The Pearl of Troy

Chapter One

Briseis knew not to listen to Cassandra. Everyone knew Cassandra was mad. She only said what she did because she was too delusional to keep quiet. That, or she simply wanted to start trouble.
When their family made its obligatory visits to see Cassandra at the temple of Apollo, Briseis and her brother, Aeneas, sometimes asked her to tell their fortunes, hoping to later laugh about whatever ridiculous things came out of their lunatic cousin's mouth.
"You'll be shut up behind these walls," Cassandra had told Briseis during their last visit. "Till the lions come to take you away."
Mad Cassandra might be, but she had a knack for telling people what they least wanted to hear. Since the war began nearly seven years ago, Briseis hadn't left the confines of Troy's walls and had almost despaired of ever seeing anything of the world.
But, as always, Cassandra had been wrong. Here Briseis stood, on the wind-swept plains of Ilium, outside of the city walls, with sun-warmed grass between her toes and cedar-scented air in her lungs and nostrils. The nearest lions stalked the foothills of far-off Mount Ida, which loomed off in the distance to the south of where Briseis stood. Even if those beasts made it close to the Trojan encampment, they would quickly be hunted down. Their pelts would adorn the walls of her cousin Hector's personal apartments.
"Briseis..." Helen stepped out of one of the tents that made up the royal pavilion. "... Briseis, where are you?"
Briseis waved to her friend.
Helen came and took Briseis's hand, then led her back to the tent. "They've unpacked our clothes. Come, let's prepare ourselves for the duel."
Briseis' best gown, a gift from her aunt, Queen Hecuba, had been laid out on one of the beds inside the tent. The costly blue velvet, heavy with gold and silver embroidery, was much too ostentatious for Briseis to have a reason to wear it until now. Occasions for such finery had been few and far between, even at the royal court.

A maid helped Briseis out of the simpler gown she was wearing. "Who do you think will win the duel?" This question had all of Troy holding its breath. Considering Helen's first husband, King Menelaus of Sparta was fighting her second husband, Briseis' cousin, Paris, to see who would return home with Helen as his prize, the outcome concerned her most of all.
Please say you hope Paris wins; please tell me you want to stay.
Helen put down the mirror she was holding as another maid combed her hair and looked up at Briseis. "Did you say something, Briseis?" she said.
Poor Helen couldn't be blamed for getting distracted by her own enchanting reflection.
Briseis repeated her question.
"Oh..." Some people were open books. You could read their every thought or emotion on their faces. Unfortunately, Helen's face wasn't one of these. Whoever gazed upon her beauty was left wondering what was going on in that exquisite head. "I hope Menelaus wins. It's grown so tedious here and I want to go home."
Go Home? Troy is your home now, not Sparta.
Life in a besieged city, where everyone either snubbed or cursed you, wasn't the one full of passion and excitement that Paris had promised Helen when they ran off together. But, still, Briseis, a daughter without a mother, and Helen, a mother without a daughter, had each other. Now that great Spartan bore, Menelaus was going to ruin everything. He would defeat Paris and bring Helen back with him, home to Hermione, her actual child, the most perfect girl in the world.
"Raise your arms, My Lady," the maid attending to Briseis said.
With a sigh, Briseis obeyed. The maid helped Briseis into her gown. Briseis picked up the large, misshapen pearl she wore on a ribbon around her neck and moved it out of the way so that that maid could lace her bodice. Her fingers stroked the familiar lumps and bumps.