Children of the Dawn Part 30

Paris, meanwhile, with Helen, had fled before Menelaus from Egypt, and had taken refuge in Phoenicia; and when he traced them there, they fled once more and took ship to return to Troy; for they could not live for ever as wanderers on the face of the earth. With the silence of shame the folk received them at the harbour, and amid silence, that spoke more than words, they made their way through the city and came and stood before Priam in his halls, with eyes downcast upon the ground. Now Priam had heard of their coming, and had prepared in his mind a wrathful speech wherewith to greet his son and the woman who had led him astray. But when he looked upon Helen his wrath melted away like frost before the sun; for she stood like a fair lily that some careless hand has half plucked from its stem, so that its head hangs drooping towards the dust. Even so did she stand, with the tear-drops falling from her eyes. And all the wrathful words faded from his mind, so that he spoke quite otherwise than he had planned.

"My children," he said gently, "come hither to me."

They came and knelt before him, and he laid his hands upon their young shoulders, as they bowed their heads and wept upon his knees.

"Ye have grievously sinned, my children," he said, "and ye are learning, all too late, how bitter is the fruit of sin. There is but one course before you. Paris, give back the woman thou hast stolen, and make what honourable amends thou canst. And thou, Helen, go home with thy lord when he comes for thee, and be a faithful wife to him always, and make him forget that ever thou didst play him false."

"O King," she said, "thou knowest not what thou askest. If thou givest me up to Menelaus he will slay me, or else my life will be a dog's life in his halls; for his heart is no softer than a flint, though his tongue be smooth. O my father, cast me not out from thy halls. If I have sinned in leaving Menelaus, shall I not sin again in leaving Paris? Or shall my sin be less if I flee from the man I love, to go with him I love not? Who maketh two hearts to cleave together? Who but Aphrodite all-powerful? Must we set at nought the will of Heaven for the sake of laws that man has made? O Priam, my father, forsake me not, but keep me in thy halls."

And she clasped her hands about his knees and looked up into his face.

Beneath her gaze all his resolve gave way, and he took her face between his hands and kissed her.

"My daughter," he said, "thou shalt stay with me as long as it shall please thee."

Thus did it come to pa.s.s that she made her home in Troy, and Priam, the king, became an accomplice in her sin; for the G.o.ds had so made her that the hearts of men were as wax between the fingers of Helen of Sparta.

In time came Menelaus, and stood in the halls of Priam, and demanded back his wife. And they offered him a ransom--gold and precious stones--but he flung it back in their faces.

"Think you that gold can pay for a living soul?" he cried. "Only a life can pay for a life, and many a life shall you pay for the sake of Helen. Look to your battlements and towers, O Priam; they must be strong indeed to stand against the host that I shall bring behind me from h.e.l.las. Farewell, till we meet again in battle."

And he strode from the hall in anger, and sailed away to Sparta, to rouse up all the heroes of h.e.l.las to take part in his quarrel with Troy.

Meanwhile in Troyland the forge fires burnt night and day, and the hammer rang loud upon the anvil. The red-hot iron was drawn from the furnace and bound hissing about the chariot-wheel; shields were stretched and swords were fashioned, and the ash-tree was felled upon the mountain for the handle of the tapering spear. Among the men many a heart beat high with hope; for what is there like war, if a man is brave and strong, to bring him renown, and make his name live among his fellows? But in the women's hall many a silent tear was shed; for what is there like war to bring sorrow to a woman's heart, when she sees her dear ones going forth to battle and knows not whether she shall ever look on their faces again, or, perchance, see them carried home with a gaping spear-wound in the side? And when the battle is raging she can do nought but pray. So they cursed Helen and her beauty in their hearts, and wished that even now King Priam would send her back and stave off the war from Troy.

But Paris and Helen cared for none of these things; while others worked and wept, they dallied in each other's arms and forgot all else, or hoped that when Menelaus reached home his anger would cool, and that he would find the kings of h.e.l.las none too willing to leave their lands for the sake of another's wife. But in this they hoped in vain, and reckoned not how dear a man may hold his country's honour.

For one dark night the hosts of h.e.l.las pulled in to sh.o.r.e, and drew up their boats upon the beach and pitched their camp, and when the morning dawned their men were thick as flies about the walls of Troy.

So did it come to pa.s.s that Ca.s.sandra's words came true, and for many a weary year the tide of war surged about the city like a wave of the sea, and Paris slunk through the streets like a beaten cur, not daring to look his fellows in the face. For they hated him because he had brought war upon his country, and yet, though the quarrel was of his own making, he was ever the last to take the field and ever the first to retreat. So low had his manhood sunk that he thought far more of reaching Helen with an unbroken skin than of winning fame upon the field of battle.

But one day matters reached a pa.s.s when Menelaus met him face to face upon the field, and challenged him to single combat beneath the walls of Troy. He who should kill his man should have Helen for wife, and the war should end, and no more lives be spent in vain for the sake of a quarrel that concerned but two. But Paris thought of Helen waiting in her chamber, and looked upon Menelaus, standing sword in hand before him, strong as a lion in his wrath. Then his heart gave way within him, and he turned and fled from the face of his foe back into the ranks of the Trojans. He would have fled from the fight altogether, but that in the path of his retreat stood Hector; the nodding plumes waved terrible upon his helmet, and he leant on his two-handed sword and frowned upon his brother, for he had seen how he fled from Menelaus. When Paris saw him he fell back ashamed, but Hector stood aside to let him pa.s.s.

"Thou chicken-hearted mannikin," he cried, "get thee gone, and let others fight thy battle, that the courage of the Trojans be not a by-word among the nations."

And Paris slunk past him with his eyes upon the ground, and went home to Helen in her chamber.

But when the fight was over Hector came and dragged him from his hiding-place as a dog drags out a rat into the light.

"Thou smooth-faced deceiver," he said, "is this the way a man should fight when he has sailed across the high seas, and stolen away the fairest of women from a man mighty in battle? Are we to make the name of Troy a laughing-stock among our foes, and hang our heads in shame when men shall say, 'In strength and might they are like the immortal G.o.ds, these Trojans, but their courage is the courage of the deer, that flees swiftly through the forest when he hears the bark of the hounds? Thou coward, would thou hadst never been born, or hadst died upon the mountains ere there was time to bring dishonour on thy country."

And Paris trembled before his brother's wrath, but some of his old manhood returned to him.

"Thou speakest as all men speak who know not Aphrodite's power," he said. "Nevertheless, if thou wilt have it so, send forth a herald to Menelaus, and tell him I accept his challenge, and will fight him for the sake of Helen, his wife. And let the hosts of the Achaeans and the hosts of Troy lay down their arms, and we two will stand up alone between them, and whichsoever of us shall fall in death, his side shall give up Helen to the victor; and the war shall cease, and peace be made between the nations."

So Hector sent forth a herald to Menelaus, and the two hosts drew close together on the plain till there was but a narrow s.p.a.ce between them, and they laid aside their arms, and some lay upon the ground or sat, and others stood behind to watch the fight in the midst. And Paris put on his shining armour and his helmet with the nodding plumes, and went and stood face to face with Menelaus. In the sight of all the people Hector prayed,

"O Zeus, who rulest from on high, grant that he who is the offender may fall in the fight, and his spirit flee away to Hades, that the land may have peace and the people rest from war."

And every man in his heart prayed likewise, for all were sickened at the long years of fruitless strife.

Then Hector shook the lots in his helmet, to see who should be the first to hurl his brazen spear, and the lot of Paris fell forth upon the ground. And he brandished his spear above his head, and hurled it with all his might, and it crashed against the shield of Menelaus; but the stout shield turned it aside, and it fell powerless upon the ground. Thereupon Menelaus in his turn hurled his spear, and it pierced through the shield of his foe, and would have brought black death to his heart had he not swerved aside, so that the point but grazed his corselet. But Menelaus, seeing his advantage, drew forth his sword and rushed upon him, and felled him a mighty blow upon his helmet, hoping to cleave it in two. But the sword shivered to pieces in his hand as he struck. Then, with an oath, he cast aside the hilt and leapt upon Paris, and seized him by the horsehair plume upon his helmet, and dragged him down. And the leathern thong that held the helmet was drawn tight about his throat, so that the breath was wellnigh squeezed out of him, and Menelaus was bearing him in triumph towards the Achaean host. But Aphrodite was mindful of her favourite, and, ere it was too late, she made the stout ox-hide give way beneath the weight of his body, and the helmet slipped off his head. Then she wrapped a mist about his body, so that no man should see him, and bore him away through the midst of the Trojan host, and laid him upon his bed. In the likeness of an aged dame she went and stood beside Helen on the battlements, where she leant with the other Trojan women looking down upon the plain, and she told her how she had borne forth Paris from the fight and saved him, and that now he lay upon his bed and longed for her. So straightway Helen left the others, and went and sat down by Paris. When she saw him lying there, without so much as a scratch upon his body, she was ashamed for him, and began to upbraid him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Menelaus was bearing him in triumph towards the Achaean host.]

"So thou hast come back from the battle, Paris, and couldst not endure to stand up to G.o.d-like Menelaus. Would that he had taken thee, for he is a better man than thou art! Go forth now, thou craven, and challenge him once more to battle, and stay thy ground like a man. Lo!

thou art vanished away like smoke from the field, and both the hosts are making mock of thee."

Then her heart smote her for fear he should take her at her word and go back, and she fell upon her knees beside him, and took his hand in hers and wept.

"Ah, Paris," she cried, "go not forth, I pray thee, but stay with me.

I, even I, do bid thee stay, lest thou fall by the hand of Menelaus, and I be left all desolate without thee."

"Ah, Helen," he said, "upbraid me not, for I love thee above all else.

Some other day I will return and fight with Menelaus, but now I will stay with thee, and we will have joy of each other and forget all else,"

So whilst Menelaus searched raging through all the host, like a lion seeking for his prey, Paris and Helen dallied in each other's arms, hidden from the eyes of men. An ill reckoning would it have been for Paris had the men of Troy known where to find him, for they hated him like black death, and would have given him up to the hands of Menelaus, to do by him as he would.

From that day forth Paris scarce dared to show his face among his fellows; but when Hector urged him, and he could stand out against his taunts no longer, he would go forth into the battle, but disguised as a common soldier, with no mark upon him of his rank and birth. So did he hope to escape death and flee home as swift as might be to the arms of Helen. In this he succeeded full well for a time, but a day came when no disguise could save him and he could not flee away. For in the ranks against him stood mighty Philoctetes, with his bow and his poisoned arrows. And he drew his bow and prayed to Zeus in his heart,

"O Zeus almighty, that drivest the black thundercloud before thee, do thou guide mine arrow aright, that it may work havoc among our foes and bring glory to the host of the Achaeans. In thy hands I leave it."

Then he drew back the string, so that the mighty bow was wellnigh bent in two, and the arrow sped with a whirr far over the foremost ranks of the Trojans to the rear part of the host. And it fell upon Paris, and pierced between the joints of his armour right through into his side.

With a groan he fell, and black night came over his eyes, and he lay as one dead upon the field. When the fight was over, and either side was gathering up the dead and wounded from the plain, they came upon Paris among the rest; but till they had drawn off his helmet they knew him not, for he was dressed as a common soldier. When they saw who it was, they put him reverently on a bier apart, for he was a king's son, and had been a brave man once, and death can wipe out many an old score of bitterness and hatred. So they bore him upon their shoulders silently to the palace of Priam his father, and laid him upon his couch. And they brought him wine and cordials, for his heart beat faintly still within his breast. For a moment he revived, and spoke in broken whispers.

"My friends, I am dying," he said, "and I would die in the pure free air of heaven, away from cities and from men and from my shame. O my father, bid them carry me forth upon Ida, and there let them leave me, and return no more till they know the last breath must have gone from my body. Then let them burn me there, where once I was brave and free; and as the fire of my burning shall die out, so let my name die out from among you--my name and my dishonour."

So did he speak, and fell back exhausted, with the vision before his eyes of the groves of Ida and of OEnone, and of how she rose from the waters and loved him in the days of his innocent youth. And he remembered her words:

"O Paris, in that day come back to me, and I will heal thee of thy hurt."

And he wondered whether she would keep her word and forgive him and heal him, so that they could go back to their old life upon the mountains. But even if she would not, he felt that he would rather die there than in the airless city.

So they wrapped him about in warm coverings--for it was winter-time, and the snow lay white upon the ground--and carried him forth upon Ida. And they placed a blazing torch above his head and left him on the lonely heights, and the whispering pine-trees kept watch above him as they tossed their arms in the cold north wind.

From the shadow of a boulder OEnone watched the procession wind back down the mountain-track, and when they had pa.s.sed out of sight she came forth from her hiding-place. The tale of Paris and Helen she knew full well, and the reason of the war, for she had listened to the talk of the shepherds on the mountains. But still in her heart she loved Paris; and when she saw him carried forth to die, she remembered how she had promised to heal him of his hurt, for she knew many a magic charm, and she could heal him if she would. So now she drew near to him out of the forest, and bent over his couch, and her red-gold hair fell soft about his face. But the fire of fever burnt hot within him, and he knew her not; but the face that came before his wandering mind was the face of Helen.

"Helen!" he whispered, "Helen!"

At the sound of that hated name a great bitterness came into the heart of OEnone.

"Must I heal thee for the sake of Helen?" she cried, and turned and fled through the darkened pines, on, on, she knew not where, and threw herself at last upon the gra.s.s and wept.

And so the torch burned low above his head and cast a dim red glow upon the snow, and he died alone of his fever upon the mountains, and she healed him not of his hurt.

The next morning came the young men from the city, and the sons of Priam, and the old king himself, to the place where Paris lay; for they knew full well that he could not have lived out that night upon the mountains. And they gathered together the pine-trunks which the woodmen had left felled upon the ground, and heaped up a great pyre, high up upon the hills, so that the burning of Paris might shine like a beacon fire in the sight of Troy and of the Achaean host. When the pyre was built they placed the body on it, and poured out wine and oil upon the wood, and the old king stood and lifted up his hands above his son.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cast herself upon the body of Paris, and put her arms about his neck.]

"O father Zeus," he prayed, "who rulest upon Ida, before thee do I burn the body of my son, and before my friends and before my foes, that they both may see it. May the wine which I pour forth upon his body be a libation of peace, that by his death he may join together in friendship those hands which by his sin he made to draw the sword upon each other. O Zeus almighty, grant my prayer!"