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will blame
you
when he learns what happened.”
    Pentheus buried his head in his hands. For a moment I felt a little sorry for him, though I had never liked him. Finally he raised his head and looked at me with watery eyes. “I am aware of that,” he said, his voice unsteady.
    “In any case, we must prepare for the king’s return,” I reminded him.
    “Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “No need to concern yourself, Princess Hermione. I’ll attend to everything.”
    But he did not. The next day I learned that Pentheus was nowhere to be found. No one seemed to know where he was. The stable master revealed that the king’s vizier had galloped off before dawn, saying only that he had urgent business to which he must attend.
    “The coward,” I muttered to Zethus. “I don’t believe Pentheus had urgent business. He just urgently needed to run away.”
    “I can’t say that I blame him,” Zethus said. “That means when your father comes back and learns what happened, he’ll turn his fury on me. I’ll be the target—the Trojan stand-in for the Trojan prince—and he will have me killed. It will be much better if I leave now.”
    “No, Zethus, you must stay!” I begged. “You promised! Please. I need your help.”
    I wanted him to move into the palace, maybe even to occupy the beautiful room that had been prepared for Prince Paris, but Zethus dismissed that idea immediately. He was stubborn, but I was even more stubborn. I stopped begging and
ordered
him to stay—after all, I was a princess, though a very young one, and I could command that, couldn’t I?
    Finally we reached a sort of compromise. Zethus would continue to sleep in the stable with the horses, and I would take him some bread and cheese every day and let him know when I had word that my father would soon arrive. When we were sure that Menelaus was on his way home and I would be all right, Zethus would make his way down the river to the gulf and look for a trader’s ship to take him back to Troy.
    I sent a staff of servants to set up a camp on the beach at Kranai to greet King Menelaus, just as he and my mother had done for the arrival of Paris. A fine meal would be prepared for him, and barges would be waiting to bring him home. I gave orders for signal flares to be lighted if my father arrived at night, and runners to be sent if he came during daylight hours.
    Day after day we waited for word that my father was home from Crete. Though I slept only fitfully, I was indeed asleep when a serving maid came to awaken me.
    “The signal fire has been sighted,” the maid told me. “I’m to tell you that King Menelaus’s ship has entered the gulf. He will no doubt reach Gythion by morning.”
    I leaped from my bed. I’d been arguing with myself about the right way to break the news of what had happened, and though no way was perfect, I thought it might be better not to let my father reach Sparta before he’d learned the truth.
    I sent the servant for Zethus and ran down to the river. The boatmen were all asleep, but I had the guard awaken the one I knew best. “Tell him that King Menelaus is entering the gulf and that I want to be taken down to greet him.”
    Zethus arrived, pulling on his tunic. We climbed into my small boat and, traveling rapidly with the current, reached the mouth of the river. My father’s large-prowed ship was already swinging at anchor farther out in the harbor. I ordered the boatman to stop near the beach where merchant ships from many places were loading and unloading their cargo. Before Zethus stepped ashore, he pressed into my hands a little wooden carving of a ship. It was executed in fine detail, from the arching prow to the rows of tiny oars.
    “I made it for you, Princess Hermione, with gratitude for your many kindnesses.”
    I thanked Zethus, and we took our leave. I watched as he began to make his way from ship to ship along the beach, in search of one that would help him get home. Then I instructed my boatman to