Alexis of Sparta (Book II) - Unedited, first draft*

ζ′ - Exhee

Six

The Spartan agora was even more crowded than anticipated. Paris and Helen slipped through the crowd with ease. It was primarily due to the outfits Helen had taken from her slaves. Paris had grown accustomed to wearing finer silks; the disguise he wore was itchy and stiff. He used to wear a chiton similar to the one he wore. If only his father could see him now, slipping through the alleys in disguise. Not Priam. Paris' adoptive father.

Paris tried not to think about him, almost as much as he tried not to think about Alexis. He missed the farm, and he missed his father. Missed the

Helen had a veil to conceal her face. She'd sworn her slaves to secrecy should Menelaus or Hector ask about their whereabouts, but Paris was still nervous. The exhilaration, however, trumped the nerves. Their escape had ignited something within him, and now a fire of rebelliousness burned.

"This way," Helen said, waving for him to stay close.

They broke out of the side street and into the throngs of people that flooded the agora. The body odour mingled sourly with fruits and freshly baked bread. It was humid, despite the heavy cloud cover and loud. A group of children were clustered near the sidestreet, playing a game where they tried to hit their opponent's knuckles. Soldiers milled among the commoners, some approaching the ladies lingering outside rundown buildings. One lady stretched out and caressed Paris' cheek when Paris and Helen wandered by.

"Are you looking for some company?" she purred.

"N-no, thank you." Paris shook her off and scrambled to catch up to Helen, cheeks burning. When their shoulders bumped, he realized she was laughing.

"What?" he said, sharper than intended.

"Even dressed in poor clothing, you attract all manner of attention," she giggled.

"I do not," he said.

"You do."

She waved a hand around, and it was only then that Paris noticed the way people eyed him, men and women, alike. Lust, curiosity, want. There was also suspicion. Paris was dressed like a Spartan, though his skin and hair were darker. He wondered if their arrival had been announced. The two Trojan princes, whose envoy sank in the Aegean Sea. The two princes sent to maintain what little peace remained between two countries eager for war.

"Too bad I didn't think of placing a veil over your head to hide your beauty." She linked her arm with his and leaned in close. "To keep you all for myself. Imagine if they knew who was with you. Imagine that scandal."

"A scandal about a Trojan Prince and the Queen of Sparta is not what I want," Paris said, shaking her off, "especially given the fragile peace between Troy and Greece. It would mean my death and yours too."

"I did not mean anything by it," Helen sighed. From her tone, Paris knew she was insulted by his reaction. "But let them talk. Menelaus is oblivious to what I do. They could tell him right to his face, and he wouldn't believe it."

"Where are you taking me?" Paris asked, desperate for a topic change.

"Today is the second day of a special festival," she explained. There was mischief in her tone. "It's an important Spartan celebration for our sun, Apollo."

They drifted further from the heart of the agora, and lively music and jovial singing filled the air. As Paris and Helen burst through the crowds, a line of dancers greeted them, throwing flowers in the air. Women twirled, clapping their hands, their skirts billowing out around them as they moved around the statue of a young, handsome, beardless man. He reached for the sun with one hand while holding his kithara in the other. His expression was serene and wise.