Helen of Troy by Margaret George Page B

away to join his companions.
    Clytemnestra sat up, gasping and puffing. Her arms were covered in mud, and her face was smeared with river ooze.
    “I curse you!” she cried after the swan.
    “No!” I grabbed her arm. “It is dangerous. Do not—he may take revenge!” This was no ordinary swan.
    Then she uttered mysterious words. “What else can he do?” she asked bitterly. “The deed is done.” She stood up and called out over the water, “I curse you! I curse you!”
    The swans had glided away into the darkness of the shaded water.
    * * *
    The rest of the walk toward the city we made in silence, shaken from what had happened on the riverbank. For a moment I thought of returning to the palace, but once we were back it would be difficult for me to get out again—I would be guarded more closely than ever.
    Tight-lipped, Clytemnestra trudged on, holding my hand. Her cheek was dirty where it had rubbed on the riverbank. On the back of her cloak I could see the muddy imprints of the webbed feet of the aggressive swan.
    I tugged at her hand. “Please, can we slow down a bit? And could you smile? I think you will frighten the people in the city.”
    She shook her head and a little smile crept up the corners of her mouth. I could always make her smile when others could not. Then she laughed, a bit shrilly. “You are right,” she said. “We can only laugh about it. Together. No one else would believe us.” She went down on one knee and looked directly into my eyes. “You must not tell anyone.”
    “But why? It was so—” The words died on my lips as I saw her expression. “No, I won’t,” I said.
    “Good. No one must know. It must be our secret.”

    The city came upon us in a bend of the path, which had widened out and become big enough to permit carts to lumber along it. One moment we were on what looked like a country path, surrounded by meadows, grazing cattle, and gardens, and then we were passing into the city of Sparta.
    It was not a very big city, I know that now, but then it seemed huge—so many buildings, so close together, and so many people. We passed through the gates—small in comparison with those I later saw in Troy—and into the streets.
    Suddenly there were people everywhere, moving like an enormous beehive. They were rushing in all directions, as if they had all been summoned to a vital job at the same instant. I expected to hear buzzing, but the sounds were much louder than that—yelling and creaking and the crack of whips.
    A few laden donkeys were plodding along the street, bumping against the sides of houses, lumbering under wineskins or pottery jars, but mostly there were people, people carrying baskets of grain and bolts of cloth.
    “We’ll go to the market—you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Helen?” Clytemnestra asked. She stood closer to me and took me partly under her arm, as if to shield me, hide my naked face.
    Nodding, I tried to wiggle free so I could see better. But her arm held me firmly as she steered me down the street.
    We reached the marketplace, an area where several streets came together to make an open space. I could see rows of people sitting on the ground on mats, with their baskets of dried figs or mint leaves and their pots of honey and other foods.
    There was something gleaming in one deep basket, and I bent over to peer into the dark depths of it. Far down I could see some kind of trinket that caught the sunlight, and I put in my hand and drew one out.
    It was a bracelet of twisted wire, cleverly made so that part of the wire was flattened and would flash in the light.
    The seller was quick to take my hand and slide another bracelet over it, but Clytemnestra was even quicker to push it off, along with the first one. She jerked my hand back.
    “No, you mustn’t,” she whispered. “Come.” She tried to turn me around, but it was too late. The woman’s eyes had left my arm, an arm like any other prospective customer’s, and gone to my face to cajole me