead crinkling in anxiety, "are you ready?"

"Kiss your new wife for me," Pirithous grinned, a brown-toothed snarl, as the two men made their way stealthily down the slopes, past the shrubs, and set themselves upon the naked, sleeping form of young, Princess Helen of Sparta.

The sun crested above the horizon of the Aegean as the cool, Mediterranean breeze stirred the yellow grass of the field. Young Hector unconsciously pulled the weeds from their roots as his eyes watched Perses feast on the shrubs. He glanced behind him at the great figure of his Troy, his home. As the sun made her full emergence, the tan stone of Troy's giant edifices shimmered like spun gold, physically blessed by the rays of Apollo. 'Never was there a city like fair Troy,' his father had said. Never was there a time that he didn't wish he could gouge his own ears out every time he heard that monotonous utterance. Troy was mother to them all. He laughed inwardly as he contemplated the scores of lives lost to this infallible mother. He laughed at the wars orchestrated by old men, reclined on soft feathers with wine and honey wet on their lips. Yes, glorious Troy! He sighed as he looked back to his stallion. His love of Troy was a love to the bone, a love to the core of the poorest hearts. It was not a love fed with blood and lives; Troy was not his mother, spun of gold.

"My prince Hector, come. The heat is unbearable." He turned to Elpis, the widow of Ioannes. Her beautiful smile quickened his rise. He loomed over her as he took the weight of the fruit basket from her hands. Her hand rose to caress his cheek and the heat from the touch reddened his cheek. He smiled shyly as her lips moved seductively into a lazy smile.

"There was no trouble?" he asked softly.

"No. No cause for alarm. Come," she said, taking his hand and leading him to the rustic village, "to wine, fruit, and shade."

Elpis was his lover. She was his secret among the remote villages of Hellespont. Ten years his senior, she singlehandedly opened his eyes of youth to the joys and promises of the sensual world that he was too principled to seek out in the alley houses of his city. His life was encumbered with all of the strain and tension of being a soldier in the Trojan army and an advisor and student in the Royal Fora and various war consortiums. Most of all, he was the son of Priam. He was the heir to the greatest city on the shores of the Eastern Aegean. Elpis was his only escape, his freest enjoyment.

His father knew nothing of her and it would remain so. He would not have the grandeur of Priam watching over her.

They entered her quaint compound together and, by a chipped wall of the stucco home under a thatch shade, he could see her two, young sons deep in afternoon sleep. Elpis' old dogs lay by the children, in lazy rest. As she checked on the boys, Hector entered the home to set down the fruits. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the ruffled sheets of the mat bearing the evidence of the night before. Elpis' torn dress sat unceremoniously on a stool at the opposite side of the room. He chuckled quietly as he remembered her anger when he split the dress. It was her favorite, she had told him afterwards. Ah, well. He would get her another.

He felt more at home here than in the cold, open halls of his father's golden palace. If only…

"What are you thinking about now?" he heard behind him.

"That is a very bad habit, Elpis," he said, turning around to her giggling. His face fell serious as he regarded her laughing form bathed in the afternoon light. "Who else would I think about?" he stated softly.

"Nobody," she said.

By her, there sat a wooden cup of wine which she promptly downed. She unpinned her hair and the brown cascade fell past her hips. Hector crossed his arms as she smiled teasingly at him. Her dress was off next. As she poured out more of the wine, Hector's eyes moved over her breasts, stomach, and hips, striped with the lines of motherhood. She approached him, thick lust clouding her eyes.

"You promised me wine," he stated, stopping her before she could kiss him.

She was momentarily caught, but held her composure. She dipped her finger into the cup of wine and traced it over his lips.

"Wine…" she said and she kissed him deeply.

"Fruit?" he asked, breaking the kiss to see her face amusingly contort in annoyance.

Behind him, she picked up a red plum and bit into it, the juices smearing over her lips.

"Fruit…" she said, kissing him again.

Now, she broke their kiss, "You have already attained shade-" Before, she could finish her thought, Hector's arms tightened painfully around her waist, pulling her deeper into the kiss and into his uncontrollable passion.

Helen's stomach grew queasy as the ebbing of the ship grew worse. She did not know how long she had been sailing, since she remained in and out of consciousness. Her thirst was immense. They had left her in the hull of the ship, her hands tied and her feet tied.

Before they returned to the deck, she had seen their faces.

"I am Theseus, King of Athens," he pointed to his comrade, "This is Pirithous, King of the Lapiths."

She remained silent.

"Does she not speak?" Pirithous muttered under his breath.

"Do you hear me, Helen?" Theseus said, his hands caressing her silken golden hair. "Helen?"

"Return me back to my father and I might allow him to send your remains back to Athens."

The two men cracked in wheezing laughter. Helen winced as the ropes binding her arms tore into her skin. Yet, she maintained her façade.

"Tyndareus…Tyndareus is not your father, sweet Helen," Theseus broke in laughter. "You have no father under the skies of Olympus."

"Release me."

"There is no place to release you now, Helen. Unless you wish to meet your uncle in the depths of the water."

There was a long pause as the hold grew quiet and the air became crackingly still. Theseus' eyes darkened as he regarded the golden girl. "You will return to Athens and you will be my wife. You will give me sons and daughters and you will love them. And I dare the gods to ever deny me the stars again."

He shot out from the stool and his lips collided with hers. His teeth bit into her lips as Helen moaned in pain. His hand grotesquely crushed her cheeks. Then, they left her. She did not know which claimed her first, the hunger or the thirst.

In truth, she knew it was the heartbreak.

Thanks so much for reading! This is going to be a bit experimental as I gauge how readers feel about a story like this. Thank you, Danglingfeet,
for your amazing comment!