Chapter 227: The Harbour Room

The harbour room smelled of salt, old rope, and lamp oil.

Helen had chosen it because no one came there after sunset.

The harbour master had been dead for three years. The room had become a place for things that had no better place to go: broken charts, spare ropes, cracked jars, and tablets no one had bothered to catalogue.

It was also close to the water.

Close enough for a message to leave Troy without passing through the palace.

Helen bent over the table and finished the last line.

Her hand was shaking.

She stopped, pressed the stylus against the clay, and tried to steady her breathing. It did not help. The mark dragged across the tablet and ruined the word beneath it.

She stared at the mistake.

Then she heard footsteps outside.

Helen looked toward the door.

The footsteps stopped.

She quickly covered the tablet with her arm.

The door opened.

Hecuba entered.

She did not announce herself. She closed the door behind her and stood with one hand resting on the latch.

Helen’s face had gone pale.

For several breaths, neither woman spoke.

Hecuba looked at the tablet.

Helen kept her arm over it.

"You have been difficult to find," Hecuba said.

Helen swallowed. "I was with the harbour clerks."

"No."

The answer was quiet.

Helen’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

Hecuba came farther into the room. She was not carrying a guard’s knife. She had no escort. Only the dark shawl around her shoulders and the tired face of a woman who had spent the day walking through a frightened city.

"You came here alone," Helen said.

"So did you."

"I needed to work."

"Then work somewhere with witnesses."

Helen looked away.

Hecuba stopped at the other side of the table.

"Move your arm."

Helen did not move.

"Please."

It was the first word she had spoken that sounded like a request.

Hecuba’s eyes rested on her face.

"Move it, Helen."

Helen’s arm remained where it was.

Hecuba reached across the table and pulled the tablet toward herself.

Helen tried to stop her.

The clay struck the edge of the table and broke.

One piece fell to the floor.

The other two remained between them.

For a moment, Helen only stared at the broken tablet.

Then she covered her mouth.

Hecuba looked down at the pieces.

The writing was small, but she could read enough.

Harbour rotation.

Grain boats.

The eastern watch.

The source.

Hecuba raised her eyes.

"Who was supposed to receive this?"

Helen shook her head.

"No."

"That is not an answer."

"Please, not here."

"There is no one here."

"You do not understand."

"I understand that you have been sending information to the Greeks."

Helen’s face crumpled.

It happened so quickly that Hecuba almost missed it. Helen turned away, pressing the heel of her hand against one eye.

"I did not send them the city."

"You sent them the harbour."

"I sent them pieces of it."

"And the grain?"

Helen’s hand dropped.

"I did not know they would attack the granary."

"You told them when the guards changed."

"I told them when the harbour was quiet."

"You told them where the food came in."

"I told them things they already knew."

"They knew the harbour existed. They did not know where to look."

Helen flinched.

Hecuba had spent the whole day telling herself that when she finally found the woman responsible, she would be calm.

She had been calm with Fylon.

She had been calm with the councillors.

She had been calm while looking at the Greek fires from the upper gallery.

But this was different.

This was the woman her son had crossed the sea for.

This was the woman who had stood in the council chamber while Paris offered his life, his name, and the safety of the city for her.

"How long?" Hecuba asked.

Helen looked at the broken tablet.

"I do not know."

"Do not say that."

"I don’t."

"How long have you been writing to them?"

Helen’s eyes filled.

She wiped them quickly, almost angrily.

"I never meant for anyone to die."

Hecuba’s breath stopped in her chest.

"That was not what I asked."

"I know."

"Then answer me."

Helen pressed both hands against the table. Her shoulders shook once.

"Since Sparta."

Hecuba stared at her.

"Since before Paris."

Helen closed her eyes.

"Yes."

The room seemed to lose all its warmth.

For a moment Hecuba saw Paris as he had been when he returned: exhausted, hopeful, standing beside a woman he loved while the city whispered that he had brought war home.

He had believed he was bringing Helen to safety.

All that time, she had still been speaking to the enemy.

"How did you do it?" Hecuba asked.

Helen opened her eyes.

"I had people in the harbour."

"Who?"

"I am not telling you."

"Names."

"No."

Hecuba struck the table with the flat of her hand.

The broken tablet jumped.

"Names."

Helen stepped back.

The tears were falling now. She did not wipe them away.

"You think I wanted this?"

"I think you wanted something more than you wanted the people who would die for it."

"That is not fair."

"No," Hecuba said. "It is not."

Helen made a small sound and turned away.

Hecuba watched her shoulders tremble.

She had expected excuses. She had expected anger. She had expected the cold, proud woman who had stood before the council and refused to let anyone see her fear.

She had not expected this.

"Look at me," Hecuba said.

Helen shook her head.

"Look at me."

"I can’t."

"You looked at me when you asked for shelter."

"That was different."

"You looked at me when my husband said you could stay."

"I know."

"You looked at me when Paris brought you into this house."

"I know."

"Then look at me now."

Helen turned.

Her face was wet. She looked younger than Hecuba had ever seen her.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

Hecuba felt something inside her twist.

"Sorry for what?"

"For all of it."

"That is not enough."

"I know it is not enough."

"Then stop saying it."

Helen’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Hecuba looked at the tablet again.

"Why?"

Helen’s lips trembled.

"Because I was tired."

Hecuba said nothing.

"I was tired of being moved from one room to another. Tired of being told which man I belonged to. Tired of people speaking about my body as if it were a piece of land they could trade."

Her voice grew stronger, but the tears did not stop.

"My father gave me to Menelaus. Menelaus took me because he had won the right to take me. Then Agamemnon decided that my marriage could be used to bind the Greeks together. Every man I met already had a plan for my life."

She wiped her face with both hands.

"Do you know what it feels like to be surrounded by men who say they are protecting you while they decide everything for you?"

Hecuba’s anger wavered.

Not because Helen had convinced her.

Not because the years Helen had spent under the control of men made the betrayal smaller.

For a brief moment, Hecuba saw the shape of the trap Helen had lived in.

Then she remembered the granary.

The smoke.

The people who had waited for food while Greek soldiers watched the roads.

The feeling passed.

"Yes," Hecuba said. "I know what it feels like to have men make decisions and call them protection."

Helen looked at her.

Hecuba’s fingers curled around the edge of the table.

"I was married to a king. I gave birth to sons who belonged to the city before they belonged to me. I watched men decide when my husband should fight, when he should negotiate, when he should surrender."

Helen’s eyes filled again.

Hecuba’s voice remained hard.

"But I did not hand Troy to an enemy because I wanted something of my own."

Helen looked away.

"I did not hand them Troy."

"You gave them the harbour."

"I gave them information."

"You knew what they would do with it."

"I thought I could control what they knew."

"You thought you could control Agamemnon."

Helen’s face tightened.

"I thought I could keep him from attacking the city."

"You gave him its weak points."

"I gave him enough to believe he had someone inside."

"And while he was believing that, he was burning our supplies."

"I did not know he would do that."

"You knew he was building an army."

"Yes."

"You knew he intended to use it."

"Yes."

"You knew he wanted Troy on its knees."

Helen’s voice broke.

"I did not know where the first blow would fall."

Hecuba stared at her.

"That is what you told yourself?"

Helen wiped at her face.

"I told myself that if I gave him small things, he would keep talking. I told myself that if he believed I could still be useful to him, he would delay the attack. I thought delay would give us time."

"Time for what?"

"For Paris to return. For the council to decide. For the city to prepare."

"The city was preparing. My sons were preparing. The people were preparing."

"I know."

"No," Hecuba said. "You know the smoke. You do not know the people who carried the grain out of the fire."

Helen’s eyes filled.

"I never wanted anyone to die."

"Everyone says that after someone dies."

"I mean it."

"Meaning it did not stop you."

Helen pressed both hands against the table.

"I thought I could give him enough to keep him satisfied."

"Men like Agamemnon are never satisfied."

"I know that now."

"You knew it before."

Helen shook her head.

"I knew he was dangerous. I did not know what it would feel like to become part of what he was doing."

"That is the first honest thing you have said tonight."

Helen’s face crumpled.

She bent forward, one hand covering her mouth as the sobs finally came. They were quiet at first, then stronger. She tried to hold them back, but there was nowhere left for them to go.

Hecuba did not move toward her.

She did not touch her.

She let Helen cry because tears were not an answer, and because refusing to let her cry would have been another way of making the conversation about control.

After a while, Helen lowered her hand.

"I thought I could keep both possibilities alive," she said. "Paris could take me away. Agamemnon could give me a place of my own. If Troy accepted me, I would burn the messages. If Troy rejected me, I would leave before the walls closed."

"You planned to leave?"

"I planned not to be trapped again."

"You let my son build his life around you while preparing an escape."

"I never asked him to bring me here."

"No. You only let him believe he was saving you."

Helen looked as if Hecuba had struck her.

"Do not make him smaller than he is."

"I am not the one who did that."

"He chose me."

"He chose what he believed you were."

Helen’s breathing became uneven.

Hecuba watched her struggle to remain standing.

"Does Paris know?"

"No."

"Will you tell him?"

Helen looked down at the broken tablet.

"I kept telling myself I would."

"When?"

"After we reached Troy. Then after the council. Then after the first attack." She swallowed. "Each time, I thought I could wait until the truth did less damage."

"There was never going to be such a time."

"I know that now."

"And if Troy had fallen?"

Helen’s eyes lowered to her hands.

"Then I would have left."

"You were going to abandon him."

"I was going to survive."

"You could have done both."

Helen looked up sharply.

"You think I had choices."

"I think you had more than one."

"Which one?" Helen asked. "Tell me. Which choice would you have made?"

Hecuba did not answer.

Helen stood, her chair scraping against the floor.

"Stay in Sparta and wait until Menelaus killed whatever was left of me? Trust Paris and hope his family did not decide I was worth less than a war? Trust your council to protect me when half of them wanted to hand me back? Or trust the one man who offered me a future that belonged to me?"

"Agamemnon did not offer you freedom."

"What did he offer?"

"A use."

Helen stared at her.

Hecuba stepped closer.

"He offered to put your name on a city so that you would help him take it from someone else."

Helen’s face collapsed again.

"I know."

The words were almost inaudible.

"I know that now."

A sound came from outside the room.

A footstep.

Helen froze.

Hecuba turned toward the door.

Another step followed.

Slow.

Measured.

Helen grabbed Hecuba’s sleeve.

"Wait."

Hecuba looked down at her hand.

"Who is it?"

Helen did not answer.

The latch moved.

Hecuba reached beneath her robe and drew her knife.

The door opened.

A man stepped out of the darkness behind them.

Hecuba turned.

The sword entered her back before she could raise the knife.

It passed between her ribs and drove upward.

Hecuba’s hand struck the wall.

Helen screamed.

The man left the sword where it was.

Hecuba remained standing for a moment, her mouth open, her eyes fixed on Helen.

Then her knees gave way.

Helen caught her and lowered her against the wall, careful not to touch the blade.

"Hecuba."

Blood ran down the sword and over Helen’s hands.

Hecuba’s eyes moved toward the man behind her.

The bronze hilt bore the lion of Mycenae.

"Who are you?" Hecuba whispered.

The man looked at Helen.

"Ask her."

Helen stared at him.

"I have never seen you before."

"No. But you know my father."

Her face went white.

"Agamemnon."

The man did not answer.

Hecuba tried to move, but the sword shifted in her chest. A small sound escaped her.

Helen pressed both hands against the wound around the blade.

"Do not move," she whispered. "Please."

Hecuba looked at her.

"You knew he was coming."

"I knew someone was coming. I did not know—"

"You did not know he would come for me?"

The man stepped closer.

"You sent the messages," he said to Helen. "My father wants you brought back."

Helen looked at the sword in Hecuba’s chest.

"This was not part of the agreement."

"Your agreement is finished."

"You said no one would be hurt."

"I said my father would give you a city."

Helen’s face twisted.

"He promised me a city. Not this."

"He promised what you needed to hear."

Hecuba’s fingers found Helen’s wrist.

"Paris," she whispered.

"I will tell him," Helen said. "I will tell him everything."

Hecuba’s grip tightened weakly.

Helen bent closer.

"What?"

Her fingers loosened.

Her eyes closed.

Helen remained beside her, one hand still pressed against the wound.

The man reached for her.

"Come."

Helen looked up at him.

"No."

"You helped my father."

"I did not agree to murder."

"You agreed to betray Troy."

"I agreed to survive."

"And now you will survive somewhere else."

He reached for her again.

Helen snatched up the broken tablet and struck him across the face.

He staggered.

She ran into the passage behind the storage shelf.

He recovered and followed.

Hecuba remained against the wall, the Mycenaean sword still buried in her chest.