Helen was sitting in her chamber, weaving a fair tapestry, on which
were wrought the famous deeds done in her cause by Greek and Trojan
heroes, when her task was interrupted by the sudden entrance of her
kinswoman, Laodice, a daughter of Priam. "Make haste, dear sister,"
said the lady, "come with me, and see the wonderful thing which has
been brought to pass. Greeks and Trojans are sitting down in amity
together, and Paris and Menelaus are to fight with long spears for the
mastery; and he that prevaileth shall call thee his wife."
When she heard that, a great longing came into the heart of Helen for
her Spartan home and her former lord. With one tearful glance at the
speaker she rose from her seat, veiled her face, and made her way to
the high tower above the gate where Priam was sitting with the elders
of Troy. The shrill, piping voices[2] of the old men struck upon her
ears as she stepped out upon the turret; and when they saw her they put
their heads together, and whispered their admiration of her wondrous
loveliness. "How fair, how very fair she is!" murmured one
white-bearded veteran. "Is she not worthy to be the arbitress of life
and death to a whole generation of heroes! Nevertheless let her
depart, and breed no further mischief to us and our children."
[2] Compared by Homer to grasshoppers.
Then Priam called to her, and beckoned her with a courteous gesture to
take her place by his side. "Come hither, dear daughter," he said,
"where thou canst see thy former husband, and thy kinsfolk and friends.
I blame thee not at all because of this war which the gods have brought
upon me in mine old age. Now tell me," he continued, pointing with his
finger towards the Greek army, which lay in full view upon the plain,
"who is that stately man to whom all the other chieftains seem to pay
homage? Ne'er saw I one of so kingly a mien."
"I dread thy presence, father," answered Helen, glancing in the
direction indicated, and then casting down her eyes. "I tremble before
thee, kind as thou art, for I feel all the wrong which I have done unto
thee and thine. And as touching him of whom thou askest, that is
Agamemnon, son of Atreus, lord of a wide empire, a righteous king, and
a valiant warrior. Once I called him brother," she added, with a sigh.
"'Tis then as I thought," rejoined Priam, "for there is sovereignty in
his look. And who is he who stands next to Agamemnon, in stature less
than he, but broader of shoulder and deeper of chest? Methinks he is
like a stately ram, who stalks majestic before the flock as they go to
pasture."
"That is Odysseus, son of Laertes," answered Helen, "bred in the rugged
isle of Ithaca. All Greece cannot show his equal in wisdom and
eloquence."
"Lady," said Antenor, an elder of high rank. "herein thou hast spoken
the very truth. I entertained him of whom thou speakest as my guest
when he came hither on an embassy with Menelaus, and I heard them both
speaking before the assembly of the Trojans. When they stood up
together Menelaus was by far the taller; but when they were seated
there was greater dignity in Odysseus. Then as to eloquence, Odysseus
bore away the palm from all--though Menelaus spoke both fluently and to
the purpose. At first, when Odysseus rose to speak, we wondered to see
how ungracefully he stood, leaning heavily on his sceptre, with eyes
fixed upon the ground. He seemed a very churl, unskilled in all
courtesy and the arts of civil life. But when he lifted up his mighty
voice, and his words floated about us like the snowflakes of winter, we
knew that we were listening to a divinely gifted man."
At Priam's request Helen named the other chieftains of the Greeks, Ajax
and Idomeneus, and the rest; and when the recital was ended she
remained gazing wistfully at the dense masses of fighting men who sat
waiting on the plain. "I cannot see them," she murmured sadly: "they
are not there." "Of whom speakest thou?" asked Priam. "Of Castor and
Polydeuces," she answered, "the bold rider, and the stout boxer, my own
brothers, born of the same mother with me. Perchance they sailed not
in the fleet to Troy, or perchance they have remained behind in the
camp, in sorrow for their sister's shame."
[Illustration: Helen on the Walls of Troy. Lord Leighton. By
permission of Henry Graves & Co., Ltd.]
Ah! Helen, thy brothers are lying where shame and sorrow can reach
them no more, sleeping in their quiet graves, in Lacedæmon, their
native land.