Paris and Helen of Troy

By Peter W. Katsirubas

This literary novel explores the passions and motivations of the protagonists and the events of the Trojan War without the machinations of imaginary gods driving their behaviors and actions. Who were the lovers whose coupling ignited the clash of civilizations immortalized by Homer’s Iliad? What was their reality and that of the warriors and the women who were engulfed by the bloody conflict? According to myth, the war was precipitated by Aphrodite who promised Paris the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen the queen of Sparta, if he declared her winner of a beauty contest of goddesses. That fantasy did not occur nor were the actors’ puppets of invisible deities. So who sent Prince Paris across the ship-devouring Aegean Sea to Sparta and why? Did he abduct and rape Helen while King Menelaus was away or did she abscond with Paris to Troy? Did King Agamemnon of Mycenae lead an armada of unified Greeks to liberate his sister-in-law out of filial concern or for the ulterior reasons his wife Clytemnestra suspected? Why did the war that saw the lethal combats of heroes such as Achilles and Ajax and Odysseus and Hector drag on for ten years when Priam the king of Troy could have ended it by returning Helen? What roles did the Trojan women such as Hecuba and Andromache and Briseus and the self-proclaimed prophetess Cassandra play during the unending siege? What is the truth behind the conflagration of Troy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665539579

Peter W. Katsirubas

Peter W. Katsirubas is an American novelist, poet and screenwriter. Born on Guam, he has lived in Greece, Pakistan and Iran, and attended American, Catholic and Georgetown Universities in Washington D. C. He has published a book of poetry entitled Sleep (Fifteen Poems). Three novels, Santorini (with and Aegean setting) and The Idle Pursuit of Pleasure (set in 1925 Paris), Paris and Helen of Troy, as well as a children’s mythology book The Legend of King Minos are available as Kindle e-books.

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© 2021 Peter W. Katsirubas. All rights reserved.

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No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  10/14/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3958-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3957-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021919994

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover design by Darien Rich and Damien Katsirubas

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views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Book I

Book II

Book III

Book IV

Book V

Book VI

Book VII

Book VIII

Book IX

Book X

Book XI

Book XII

Book XIII

Book XIV

Book XV

Book XVI

Book XVII

Book XVIII

Book XIX

Book XX

Book XXI

Book XXII

Book XXIII

Book XXIV

Book XXV

Book XXVI

Book XXVII

Book XXVIII

Book XXIX

Book XXX

Book XXXI

Book XXXII

Book XXXIII

Book XXXIV

Book XXXV

Book XXXVI

Book XXXVII

Book XXXVIII

Book XXXIX

Book XL

Book XLI

Book XLII

Book XLIII

Book XLIV

Book XLV

Book XLVI

Book XLVII

Book XLVIII

Book XLIX

Book L

Book LI

Book LII

Book LIII

Book LIV

Book LV

Book LVI

Book LVII

Book LVIII

Book LIX

Book LX

For my Parents and Niko

Book I

ON THE FACE of it, it was a simple diplomatic mission.

Paris, the second son of Priam the King of Troy, was to negotiate a trade agreement with Menelaus the King of Sparta. Lately, the Achaean Greeks, whose trading ships had to navigate past the seaside citadel of Troy to reach the Hellespont and the Black Sea beyond, had become increasingly antagonistic toward the Trojans for extorting fees of passage. The Greeks believed that the pathless seas belonged to those who braved to bare their broad sails to its remorseless winds or dip their long oars in its eternal froth and all that was owed in payment was freely offered libations to the sea god Poseidon. The Trojans felt that it was their soldiers who beat back the invasive sorties of neighboring tribes and had a right to demand taxes in the form of fees for keeping the narrow Dardanelles straits separating Europe and Asia free of chaos.

That spring the Trojans had deterred an exploratory expedition by the Hittite King Hattusili III at a greater expense than Priam had anticipated. To replenish his treasury, he had doubled fees and that had not gone down well with the Achaeans. It precipitated several unfortunate incidents. In one, an Achaean trader from Argos and his servant had been beaten to death inside the city walls of Troy. In reciprocity, two Trojan fee collectors had been eviscerated and their bodies thrown into the Aegean. When their corpses were retrieved, their bellies were bloated with fish engorging on their entrails. Priam wanted an end to such animosities. They were bad for business.

Golden-haired Paris had a glorious youth. Females of all ages adored him. Women, even girls too young to understand their feelings, looked upon him and felt the physical desire that men experience when they gaze upon a beautiful woman. And he was a prince, and intelligent, and charismatic. He lacked his older brother Hector’s physical strength and military prowess so, while his brother accumulated a hero’s fame on the fields of battle, Paris won infamy on his wooden bed in the arms of love. He dedicated all orgasms to the goddess of love Aphrodite.

In fairness to Paris, his notorious reputation was not entirely his fault. Women shed their reticence about him and interpreted the most casual compliments or flirtations as expressions of his desire for them. Whether he enjoyed their favors or dismissed them, his reputation suffered. When he was discovered in an adulterous assignation with his maternal uncle’s youthful wife, Priam decided to act. All of Hector’s and his youngest brother Diephobus’ protestations or their mother Hecuba’s tears could not dissuade Priam. Only their sister Cassandra, who claimed to have been given the divine gift of prophesy by the sun god Apollo, sided with the king.

Paris was exiled to the slopes of Mount Ida to tend the royal goats. It was a banishment he initially resented. Over time resentment dissipated and he took pleasure in the rustic solitude and comfort in the thought of living a life of anonymity. He became a master goatherd and honed his skill as an archer keeping wolves and other predators at bay. But the greatest art he mastered was that of contemplation. Although physical loneliness was diverted by trysts with Oenone, a nymph renowned for her knowledge of the healing arts, meditation allowed him to realize that life was less complicated without women. When, after several years, Priam recalled him to Troy, he abandoned Oenone and left the mountain disheartened by his loss of freedom and contentment. He obeyed because he was a dutiful son.

Paris returned to Troy where he comported himself with reserve and discretion. Months passed without a hint of gossip. His father, proud of his reformation, invited him to political councils with the city’s elders. Mostly, Paris kept his own counsel but when he spoke his comments were well reasoned. Still, despite the passage of time, betting money in the city was on when, not if, Paris would revert to his wanton ways. Yet, he remained as constant as inconstancy.

Behaving out of fear of exile to the wilderness? Cassandra teased him one evening in their mother Hecuba’s garden.

You’re not much of a seer sister, he said. I’d go back tomorrow.

I love you brother but you’ll be the death of us all, she said and kissed him on his cheek. Remember mother’s dream before you were born, that she would give birth to a searing flame?

But she gave birth to me not fire, said Paris. Dreams are only dreams. You should give up this prophetic nonsense and marry.

Cassandra was seventeen with skin like white alabaster and light brown hair and green eyes and slimness of figure that, when absorbed in conjunction, gave an air of otherworldliness to her persona. She had suitors worthy of a princess of Troy and priestess of Apollo. The king of the Hittites wanted her for one of his sons. Priam would have been pleased with a blood alliance with his powerful Anatolia neighbor but Cassandra refused to marry. She believed that if she lost her virginity she would lose the gift of prophesy.

Then the incident with the Achaean traders occurred. When Priam resolved to diffuse the situation through diplomatic channels, his counselors advised him to appoint Hector as his ambassador. Priam rejected their advice. Sending Hector with his military reputation could be misconstrued as a threat. Paris was a judicious speaker and understood Troy’s objectives and the degree to which they could be negotiated. And Menelaus was brother to King Agamemnon of Mycenae, the most powerful Achaean kingdom, so negotiating a treaty with the Spartan king would carry the endorsement of his brother and so all the Greeks. And Menelaus was married to Helen, rumored to be the most beautiful woman in the world, although no Trojan had ever seen her, and she might look favorably on most-adored Paris and encourage her husband to accept a pact.

Paris was given explicit instructions on how to negotiate and comport himself. A trove of gifts from the treasury was selected for the Spartan royals: a spear and engraved sword and shield for Menelaus; a cedar chest with purple cloth and gold jewelry and precious stones and perfumes for Helen. A ship was outfitted. Two of Hector’s bodyguards were assigned as his brother’s retainers. When Cassandra was consulted to identify the propitious day for Paris to embark on his journey, she replied,

That day does not exist.

Book II

THE ELEMENTS SEEMED to contradict Cassandra. The dawn that Paris set sail the sea was calm with a mild westward breeze. Hector and his wife Andromache saw Paris off and she gave him an amethyst amulet for protection.

Always be conscious brother, said Hector. You’re going deep into a place from where it will be difficult to escape if matters take a bad turn.

They won’t.

Cassandra says the Spartans won’t murder you, if that’s a comfort, Hector smiled.

I’ll keep that in mind.

Paris had never been to sea and the voyage inundated his senses. He eschewed the confines of the honoree cabin and sat at the prow of the ship for hours studying the vessel slice the undulating swells of sea with the salty spray in his face. In the changing patterns of the wake that trailed the ship he sought prophetic images of how his mission would unfold. But all he could find in those patterns and the evolving formation of clouds was an image of Aphrodite that seemed to be drawing the ship toward its destination. The captain, who was a veteran of Aegean crossings, remarked that he had never experienced such a welcoming sea.

The captain set an island-hopping course across the open sea putting in at tranquil, sheltered coves in the late afternoons to spell the oarsmen and replenish the water supply and let the best swimmers dive for octopuses and mussels. The water was so clear that Paris, sitting onshore in the textured shade of contorted yew trees, could watch the divers harvest the floor of the sea. In the evening they would build a fire and cook the day’s catch in olive oil and tomatoes and oregano and garlic and salt and talk about their wives and families and loves and solicit his opinion on the seduction of women and drink the resinated wine he brought as a gift for King Menelaus but felt better imbibed by the crew. Never having had to actively seduce a woman, Paris had little to offer on the subject except to solicit Aphrodite’s assistance. On starlit nights he would lie on a beach and ponder the pinprick of lights that seemed the intersecting points of a vast spider web that punctuated the limits of mankind.

When mainland Greece was sighted, the captain steered the ship to the south into the Straits of Euripus and hugged the coastline, except when necessary to avoid the citadels of Athens in the Gulf of Phaleron and Argos and Tiryns in the Argolis Gulf. Priam insisted Paris should avoid all contact with the Achaeans before reaching Sparta to keep his mission secret and avoid any involvement by other parties. On the fifth day at sea they reached the under belly of the Peloponnese and the Gulf of Laconia and moored at Gytheon, the port settlement of Sparta.

Sparta was a two-day journey north of Gytheon overland through a terrain of precipitous mountains and treacherous ravines. Horses for transport were hired in Gytheon and a guide was assigned to Paris by the local commander. The next morning, before setting off with his retainers, Paris instructed the captain.

I don’t know how long I’ll be gone or what circumstances might transpire so be ready to put to sea as soon as I get back.

I understand, said the captain.

And keep the men out of trouble.

After we take on supplies, I’ll anchor off shore by that island.

He pointed to the small rocky island of Cranae a few hundred yards off the mainland. It was uninhabited except for goats that villagers placed there to keep them safe from predators. From there Spartan soldiers lit the first in a series of beacon fires to signal Menelaus that he could expect the arrival of the Trojan prince.

It was a slow trek in the merciless summer sun and the riders often had to dismount and lead the animals over stone-slippery paths. The guide proved to be congenial company pointing out places on mountainsides where travelers had met their deaths because of landslides or the stream where a lioness had carried off an unattended child. He stroked his graying beard and talked a lot asking questions about Troy and its customs and people and, in turn, proved an invaluable source of information. In his youth he had fought as a mercenary with Menelaus’ father Atreus in Egypt and later with the Achaean expedition that finally wrested Crete from the Minoans. He took Atreus’ side in his quarrel with his brother Thyestes over the throne of Mycenae. After Atreus was murdered by his brother, his sons Agamemnon and Menelaus went into exile until they could return and, with the help of King Tyndareus of Sparta, overthrow Thyestes the usurper and place Agamemnon on the Mycenaean throne.

And Menelaus became King of Sparta, said Paris.

By marriage to Helen, said the guide. That came later. Tyndareus had no children of his own, only two step daughters, Helen and Clytemnestra, by his queen Leda. They’re twin sisters but unlike in perfected-beauty and temperament. All the Achaean princes wanted to marry Helen and wooed her but she chose red-haired Menelaus. Not to offend the powerful Agamemnon, Tyndareus gave her sister Clytemnestra to him in marriage.

So the suitors wanted to marry Helen to become king of Sparta, Paris yawned.

No.

Why then?

She is the most beautiful woman in the world.

Paris looked doubtful.

You don’t believe me? said Praxos.

I’ve heard that rumor but there are many beautiful women and men are always arguing about who is the most beautiful. She is because of her hair or her because of her breasts, or lips or ankles. Beauty is a subjective matter.

They haven’t seen Helen, said Praxos. She’s the daughter of omnipotent Zeus.

Really, her father is the king of the gods? You believe that?

The guide looked at him as though he was looking at a fool incapable of appreciating the truth. That conversation stopped there and was not taken up again before they had built a fire and camped for the night.

Alright, Paris gave in. What is it about Helen that makes her the most beautiful woman in the world?

Passing through Sparta, King Theseus of Athens saw Helen bathing in the river with her sister and girl friends. She was twelve, hadn’t even developed breasts, and he was seventy. Once he saw her he had to have her and took her on the bank, her blood blessed by the river goddess. He said that her beauty was such that he had to experience her or his life wouldn’t have been worth living. That from the hero who single-handedly rid Attica of bandits and slew the Minotaur and had countless lovers.

Paris shook his head in bemused skepticism.

You don’t believe anything I’ve told you, said the guide.

I think you Greeks have vivid imaginations and enjoy inventing tales, said Paris, draining his cup of wine and refilling the guide’s. But I’d be careful about the stories you spread about your queen lest Menelaus find out and kill you. I would if she was my wife.

Stories, but aren’t they why you’re here, to see Helen for yourself?

I’m here on my father’s business, said Paris. What’s Menelaus like?

What can I tell you? He’s a fearless warrior and looks like a king. You’ll find out tomorrow.

Paris drank enough wine to stop listening and fall asleep.

The sun was filtering through the treetops by the time he awoke. His retainers had already packed the horses for the day’s journey. Most of the day was spent negotiating a gorge that the guide insisted was a shortcut that would make up for that morning’s late start. When they came out of it and crossed over a final Myrtle covered hill, he caught sight of the fertile Laconia Plain. By late afternoon they had descended to the banks of the Eurotas River.

Beyond those Cyprus trees, the guide pointed, we’ll rejoin the main road. It will take us to the bridge over the river. By evening you’ll be in Sparta.

No, said Paris. We’ll camp by the river tonight.

Priam had impressed upon Paris the importance of image.

Arrive at Sparta looking a prince of Troy not some exhausted traveler, Priam had told him. The first impression Menelaus has of you must convey your importance and the seriousness of your mission. As almost an afterthought he added, Make a friend of him if you can.

Paris decided to encamp by the river so he could bathe in the morning and prepare for the ascent into Sparta. The horses were watered and the camp set out and the guide, who knew the river well, took the retainers to a favorite fishing hole. Paris enjoyed the unexpected solitude, the trees loud with cicadas and the sound of the river. They returned at sunset with three large fish and a basket of ripe figs. They ate well and laughed about the lighter incidents of their journey and Paris allowed his companions to finish the remainder of the wine. Before the full moon approached its apex, the three were sound asleep and snoring.

Paris was unable to sleep. The proximity of his destination reinforced the significance of his mission and he could not purge that anxiety from his mind. At midnight he went down to the river where he heard the faint sounds of female voices on the opposite bank and made out the flicker of light in the distance. He thought to wake the guide and ask him what that might be but in his restless state he decided to investigate it himself. In midsummer, the river was shallow enough to wade. On the opposite bank beyond the reeds was an embankment that he cautiously peered over.

A long flat expanse of poppies spread out beyond the bank. At the far end, an ancient plane tree dominated the landscape. Beneath its boughs, at least thirty women and pubescent girls, wearing nothing but wreaths in their hair, danced in ecstasy to the music of pan pipes and lyres and cymbals and a drum. As they tired, they returned to the most charismatic among them, perhaps a priestess, to drink from a goblet she offered to renew their energy. Even with the light of the full moon and the three torches set about a flat stone from where she led the celebrants in song, the feminine images were shadowlike figures. The clearest view Paris had of the priestess was when she turned and stared directly at where he lay concealed in the brushes. He knew she couldn’t see him, but it felt as though her eyes were upon him. When several of her companions looked in his direction at where she was staring, he thought it wise to retreat to the other bank.

Paris returned to camp and slipped into his bedding.

Where’ve you been? the guide rolled over and asked.

I walked down by the river.

You shouldn’t wander off. It’s the season of the Spartan women’s secret mysteries. No man has ever witnessed them and lived. They tear their clothes off and dance until they get lost in frenzy and kill any man they discover spying on them. I should have warned you.

I’ve too much on my mind for your nonsense, said Paris, not wanting to ponder the price he might have paid for his curiosity.

Two years ago they caught a swineherd spying on them and chased him down. I saw what was left of him. They had torn the flesh from his bones with their nails and teeth, the guide sat up to mime it out, like lionesses.

Or maybe it was a lion. Go to sleep.

Book III

PARIS BATHED AND washed his long hair in the cold river stream that brought him to full consciousness. He put on the purple tunic of Trojan royalty then his sword and gold arm bands and the amulet Andromache had given him and began the last leg of the journey. Soon after they crossed the stone bridge spanning the Eurotas River, the guide pointed out Therapnes, the hill across whose flattened summit spread the palace complex of Sparta. What struck Paris was the minimal fortification of the acropolis, such a contrast to the massive defensive walls of Troy.

As they neared its environs, children and women emerged from textile and pottery shops on either side of the road to get a look at the strangers. By the time they reached the limestone-framed citadel gate, the crowd had swelled to include men and had transformed into an impromptu procession. A group of court dignitaries greeted Paris while a steward enlisted several men from the crowd to see to the horses and help transport their loads to the broad stairway leading up to the palace.

The palace was a two-story structure with a red, fire-tiled roof. The stairs ended at an open portico that led into the heart of the complex, a rectangular-shaped megaron where visitors of consequence were received and entertained. It was a large, rectangular room with its roof supported by four stone pillars. The center of the room was dominated by a raised circular hearth