road ahead of us. Deserts and rivers and mountains stood between us and distant Egypt.
The campfire slowly guttered into embers. My boys went to sleep in one of the wagons; Helen had the other to herself. The men rolled themselves in their blankets while I sat by the dying fire, on watch.
The night was chill. A solitary wolf howled in the darkness while the sad, lopsided face of the moon rode high above among scudding clouds. Stars twinkled up in the black bowl of night, like the eyes of the gods watching me.
“Lukka.”
I was startled to hear her voice, and cursed myself for a fool for letting her steal up on me. Some guard!
Helen was wrapped in that dark robe again, although she had let the hood down. Her hair glowed like gold in the pale moonlight.
“I’m glad you returned,” she said, sitting beside me.
“You knew I would.”
“Still …” She let the thought hang in the air. At last she said, “I was afraid that maybe … something could have happened …”
“Nothing could keep me from my sons,” I said.
“Yes. Of course.”
There was something in her voice, a questioning, a seeking. She lapsed into silence, her chin down, her eyes avoiding mine.
I heard myself admit, “And nothing could keep me from you.”
“No,” she whispered, her face still downcast. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I bring nothing but death and ruin. I’m cursed, Lukka, cursed by the gods.”
“The gods of Egypt will love you better.”
“But Egypt’s so far away. I thought we could stay in Ephesus, but he’s searching for me! He’s after me!”
“He won’t find you. He doesn’t know we were in Miletus.” But then I thought of Poletes spinning his tale in the marketplace. Menalaos will know we were there soon enough.
“I’m afraid, Lukka. I’m frightened!”
Without thinking, without worrying about the consequences, I took her by the shoulders and pulled her to me. She buried her face in my chest, sobbing like a child. She wasn’t the Queen of Sparta now, nor a princess of Troy. She was a frightened woman fleeing for her life, dependent on my protection. She was the most beautiful woman in the world and she was in my arms, trembling with fear, needing me as much as I wanted her.
I got to my feet and lifted her into my arms and carried her to the wagon. There, amid the blankets and bags and boxes we made love. Not in a palace, not amid royal trappings on a beautifully decked wedding bed. On a cart that smelled of donkeys and sweat and the dust of long, hard travel.
The stars peeked through the tattered clouds and Artemis’ silver moon sank down behind the western hills while Helen and I made love, all other thoughts, all other cares, driven from my mind completely.
But in the gray half-light that preceded true dawn, as Helen slept in my arms, I knew that I would cross deserts and rivers and mountains for this woman. That I would carry her to the ends of the earth to keep her safe, to protect her against the vengeful Menalaos.
Thus our journey from Miletus began.
