Read Online Beauty's Daughter: The Story of Hermione and Helen of Troy by Carolyn Meyer - Free Book Online Page B

would play out. “I should have you put ashore,” she said thoughtfully. “Let somebody else worry about you.”
    “I beg you not to put me ashore!” I implored. “I must go to Troy!”
    The old woman’s expression softened. “All right,” she said. “But don’t be a bother, do you hear? You’ll have to look after yourself. I don’t have time to put up with whining children.”
    “I won’t whine,” I promised.
    “You’ll be expected to help however you’re needed.”
    “I will,” I said, though I had no idea what sort of help would be expected of me. I had no knowledge of any kind of duties. I’d always had my own servants to help me dress, fasten my sandals, empty my slop jar, wash my chitons in the river, carry my sleeping fleeces out to air in the sunshine. Now I could be required to perform these chores for others.
    While we talked, there was shouting out on deck, and I felt the movement of the ship beneath my feet. We were on our way to Troy.
     
    EVERYONE WAS IN A fine mood. Aeolus, the god of wind, puffed his cheeks and blew steadily, filling the great square sails of ships on all sides of us. The rowers kept a steady rhythm and the ship moved rapidly over the dark waters, navigating the narrow strait between the mainland and the island of Euboea. At the close of the first day our old ship pulled into a cove near the town of Styra, and the townspeople paddled out to greet the ships, bringing us food and drink. As darkness fell, the crone—her name was Marpessa—led me into a cramped, rank-smelling space behind racks of amphoras, two-handled clay jars holding supplies of oil, wine, and grain and bound together with rope.
    “We’ll sleep here,” Marpessa told me. “The men don’t bother me—it’s been many years since they have—and they won’t bother you as long as you’re here with me.”
    I understood, and I was grateful. I slept curled in a rough woolen robe with no soft fleece beneath me, my head on my lumpy leather sack. It was not at all comfortable, and the old crone snored loudly, but I was too tired, too drained from the excitement of the day, to care.
    We sailed around the southern tip of Euboea the next day and started up the eastern coast of Greece. Soon, we were told, we would turn away from the safety of the shoreline and begin the long voyage across the Chief Sea. Many had lost their way here, wandering aimlessly from one small island to the next, until they reached their destination or were lost forever. I thought of Zethus and wondered if he’d found his way home.
    While we were camped on a beach at sunset, a strange ship was sighted, heading directly toward our fleet. No one recognized it. The anchor stone was let down, and a small boat brought a single passenger to shore. It didn’t take long for the rumors to reach us: the beautiful young man who leaped gracefully from the boat and walked confidently toward Father’s ship had been identified. He was Corythus, son of Oenone and Paris, born before Paris abandoned Oenone for my mother. Insanely jealous of Queen Helen, Oenone had decided to betray the Trojans and had sent her son to guide the Greek ships to Troy. Menelaus accepted the offer. Oenone would have her revenge.
    The long journey began, with Corythus’s ship leading the way. When the winds dropped, the rowers took up their oars, and the swift black ships flew on. There were stops on the islands of Skyros and Lemnos and Imbros to replenish supplies of fresh water. We were now very close to Troy, but we would make one more island stop, this one on Tenedos. A lookout at the top of the mast shouted that he could see the great city of Troy in the distance.
    The ships were beached, the women’s ship at a discreet distance from Father’s and those belonging to the leaders of the mission. When darkness fell, the old crone marked the location of our battered vessel with a torch, and the men found their way to the concubines who had come on this voyage to serve