by Diana Gainer
Klutaimnéstra bridled at the young man's name. "That worthless shepherd," she muttered. "Agamémnon had no right to make his bastard a qasiléyu. I had hoped that boy would die and rid me of my shame."
Aígist'o, sitting at the queen's knee, was alarmed by her words. "Hush, my queen," he whispered. "Do not arouse their suspicion." Odushéyu, half-drunk, did not notice. The wánaks of Lakedaimón showed even less interest. He had stopped eating and sat with his head in his hands as the It'ákan rattled on. "Meneláwo," Aígist'o called out, still anxiously eyeing the wánasha. "Wánaks Meneláwo," the well-dressed Argive repeated with forced cheer, "let us hear from you now. How many did you kill at Tróya? How much bronze did you take?"
Odushéyu bridled. "How dare you interrupt me, you sack of wine! Meneláwo is not the only man of rank here. I am a king too, an archer without equal and a master mariner. What are you? A mere peace-loving priest! What were you doing while I was risking my life for Lakedaimón's queen? Idé, you were safe at home, enjoying your wine and fine robes while I suffered from hunger and pestilence in a drafty tent."
"Odushéyu," Klutaimnéstra snapped with regal displeasure. "You may be a wánaks but you are also a pirate and an inveterate liar." Her voice rose in volume to drown out the man's indignant protests. "I tolerate your presence here only because you are married to my cousin. But the leader of a few impoverished islands is not of the same rank as one who rules a great kingdom. Be still or I will have my guard throw you out and tonight you will see whether Mukénai's winds are as cold as Tróya's! I wish to hear from my brother-in-law. Meneláwo, tell us, did you gain glory in Wilúsiya's fertile land?"
As Odushéyu bit his lip and silently cursed the Argive wánasha, Meneláwo groaned into his hands. At his side, Ariyádna shuddered at the sound and drew her ragged cloak more closely around the child in her arms. The former captive's eyes stared into the flames of the fireplace without seeing and she resumed her rocking. "By the will of the Bull," she whispered again and again. 'Ermiyóna whimpered, glancing from her mother's scab-covered cheeks to her father's, obscured by his battered hands.
Meneláwo spoke without lifting his head. "Owái," he moaned, the sound torn from the depths of his soul, "what a price we paid!"
"Yes," Klutaimnéstra said, shaken, resting her rosette-painted hand at her breast. "The birds warned me that losses would be heavy. But let us talk of happy things, brother-in-law. Tell us what glory you won in battle and how much bronze you took."
Meneláwo shook his head. "By the gods, I would gladly give back all the metal I ever owned, if only I could see again the men who fought for my cause!" he cried, tears threatening to spill over his rugged cheeks. "Kástor…Poludéyuke…owái, they were the best of princes…"
Beside him, Ariyádna began to cry at the mention of her brothers' names. The little girl she rocked burst into renewed wails. Serving women glanced fearfully at the guests and beyond them, at the painted captives on the walls among the tribute bearers. The servants whispered surreptitious prayers and made the sign of the Evil Eye, hiding their fingers in their skirts.
Klutaimnéstra's eyes filled as well. Taking a long, shaky breath, she strove for self-control. "Meneláwo," she soothed, "we must all forget our sorrows tonight. My brothers won glory in death. And you have your wife beside you again. Rejoice over your victory. Now, dear sister, you must stop your crying. You are upsetting your daughter. Times are not as good as they could be, I will admit. But they will improve. Mother Diwiyána does not make her children suffer forever."
From the other side of the hearth a boy's voice cried out with sudden passion, "Everything will be all right as soon as Pappa gets home." Ignoring the whispered entreaties of his sisters, he ran around the hearth to Meneláwo's side. "Pappa will make everything all right. He will. Uncle, tell them. Tell them!"
Meneláwo took the boy in his arms, letting his tears fall on the child's shoulder. "Owái, Orésta, what can I tell you?" Frightened by this unexpected response, Orésta began to cry and pushed his uncle's arms away.
Aígist'o leapt up, shouting at the boy and threatening with his fists. “Orésta! Leave the mégaron. Children do not speak until they are addressed. Ai, you have no manners, boy! You are as uncivilized as your father."
Young Orésta turned toward the thin man’s chair, as his sisters beckoned with worried faces, but Aígist'o caught him by the wrist. The man struck the boy on the cheek. The boy yelped and pulled at his imprisoned hand, reaching for his sisters with the other. The oldest girl stepped forward, intending to rescue him. But the younger girl burst into tears herself and pulled her sister back to her seat.
Ariyádna and 'Ermiyóna screamed in terror at the sudden commotion. The woman slid to the floor and huddled there, bending protectively over her child. "Diwiyána!" the battered queen cried. Meneláwo clapped his hands to his head and cursed his fate, lost in his own misery. And Odushéyu, thoroughly confused, stood and looked about at all the unhappy faces, uncertain what to do.
Klutaimnéstra, too, stood up, wiping the tears from her cheeks so that she spoiled the rosettes painted there. "Enough! Enough!" the Argive wánasha shouted over the din. "Aígist'o, return to your chair. It is for me to deal with my children, not you." Directing the frightened servants, the queen directed them take her son away to his room, his sisters following after them, all three children sobbing loudly.
As they filed away through the courtyard outside, the din lessened. Meneláwo knelt beside his wife and daughter on the floor. Taking the woman's shoulders in his hands, he urged her up into the chair again. "I am here, Ariyádna. No one will hurt you. Stop crying, 'Ermiyóna. Pappa will protect you." With Klutaimnéstra's coaxing added to her husband's, Ariyádna rose to her feet. The royal nursemaid led her and 'Ermiyóna to the bed-chamber prepared for the guests.
Suddenly, the men were left alone in silence with the Argive queen. Klutaimnéstra looked all three over with considerable displeasure, the two visiting wánaktes as well as her Argive counselor. "Aígist'o," the queen directed, "show Odushéyu to a chamber in the north wing. I have important matters to discuss with my sister's husband."
Aígist'o frowned with distaste at the order. But the long-haired Argive moved to do his wánasha's bidding. Odushéyu resisted, though, his nerves on edge and his temper short. "I am your kinsman too, wánasha," the It'ákan reminded the queen. "You should consult with me as well as with Meneláwo." He looked to his fellow king for support.
"Aígist'o, do as I say!" Klutaimnéstra commanded furiously. And Meneláwo gestured for Odushéyu to go. Though the It'ákan ground his teeth, he turned to follow Aígist'o from the mégaron.
When Meneláwo and Klutaimnéstra were alone, the queen gestured for him to sit where Aígist'o had been earlier, close to the throne. He came, hand to his throbbing side, and sat heavily without meeting the wánasha's eyes. "Sister-in-law, for the love of Diwiyána," he sighed, "do not ask me anything more about Tróya."
She was silent a moment, considering her words carefully. "That is not the matter I wish to discuss. Meneláwo, I must ask a favor of you."
He groaned and clapped his hands to his head. "Do not ask, Klutaimnéstra! I cannot take sides in your dispute with my brother."
"Ai, by the great goddess!" Klutaimnéstra snapped, brusque and impatient. "The maináds have been busy this evening. Just listen to me, Meneláwo. As you say, I am not on the best terms with your brother. But do not worry. My request is that you not take sides. In fact, I want you to leave Argo as soon as you can, before Agamémnon returns. Tomorrow, if possible."
Meneláwo raised his head suddenly and met her gaze, his eyes wide with surprise. "By Díwo, this is a favor to you?"
"No, no, I expect that was your plan, in any case." Her features softened and she spoke gently. "The favor is this, Meneláwo. When you leave, take my son with you. It is always hard on children when their parents fight and Orésta is especially close to his father. He cried himself to sleep every night for a month when Agamémnon first
sailed away. I cannot bear to think what he will do when…." She paused, biting her full, lower lip. In a harsher voice, she said, "Let us simply say that he should not be here to see his mother and father quarrel. Let me restore peace to my household before I call him back to me."
Between the wine and the strain, Meneláwo was thoroughly bewildered. "But my brother will want to see Orésta…"
Klutaimnéstra spoke quickly and urgently. "There is more going on here than you know. There is a great evil lying between Agamémnon and me. His homecoming will mean reliving that evil and that may tear my household apart. I am afraid for all my children, but most especially for Orésta. He is so young and trusting. He simply will not accept the fact that his father killed his oldest sister."
"Klutaimnéstra, wait," Meneláwo said, raising his hands to stop her. "Ip'emédeya…"
The wánasha struck her brother-in-law's gaunt face with her open palm. "Do not speak my daughter's name!" she cried as sudden rage overwhelmed her. "No son of Atréyu will ever say her name to me again! Idé, you wail about the price you paid for Ariyádna. You moan about your warriors," she said scornfully. "But it was Agamémnon who paid the highest price. He sacrificed his own child. I will never forgive him for that, never! The people of Argo will not forget that outrage, either. They want him off the throne as much as I." She stood, trembling with fury, her face as white as bleached linen.
"But Klutaimnéstra, you must listen!" Meneláwo shouted, rising to his feet and catching the woman's hands so that she could not strike him again. "Ip'emédeya is not dead! I swear it! Agamémnon killed a hind instead. He substituted a deer, do you hear me? Your daughter is…"
"I do not believe you!" Klutaimnéstra shrieked, violently freeing her hands. "You are as much a liar as that sack of wine you call your friend, that Odushéyu!" She flailed at her brother-in-law with her fists.
Meneláwo held his arms over his head to ward off her blows, stumbling backward. Over her protests, he shouted, "No, no, I swear by the river of the dead! Sister-in-law, listen to me, I swear by the Stuks! Ip'emédeya is alive!"
The wánasha stared at him in sudden silence, wanting to believe but not convinced, her breath coming harshly through ochre-reddened lips. Her wild movements had thrown the cloak from her shoulders, baring her heavy, pendulous breasts over a tight, blue bodice. Her hands hung in the air, trembling.
The Lakedaimóniyan king dropped his arms, collapsing into his chair, and repeated in a whisper, "Ip'emédeya is alive."
Blinking back tears, Klutaimnéstra brought shuddering hands to her mouth. "Where is she?"
Meneláwo turned his eyes away. "That I cannot tell you. I swore an oath to Agamémnon."
"By the goddess…" Klutaimnéstra began, still quivering with emotion.
"But she is alive, I swear, I swear," her brother-in-law hastened to say. He knelt before the woman as her fists rose in renewed fury. Embracing her knees with one arm, he raised his other hand toward her face. "Please, Klutaimnéstra, please listen. I accepted you as the wánasha of Argo the day you married my brother. Agamémnon's claim to kingship resides in you, not the other way around. I swore an oath to that effect on your wedding day, do you remember? I repeat it now, the most sacred oath a man can utter. I swear by the Stuks, the river I must cross to enter the land of the dead, that you and you alone are the rightful queen of Argo. As I am an Argive by birth, that makes me your subject. May the gods strike me dead if I lie to my own queen. May the river of death deny me crossing if I swear falsely."
Seeing that the woman was somewhat appeased, he rose, releasing her skirts, and spoke with less formality. "If you want me to take Orésta home with me, I will do it. You and Agamémnon need time to work things out. I understand that. And you are right. I had planned all along to leave as soon as possible. I do not want to be here when my brother arrives. That would only make things more difficult between you two, having your sister and his brother looking on. But calm your heart, Klutaimnéstra. Ip'emédeya did not die. I swear it. Your daughter is alive. My brother will tell you this himself and reveal the rest, when he comes home."
aaa
Aígist'o met the wánasha when she finally left the throne room, a saucer-like lamp in her hand. She would not meet his eager eyes. In silence, she led the way up the northern staircase to the private apartments of the palace. Aígist'o watched with longing as the queen's broad hips swayed, in her walk. Hesitantly he reached forward and lightly rested a hand on her ample buttocks. With an angry glare over her shoulder, she slapped him away. Aígist'o ran the back of his hand over his whiskerless upper lip and said nothing. He paused briefly as they approached the row of small bed-chambers. But Klutaimnéstra did not slacken her pace. She pressed on, leading the way to a storeroom at the end of the corridor. Aígist'o followed her inside and pulled the door closed against the stone threshold, fastening the latch. There, amid baskets of inscribed wooden tablets, the queen and councilor stood and whispered in the light of the oil-burning lamp.
"Meneláwo swears that my Ip'emédeya is alive," Klutaimnéstra told him quickly, watching her companion's reaction carefully.
"He is lying," Aígist'o gasped. "Qálki sent you a message."
The queen pressed her full lips together, thinking. "Qálki was a godly man. He would not lie to me. But he could have been deceived. As for Meneláwo, I do not think he is lying either. He is a simple man, unlike his fat swine of a brother. Meneláwo believes what he says."
"But if she is not dead, where can she be?" Aígist'o asked, his hands raised in bewilderment and disbelief. "Where could princess Ip'emédeya go, that we would not have heard of her?"
Klutaimnéstra sighed and her eyes grew soft and wet. "That is the problem. Meneláwo will not tell me. He swore an oath to his brother, he says. And I cannot guess the answer myself. Nor can I imagine how Agamémnon could substitute a deer at the sacrifice without Qálki knowing."
Aígist'o laughed without mirth. "By the goddess, if any man could deceive a true prophet, it would be Agamémnon." He considered the matter briefly, shaking his head. "But I cannot think how it could be done, either. No, it is absurd. What nonsense has Meneláwo told you? Such a thing could not be done."
The wánasha shook her head and firmly repeated, "Still, Meneláwo swears it."
Her councilor thought a moment, studying the woman's face and stroking his beard. "Think of this, my queen. How does Meneláwo know that your daughter is not dead? Could he be mistaken? Has he actually seen her? Or did Agamémnon only tell him this preposterous story?"
With a sigh deeper than before, Klutaimnéstra answered, "He will say only that she is alive, nothing more. Owái, I would give up all of Argo to Agamémnon, and Lakedaimón as well, if only he would put Ip'emédeya's hand in mine once more."
Aígist'o was alarmed. "What are you saying? Has your heart changed so much? We discussed this issue fully before we made our final plans, or have you forgotten? When Agamémnon comes home, will you accept your husband into your house again, after all?"
Klutaimnéstra did not answer immediately. When she did, her words were carefully chosen. "I think it might be wise to postpone our plans. I must ask Agamémnon himself about this matter. If Ip'emédeya is alive, I truly must know and I will have to find out where she is before anything else is done."
"Wánasha," Aígist'o gasped, horrified. "You cannot, you must not seriously believe this story. Ai gar, my lady, if Agamémnon deceived anyone, it is surely Meneláwo. As you say, he is as simple and trusting a man as his brother is wily and devious. But even Agamémnon could not fool a seer. No, surely Qálki would have known if Agamémnon had tried to substitute an animal in the sacrifice. Qálki was a clever man, even aside from his insights into the hearts of the gods. At the very least, he would have suspected something. And if he had, we would have heard about it. But we heard nothing, my dear Klutaimnéstra, absolutely nothing!"
"Except from Meneláwo," the queen frowned. "Listen to me, Aígist'o, we cannot be certain. After all, Agamém
non always was an impious man. He never liked seers. If he were contemplating something so boldly blasphemous as to deceive his whole army, he would hardly confide it in Qálki. No, he trusted his own flesh and blood, like any man. He would confide in his brother alone. You see, it makes sense that only Meneláwo would know. Does it not?" She wanted his agreement, wanted it desperately.
But Aígist'o continually shook his head. He took the lamp from the queen's hand and set it on the edge of a shelf lined with tablets of smooth wood. With sad eyes, he faced the queen, his hands on her cloaked shoulders. "Owái, wánasha, you want to believe this story so much that you are letting the maináds take hold of you. Resist their charms and listen to reason. It was Agamémnon's impiety that both brought down the plague and held back the wind at Aúli. You know that. Qálki said so and he had true sight. As if that were not enough, your own sacred geese confirmed that same face, in the pattern of their flight. You cannot have forgotten that fact.
“No, much as you hate to accept it, you must. Your daughter is irretrievably lost to you and that wicked husband of yours, Agamémnon, is to blame. It was his evil deed that angered the goddess. It was his wrong-doing that required a sacrifice. Qálki foretold that Ip'emédeya's death would be the only way that the Ak'áyan army could sail to Wilúsiya. The sacrifice took place, as it had to. Your godless husband agreed to the price, as we knew he would, offering up his own daughter's flesh to his base ambition."
