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ghost to return as flesh and blood. But Diomedes did not let me speak. With fiercely concentrating eyes and gentle hands he dried my face, removing the last traces of my make-up. His fingers pushed back my hair. “There.” Shaking him off I got to my feet and sat down on a flat stone lightly lapped by the water. I could feel my tunic glued to my skin, and combed my hair with my fingers. He dragged himself up to me with lazy movements of his arms against the shallow bed of the river, his eyes smoldering like embers in a brazier long after the fire has gone out.
    My feet were dangling in the water. Like on the first evening, he took them in his hands. And looked at me. No longer smiling. His mouth curled with doubt and the seed of a distant fear of refusal. I studied the trees. With the green light filtering through their foliage, I could believe in spirits. Was my burned love watching me there, tall and dark under a white poplar? I should have got up and gone to him. But they say the living cannot walk with the dead. Diomedes squeezed my ankle, forcing me to look down. He rose in the water, his lips tracing a path from my foot to my knee, but stoppingfirmly there. A shudder not caused by cold water ran from my neck to my legs, stretching skin and nerves, even touching my bones. I looked at the trees again, but lost sight of the green light when the hands of Diomedes closed around my waist. Accepting no refusal, he pulled me into the water and against his body. I sank as he forced me to stretch out on the sloping bed of the river. Stones and mud parted under my back, but I couldn’t resist him, letting myself go with my eyes open and my hands locked behind his neck beneath the surface of the water. He let me pull him with me. His eyes were open like mine, too close to me. Then his mouth was on mine, his eyelashes meeting mine in the water. He wound his legs around mine, searching for support. My first kiss. We re-emerged breathless. I backed off without getting up, imperceptibly surrendering, supporting myself on feet and hands. Till I could feel the pebbles under my fingers. Diomedes pursued me, his eyes on mine, advancing as I retreated. Until all I could do was untie the now useless knot of my sodden tunic which his hands were pushing up my thighs as he crushed me under his weight. Over his head was a green and golden light, like glass. As I let myself go I could hear my ghosts turn and go away.

8
    It was a day that passed too quickly. No one came into the woods, no one came to look for us. Our bodies dried in the sun, the river washed the bloodstains off the rocks. The court of Sparta forgot about the king of Argos; my mother never sent anyone to look for me. Under the relaxed supervision of our needy kingdom, I was free. Diomedes chased me like a child and took me, pressing me against the grass. The whole of my being was in his kisses and in his hands. I laughed, that day. I had forgotten the music of my laughter, which bounced like stones off a wall. He said he loved me, which made me laugh even more because I knew it was a lie. He took me by the waist and lifted me high in the air. Then let himself fall with me on the harsh grass of the meadow. He was breathing as easily as lifting a piece of cloth.
    He turned toward me with his eyes shining. “Marry me, Helen.”
    I laughed again; but in his black irises lit by the sun with gilded gleams there was an anxiety I had not expected. I thought of my burned love, but he was not there under that gentle sun. I did not answer Diomedes but laughed again, and he understood. On that meadow he pushed up my blue tunic again. I did not stop him. My breath merged with the buzzing of the bees settling among the wild flowers.
    We walked hand in hand back to the palace. The sun had struggled up the sky until midday, then slowly slipped down till it vanished with its halo behind the blue and black mountains. We watched the sunset lying on thick grass surrounded by sheep.