The Girl From Ithaca

by Cherry Gregory

  Eventually I mumbled something about my journey with Phoebus.

  “Phoebus is kind. I wish he could stay here, to advise Mother,” Iphigenia said quietly. She glanced at Clytemnestra and then fell silent.

  I tried again. “Your wedding tomorrow. I’ve heard Prince Achilles is a great warrior.”

  “That’s why father wants him in his alliance. The messenger said father sent Odysseus in search of him, to offer me as a wife. Achilles accepted and is taking his army to Aulis, ready for war and marriage.” She looked down at the food and then pushed her plate away. “He’ll think me a very poor bargain.”

  I realised we had no need to speak. We understood each other’s predicament without the need for words. We clasped hands, as if in our own personal alliance, and hardly ate a morsel from the array put before us. When those around us had had their fill, Clytemnestra stood up again.

  “Now is the time for entertainment. First, the acrobats, my daughter’s favourite,” she said, turning to smile at Iphigenia.

  Ten acrobats were ushered into the hall. They bowed their heads before Clytemnestra and then backed away into the centre, near the hearth, so all the guests could see them. As the four strongest men stood in a line and the next three climbed onto their shoulders, Iphigenia brightened a little.

  “My mother has been generous. Watch the boy who climbs to the top. He’s the best of all.”

  The acrobats formed a tall tower of men, three layers high. When the final two steadied themselves on the shoulders of the men underneath, the lightest and most agile of the group stepped forward. I looked at Iphigenia and she nodded. The chatter of voices hushed. We all watched the boy as he climbed steadily to the top of the tower.

  Finally he stood on the shoulders of the two men, standing straight, his arms open wide. The men at the base slowly rotated, so all could see the boy’s smiling face. Then Iphigenia tightened her grip on my hand. Moments later, the boy somersaulted from the top and landed on his feet. He bowed to the queen and many in the audience stood and cheered, throwing gold at his feet.

  “He’s handsome, don’t you think?” Iphigenia said. “I hope Prince Achilles looks like him.”

  As the acrobats arranged themselves into a circle, ready for their next display, I looked past them to the wall painting on the opposite end of the hall. It showed a battle around a walled city. Warriors fought in hand-to-hand combat under the walls, while women watched from the windows. Perhaps Agamemnon had planned an attack on Troy as he sat here and gazed at the scene? I studied the warrior falling from the walls. Agamemnon should have listened to Phoebus instead.

  After the acrobats came the jugglers. Five girls combined dancing with throwing and catching clay balls. They were also rewarded with cheers and gold. Finally a bard sang us the story of the goddess Aphrodite’s birth and how she emerged from the sea as the beautiful, fully-grown goddess of love.

  The bard’s voice was smooth and his lyre melodic. Despite my interest in his tale, my eyelids were growing heavy. It had been a long, long day. I noticed Iphigenia yawn, her eyes half closed and her face suddenly pale. Clytemnestra had not said a word during the entertainments and when the bard finished his tale, and was about to start another, she shook her head slightly. Seeing the signal, the old man put down his lyre. Clytemnestra declared the feast at an end.

  The white-haired servant appeared at my side and led me through more passageways to the women’s quarters. Another servant showed me to a room, scurrying ahead of me like a little mouse and lighting the lamp in quick, jerky movements. She pointed to the washing bowl and an array of oils before wishing me good night. Quickly I washed, then took the lamp and looked around the room. On one side I saw beautiful ornaments: ivory carvings of animals, a gold box inlaid with amber and an alabaster statuette of a young girl. I picked up the small statue and noted the detail in her face, her hair and even in the folds of her robe. In the hands of the skilled sculptor, the white stone looked like a living person, with flowing fabric draped around her body.

  I replaced the girl carefully and looked along the opposite wall. There was a row of vases in the shape of naked women, some not very flattering, and another row of two-handled gold goblets. All this in a room they kept for guests! I waved my lamp into one of the corners and saw the glimmer of yet more ornaments, but I could barely keep my eyes open. They’d have to wait until morning.

  Lamb skins lay on the bed and I tumbled onto them, grateful to feel their warmth and softness. I pulled up the woollen covers and immediately fell asleep.

  Chapter FIVE

  Iphigenia

  Early the next morning I had just joined Iphigenia in the entrance hall when Clytemnestra swept in and embraced her daughter.

  “Try not to be scared,” Clytemnestra whispered. Then she stepped back and spoke more formally, her words intended for the officials encircling them. “Now is the time for the princess to cast off childish things and start her life as a woman. Tonight I will sacrifice to the goddess Hera. May the gods bless my daughter and grant her many strong sons.”

  One of the servants ran past me and placed something small in Clytemnestra’s hand. Clytemnestra presented it to Iphigenia. “Here is a gift from your childhood home. May it give you good fortune always.”

  I saw Iphigenia’s lip quiver. “A little lion.”

  Clytemnestra nodded. “The Lion of Atreus, ready to guard you in your married life.”

  Iphigenia flung her arms around her mother for one last time and then rushed to her younger sister, unable to stem the tears any longer.

  “Please don’t let people forget me, Electra,” she sobbed. “And tell baby brother about the games we played.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” the six-year old whimpered.

  I looked away, wondering if Iphigenia would see her sister and brother again. Perhaps the distance between Mycenae and Achilles’ home wasn’t too great, but some husbands didn’t allow their wives to travel, especially if they were expecting a child. And some wives were always expecting a child.

  Clytemnestra stepped away from the two girls and beckoned to me. Leaning close, her voice was a whisper. “Forget what I said last night. It’s hard for a wife when a husband goes to war and her daughter leaves to be married.” She placed something in my hand. “Here, my gift to you. It’s a ceremonial knife, but still effective. Do not be afraid to use it on any man who threatens Iphigenia.”

  I examined the hilt embossed with a silver lion’s head. It was elegant and light, but when I slipped the well-polished blade from the leather sheath, I realised it could be lethal.

  “You think Iphigenia’s in danger?” I gasped. I meant danger beyond that of marriage.

  Her eyes flashed at me. “A king’s daughter is always in danger. You would be wise to remember that.”

  Returning the knife to its sheath and then tucking it into the small pocket inside my cloak, I nodded, pretending I understood. To my relief, Phoebus strode into the hall and distracted us.

  “The mule cart and the three attendants are ready, Lady Clytemnestra,” he said, bowing his head. “I’ve seen to the princess’ clothes chest. Shall I escort Iphigenia and Neomene down the steps?”

  “Thank you, Phoebus. You take them now. I’ve said my farewells and have no wish to see my daughter ride away.”

  Iphigenia pulled away from her sister, wiped her eyes and patted the head of the stone statue. “Goodbye, Bully.” She glanced at her mother, but finding Clytemnestra staring blankly at the wall paintings, she hurried to the doors and waited for me to catch up.

  When we stepped out onto the top of the steps, we paused for a moment, surprised at the large crowd in the main square.

  Phoebus took Iphigenia’s arm. “They are waiting for you, my lady. They wish to cheer you on your way.”

  “So many of them,” Iphigenia said.

  Families were watching from the roof tops and women and children ran to the roadside to witness the departure. I heard one man shout Iphigenia’s name
and like a ripple in a pond, more called out, until over a hundred voices sang a farewell to their princess.

  At last we reached the cart and Phoebus helped us inside. The three attendants clambered after us.

  “See how they love you,” the oldest of the attendants said, taking Iphigenia’s hand and guiding her to a ruck of straw. “Lie on that. It’ll be comfortable, for both of you.”

  Iphigenia sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms round her legs. “In case you haven’t guessed, Neomene, this is Rhea and she used to be my nurse. If I have children, she will be their nurse too.”

  Rhea heaved herself onto the straw and I settled on the other side of Iphigenia .We watched the two younger attendants as they leaned out of the cart, calling to friends and family they might never see again. When Phoebus rode past in his chariot, the driver grumbled at the mules and the cart creaked forward to follow him. Then he cracked his whip and the mules broke into a trot.

  Iphigenia sobbed quietly as we rode through the city, the younger attendants still waving at the crowds of people. I reached for her hand and Rhea smiled at both of us.

  “Iphigenia,” she said gently, “introduce your other attendants to Lady Neomene.”

  The girl took a deep breath and forced a smile. “The shorter one is Cybele. She came to the palace when her parents died and she’s been my special attendant ever since. Sometimes Rhea has to take care of both of us! The tall, dark-haired one is Io. She’s my mother’s favourite, but she’s given her up so she can come with me.” Iphigenia leaned towards me. “Mother says she’ll keep us all safe because she’s clever at knowing what the men are planning.”

  “Clever?” Rhea chuckled. “It’s only because she listens to things not meant for her ears!”

  Cybele stopped waving and sat down opposite me, staring at my legs. I glanced down to check what was wrong, but they didn’t appear to be any worse than usual.

  “I’ve not met anyone from Ithaca before,” Cybele said, still staring. “You don’t look much different from us. My brother told me you all have … ”

  “Cybele has a brother who tells her a lot of nonsense,” Io interrupted, flopping down next to her. “Unfortunately she believes most of it.”

  “It might have been true. How was I to know? I mean, the god Bacchus has goat’s legs,” Cybele insisted.

  I assured her no Ithacans I knew had goat’s legs.

  “Are you sure? Not even King Odysseus?” she asked.

  I laughed. “Not that I’ve noticed, but I’ll check next time I see him.”

  By the time we’d reached the olive groves outside the city, Rhea was doing her best to distract Iphigenia with the story of brave Prometheus and how he stole fire from the gods to give to mortals. Then Io told the tale of the goddess Aphrodite’s love affair with Ares, the god of war.

  “You’ve made us laugh, Io, though I’m not sure it’s a suitable story to tell a girl on her wedding day,” Rhea said, wiping her eyes. She tapped the shoulder of the stable boy sitting next to the driver. “Theo, your grandfather’s taught you some good tunes, play one for us.”

  The boy must have been less than twelve years old and when he pulled the reed pipe from his tunic, I expected him to play a happy, simple tune. But when he put the pipe to his lips, the music that emerged was hauntingly beautiful. It quietened us all and eventually Iphigenia lay down and closed her eyes.

  Rhea looked at her fondly and sighed. “I hadn’t expected a marriage so soon. I should have prepared her.”

  “We’ll help her through it,” Io said quietly.

  Iphigenia looked too young to take on the role of a woman, with her auburn curls framing her sweet, round face and her small hand clutching the ivory lion. I pulled Penelope’s cloak around me and touched my brooch. Please let Achilles love her. Feeling the cart roll from side to side, I leant back against the wooden panel and eventually closed my eyes.

  The three servants lowered their voices, though I could hear most of what they said.

  “Are they asleep, Rhea?” Io whispered.

  “Looks like it. They’ll be tired from last night.”

  “Then listen to this. Achilles. He’s already got a young son. Agamemnon’s messenger told the queen all about it. Achilles’ mother made him hide on an island, so he wouldn’t have to fight in the wars. Rumour is, Odysseus found him disguised as one of the island’s princesses and living with them in the women’s quarters!”

  Cybele giggled. “Living in the women’s quarters! Bet you wish your blacksmith friend had thought of that.”

  “It would have been fun, but his beard would have given him away,” Io laughed. “It worked for Achilles because he was only eleven when he arrived and I suppose they thought it safe for him to mix with the women. They should have kept a better watch on him; the eldest princess had his baby within a year.”

  “How?” cried Cybele, forgetting to whisper. “I mean, I didn’t think a boy could … could … ”

  “I expect he was advanced for his age, with his mother being a goddess,” Rhea said quickly.

  “And now he’s no ordinary seventeen year old. They say he’s the fiercest fighter in all of Greece. He was too young to swear the oath to protect Lady Helen, but he’s eager to fight in Troy.”

  “How do you know all this, Io? Me and Rhea aren’t told hardly anything, and we’ve been attending Iphigenia and Lady Clytemnestra longer than you have. Who tells you these things?”

  I heard Rhea chuckling. “No one tells her, she has a certain way of listening.”

  When the subject changed to what they imagined Achilles’ palace to be like, I thought about the servant Mother would select for me, when eventually I had to marry. She’d know better than let me out of her control with someone like Io. With my questions and her listening, we’d learn too much.

  Rhea was soon telling another story, imitating the voices of Atlas and Hercules as they passed the weight of the world onto one another’s shoulders. I listened for awhile but the rolling of the cart must have sent me to sleep, because I woke with a start, looking round for Iphigenia. She was still asleep, looking small as she lay with her head on Rhea’s lap.

  I moved into a more comfortable position and closed my eyes again as I listened to the creak of the wood and the occasional remark by the drowsy attendants. Slowly the cries of the eagles gave way to buzzards and lark. Then I heard the first seagull and knew we were nearing the sea. I sat up at the sound of a man’s voice.

  Phoebus had drawn his chariot alongside our cart. He nodded at me. “It’s not far now. I think you’d best wake Iphigenia.”

  One by one the others stirred. Iphigenia rubbed her eyes, looking confused. Then she saw me. “Oh, the wedding, the wedding.” She turned to Rhea. “Do I have to get ready?”

  “We’ll just tidy you up a little for now and then prepare you properly at Aulis. There’s plenty of time, plenty of time,” Rhea soothed. She picked straw from the girl’s hair and beckoned to Cybele, who brushed down her cloak.

  I edged away and joined Io at the front of the cart. We peered over the driver’s shoulder and watched Phoebus lead the way up a serpentine track. The mules trudged wearily after him, their ears back as they strained to pull the load.

  “We carry on right to the very top of the cliff. We’ll get a good view of the harbour from there,” the driver explained.

  My stomach tightened. So it really was happening. We were at the port of Aulis, where the Greek army lay in wait and Iphigenia would marry the great Achilles. I shook myself. It was a wedding. I was meant to feel happy. The ones in Ithaca were full of music and singing. Even the children stayed up late, enjoying the sight of the adults dancing and laughing and drinking too much wine. But there’d be no children and very few women at the wedding. There’d be no mothers or grandfathers or wives. Just soldiers and camp followers preparing for war.

  “Feeling nervous?” Io whispered.

  “Just, just a bit.” I said.

  “Me too
.”

  Ahead of us, Phoebus reined in his horses as he reached the summit. Our cart trundled after him and then, moments later, the Greek army spread out below us, like a swarm of locusts. A thousand black-hulled ships filled the harbour and a mass of men and animals covered the beach. Dotted amongst the crowds were the bright standards and the colourful plumed helmets of the leaders.

  Theo whistled.

  “Well, lad, there’s a sight to tell your grandfather. He won’t have seen anything like this,” the driver said. Then he flicked the reins and urged the mules down the track.

  Iphigenia squeezed next to me and I felt her tense as she saw the camp.

  Cybele pushed in beside Io. “Look at all those men. The rest of Greece must be empty!”

  Iphigenia giggled and suddenly we were all laughing, the driver’s guffaws and nose blowing making Iphigenia giggle even more.

  Eventually Rhea clicked her tongue. “Concentrate now. King Agamemnon and Prince Achilles may be waiting for us.”

  I wiped my eyes with the edge of Penelope’s cloak and scanned the crowds for the red plume of my brother.

  “There’s my father!” Iphigenia shouted, pointing to a big man striding along the harbour wall. “And over there, see that giant of a man with the huge shield? He’s Big Ajax. He visited Mycenae last year and made me and Electra laugh so much with all his strong man tricks.”

  “I see my brother,” I said, recognising him in the distance by his red plume, “but who’s he talking to? Do you think it’s Prince Achilles?”

  We strained our eyes for a better view of the young, powerful man with a mane of black hair. As the sentry waved us into the camp, the black-haired man turned towards us, his breastplate glistening in the sunlight.

  “I hope it’s Achilles,” whispered Iphigenia.

  “He’s handsome,” Rhea and Cybele said.

  Io and I glanced at each other and nodded.

  The dark-haired man was also agile and swift. When Odysseus pointed us out, he ran towards us and there was no doubting that he was Achilles, the prince who was to marry Iphigenia. She reached out for him and he took her hand, helping her down from the cart.