TENTH STAVE

There in her cage roamed Helen light and fierce,

Unresting, with bright eyes and straining ears,

Nor ever stayed her steps; but first the hall

She ranged, touching the pillars; next to the wall

Went out and shot her gaze into the murk

Whereas the ships should lie; then to her work

Upon the great loom turned and wove a shift,

But idly, waiting always for some lift

In the close-wrapping fog that might discover

The moving hosts, the spearmen of her lover —

Lover and husband, master and lord of life,

Coming at last to take a slave to wife.

And as wide-eyed she stared to feel her heart

Leap to her side, she felt the warm tears start,

And thankt the Goddess for the balm they brought.

Yet to her women, withal so highly wrought

By hope and care and waiting, she was mild

And gentle-voiced, and playful as a child

That sups the moment's joy, and nothing heeds

Time past or time to come, but fills all needs

With present kindness. She would laugh and talk,

Take arms, suffer embraces, even walk

The terrace‘ neath the eyes of all her fate,

And seem to heed what they might show or prate,

As if her whole heart's heart were in this house

And not at fearful odds and perilous.

And should one speak of Paris, as to say,

“Would that our lord might see thee go so gay

About his house!” Gently she'd bend her head

Down to her breast and pluck a vagrant thread

Forth from her tunic's hem, and looking wise,

Gaze at her hand which on her bosom's rise

Lit like a butterfly and quivered there.

Now in the dusk, with Paris otherwhere

At council with the chieftains, into the hall

To Helen there, was come, adventuring all,

Odysseus in the garb of countryman,

A herdsman from the hills, with stain of tan

Upon his neck and arms, with staff and scrip,

And round each leg bound crosswise went a strip

Of good oxhide. Within the porch he came

And louted low, and hailed her by her name,

Among her maidens easy to be known,

Though not so tall as most, and not full blown

To shape and flush like a full-hearted rose;

But like a summer wave her bosom flows

Lax and most gentle, and her tired sweet face

Seems pious as the moon in a blue space

Of starless heaven, and in her eyes the hue

Of early morning, gray through mist of blue.

Not by a flaunted beauty is she guessed

Queen of them all, but by the right expressed

In her calm gaze and fearless, and that hold

Upon her lips which Gods have. Nay, not cold,

Thou holy one, not cold thy lips, which say

All in a sigh, and with one word betray

The passion of thy heart! But who can wis

The fainting piercing message of thy kiss?

O blest initiate — let him live to tell

Thy godhead, show himself thy miracle!

But when she saw him there with his head bowed

And humble hands, deeply her fair face glowed,

And broad across the iris swam the black

Until her eyes showed darkling. “Friend, your lack

Tell me,” she said, “and what is mine to give

Is yours; but little my prerogative

Here in this house, where I am not the queen

You call me, but another name, I ween,

Serves me about the country you are of,

Which Ilios gives me too, but not in love.

Yet are we all alike in evil plight,

And should be tender of each other's right,

And of each other's wrongdoing, and wrongs done

Upon us. Have you wife and little one

Hungry at home? Have you a son afield?

Or do you mourn? Alas, I cannot wield

The sword you lack, nor bow nor spear afford

To serve....”

He said, “Nay, you can sheathe the sword,

Slack bowstring, and make spear a hunter's toy.

Lady, I come to end this war of Troy

In your good pleasure.”

With her steady eyes

Unwinking fixt, “Let you and me devise,”

Said she, “this happy end of bow and spear,

So shall we serve the land. You have my ear;

Speak then.”

“But so,” he said, “these maidens have it.

But we save Troy alone, or never save it.”

Turning she bid them leave her with a nod,

And they obeyed. Swift then and like a God

She seemed, with bright all-knowing eyes and calm

Gesture of high-held head, and open palm

To greet. “Laertes’ son, what news bringst thou?”

“Lady,” he said, “the best. The hour is now.

We stand within the heaven-establisht walls,

We gird the seat. Within an hour it falls,

The seat divine of Dardanos and Tros,

After our ten years’ travail and great loss

Of heroes not yet rested, but to rest

Soon.”

Then she laid her hand upon her breast

To stay it. “Who are ye that stand here-by?”

“Desperate men,” he said, “prepared to die

If thou wilt have it so. Chief is there none

Beside the ships but Nestor. All are gone

Forth in the Horse. Under thy covering hand

Thou holdest all Achaia. Here we stand,

Epeios, Pyrrhos, Antiklos, with these

Cretan Idomeneus, Meriones,

Aias the Lokrian, Teukros, Diomede

Of the loud war-cry, next thy man indeed,

Golden-haired Menelaus the robbed King,

And Agamemnon by him, and I who bring

This news and must return to take what lot

Thou choosest us; for all is thine, God wot,

To end or mend, to make or mar at will.”

A weighty utterance, but she heard the thrill

Within her heart, and listened only that —

To know her love so near. So near he sat

Hidden when she that toucht the Horse's flank

Could have toucht him! “Odysseus!” her voice sank

To the low tone of the soft murmuring dove

That nests and broods, “Odysseus, heard my love

My whisper of his name when close I stood

And stroked the Horse?”

“I heard and understood,”

He said, “and Lokrian Aias would have spoken

Had I not clapt a hand to his mouth — else broken

By garish day had been our house of dream,

And our necks too. I heard a woman scream

Near by and cry upon the Ruinous Face,

But none made answer to her.”

Nought she says

To that but “I am ready; let my lord

Come when he will. Humbly I wait his word.”

“That word I bring,” Odysseus said, “he comes.

Await him here.”

Her wide eyes were the homes

Of long desire. “Ah, let me go with thee

Even as I am; from this dark house take me

While Paris is abroad!”

He shook his head.

“Not so, but he must find thee here abed —

And Paris here.”

The light died out; a mask

Of panic was her face, what time her task

Stared on a field of white horror like blood:

“Here! But there must be strife then!”

“Well and good,”

Said he.

Then she, shivering and looking small,

“And one must fall?” she said; he, “One must fall.”

Reeling she turned her pincht face other way

And muttered with her lips, grown cold and gray,

Then fawning came at him, and with her hands

Besought him, but her voice made no demands,

Only her haunted eyes were quick, and prayed,

“Ah, not to fall through me!”

“By thee,” he said,

“The deed is to be done.”

She droopt adown

Her lovely head; he heard her broken moan,

“Have I not caused enough of blood-shedding,

And enough women's tears? Is not the sting

Sharp enough of the knife within my side?”

No more she could.

Then he, “Think not to avoid

The lot of man, who payeth the full price

For each deed done, and riddeth vice by vice:

Such is the curse upon him. The doom is

By God decreed, that for thy forfeit bliss

In Sparta thou shalt pay the price in Troy,

Dishonour for lost honour, pain for joy;

By what hot thought impelled, by that alone

Win back; by violence violence atone.

If by chicane thou fleddest, by chicane

Win back thy blotted footprints. Out again

With all thine arts of kisses slow and long,

Of smiles and stroking hands, and crooning song

Whenas full-fed with love thou lulledst asleep;

Renew thine eyebright glances, whisper and creep

And twine about his neck thy wreathing arms:

As we with spears so do thou with thy charms,

Arm thee and wait the hour of fire and smoke

To purge this robbery. Paris by the stroke

Of him he robbed shall wash out his old cheat

In blood, and thou, woman, by new deceit

Of him redeem thy first. For thus God saith,

Traitress, thou shalt betray thy thief to death.”

He ceased, and she by misery made wild

And witless, shook, and like a little child

Gazed piteous, and asked, “What must I do?”

He answered, “Hold him by thee, falsely true,

Until the King stand armed within the house

Ready to take his blood-price. Even thus,

By shame alone shalt thou redeem thy shame.”

And now she claspt his knee and cried his name:

“Mercy! I cannot do it. Let me die

Sooner than go to him so. What, must I lie

With one and other, make myself a whore,

And so go back to Sparta, nevermore

To hold my head up level with my slaves,

Nor dare to touch my child?”

Said he, “Let knaves

Deal knavishly till freedom they can win;

And so let sinners purge themselves of sin.”

Then fiercely looking on her where she croucht

Fast by his knees, his whole mind he avoucht:

“How many hast thou sent the way of death

By thy hot fault? What ghosts like wandering breath

Shudder and wail unhouseled on the plain,

Shreds of Achaian honour? What hearts in pain

Cry the night through? What souls this very night

Fare forth? Art thou alone to sup delight,

Alone to lap in pleasantness, who first

And only, with thy lecher and his thirst,

Wrought all the harm? Only for thy smooth sake

Did Paris reive, and Menelaus ache,

And Hector die ashamed, and Peleus’ son

Stand to the arrow, and Aias Telamon

Find madness and self-murder for the crown

Of all his travail?” He eyed her up and down

Sternly, as measuring her worth in scorn.

“Not thus may traffic any woman born

While men endure cold nights and burning days,

Hunger and wretchedness.”

She stands, she says,

“Enough — I cannot answer. Tell me plain

What I must do.”

“At dark,” he said, “we gain

The Gates and open them. A trumpet's blast

Will sound the entry of the host. Hold fast

Thy Paris then. We storm the citadel,

High Pergamos; that won, the horn will tell

The sack begun. But hold thou Paris bound

Fast in thine arms. Once more the horn shall sound.

That third is doom for him. Release him then.”

All blank she gazed. “Unarmed to face armed men?”

“Unarmed,” he said, “to meet his judgment day.”

Now was thick silence broken; now no way

For her to shift her task nor he his fate.

Keenly she heeds. “‘ Tis Paris at the gate!

What now? Whither away? Where wilt thou hide?”

He lookt her in the face. “Here I abide

What he may do. Was it not truth I spake

That all Hellas lay in thy hand? Now take

What counsel or what comfort may avail.”

Paris stood in the door and cried her Hail.

“Hail to thee, Rose of the World!” then saw the man,

And knit his brows upon him, close to scan

His features; but Odysseus had his hood

Shadowing his face. Some time the Trojan stood

Judging, then said, “Thou seek'st? What seekest thou?”

“A debt is owed me. I seek payment now.”

So he was told; but he drew nearer yet.

“I would know more of thee and of thy debt,”

He said.

And then Odysseus, “This thy strife

Hath ruined all my fields which are my life,

Brought murrain on my beasts, cold ash to my hearth,

Emptiness to my croft. Hunger and dearth,

Are these enough? Who pays me?”

Then Paris,

“I pay, but first will know what man it is

I am to pay, and in what kind.” So said,

Snatching the hood, he whipt it from his head

And lookt and knew the Ithacan. “Now by Zeus,

Treachery here!” He swung his sword-arm loose

Forth of his cloak and set hand to his sword;

But Helen softly called him: “Hath my lord

No word of greeting for his bondwoman?”

Straightway he went to her, and left the man,

And took her in his arms, and held her close.

And light of foot, Odysseus quit the house.