Read Online The Gates Of Troy by Glyn Iliffe - Free Book Online Page B

those of the Trojan prince and she felt something slipping within her, as if the props that held up her unhappy world were all collapsing at once. Was it because of her snap argument with Menelaus? Or was it because she had felt stifled by his jealous love for ten years and suddenly yearned for release? Was it because she had always wanted to escape Sparta, her prison since childhood, but marriage and motherhood had made her forget that? Or was it simply because there was something in the eyes of the scarred warrior on the other side of the flames that had reached into her heart and promised to set her free?
    She did not know. All she did know was that she wanted this strange foreign prince like she had never wanted any man before, and that he wanted her too. Not only had she read it in his eyes, but since that evening the maids who took the Trojans their food and fresh clothing every day had told her how he would question them about her. Though his interest seemed innocent at first – polite enquiries about the wife of the king – they quickly sensed the urgency of a man in love, too clumsy to hide his feelings. And now, though Menelaus had done everything in his power to keep her out of the Trojan’s sight, he had found his way into the women’s quarters and was watching her in her private garden. She felt the nervousness rising in her stomach at his sudden closeness, but knew at once what she had to do.

    Hurriedly retracing his way to a flight of stairs he had passed a little earlier, Paris bounded down the stone steps three at a time and turned immediately right in the direction of the great hall.
    ‘What’s your hurry, Trojan?’ said a voice from the shadows of a side passage, startling him.
    Paris turned and saw Helen.
    She stepped into the diffused half-light of the main corridor and leaned back against the wall, pressing the flats of her hands against the smooth plaster and arching her back so that her robe fell open across her breasts. The thin material of the chiton beneath revealed every detail of her flawless body, which she wantonly displayed to Paris’s gaze. Then her wilful eyes met his and did not turn away.
    ‘I saw you watching me in the garden,’ she continued, tipping her head to one side and raising her eyebrows slightly. ‘What is it you want from me, Paris, son of Priam?’
    He was tempted to say ‘everything’, but his warrior instinct warned him to take care. To rush in, to reveal his feelings and plans to her, would be to lose her respect. She was playing a game with him – probing his strengths, just as so many enemy captains had done on Troy’s northern borders. But he had defeated them all and made many his captives, and he would do the same with Helen, even though every muscle and nerve in his body was crying out to take her in his arms and reveal his feelings for her with a kiss.
    ‘I need to talk with you, my lady,’ he replied.
    ‘Then talk. There’s no one else here but you and me.’ She stood and drew the folds of her robe loosely across her chiton, before stepping forward so that her body was almost touching his. ‘What is it you want to say, my prince?’
    Paris sensed she was challenging him to touch her or step away, knowing that he wanted her but that at any moment someone could turn a corner and see them. But beneath her display of boldness – beneath her confidence in her own sexuality – he detected a flutter of uncertainty caused by his own nearness, as if she was afraid she might fail the challenge herself.
    ‘Not now,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘Not here. I must speak with you in private, where there is no risk of being overheard.’
    ‘You are asking much, Paris. Menelaus is a kind and loving husband, but his jealousy is ferocious. That is why you have not seen me since the first night you arrived here. The fact you have met me this morning is only by the slightest chance.’
    ‘Or the work of the gods,’ Paris added.
    Helen smiled. ‘Perhaps. But