Beauty's Daughter

by Carolyn Meyer

  I loved that story, told to me when I was a child at my father’s knee. Now we arrived in the gleaming city that had previously existed only in my imagination. Athens lay in a fertile valley green with olive groves, vineyards, and fields of grain. Within its thick walls Athens appeared well kept and prosperous, unlike Mycenae, where a pall of death now lay over the city.

  We were immediately caught up in a swirl of activity in the agora, the sprawling marketplace. Vendors stood by their small booths with folded arms and wide smiles, inviting prospective customers to purchase baskets of barley and jars of wine to offer the gods. When a grizzled old fellow approached us with cages made of twigs and filled with songbirds, I recognized Hermes.

  “King Menestheus knows you’re here,” he said. “You’ll receive a warm welcome from him.” The messenger god/bird seller disappeared, leaving the twittering birds behind.

  The Acropolis, a sheer-sided rock plateau, rose starkly above a sloping hillside. Carrying the bird cages and offerings of barley and wine, we climbed a steep path and long flights of stairs that brought us finally to an enormous double gate and guardhouse. At the shrine of Athena in a large open square Ardeste unlatched the cage doors, and the birds flew off in a flutter of wings and feathers. We tossed handfuls of grain into the air and tipped a few drops of wine on the ground, praying for the safe return of Orestes, Pylades, and Iphigenia.

  The royal palace stood outlined against the startling blue of a cloudless sky. Heralds announced our arrival to King Menestheus, and a handsome man with a dark beard trimmed to a point came out to greet us. “Hermione of Sparta! Electra of Mycenae! It was my honor to call myself friend to both your fathers and to serve with them in Troy as commander of the Athenian fleet. And I remain a great admirer of your mother,” he added, embracing me warmly as though we were already well acquainted.

  The king led us through the magnificent megaron painted with lively battle scenes and into a smaller room opening onto a broad terrace. Fruit trees displayed new blossoms. Thick carpets covered benches and chairs, and servants poured wine from golden ewers and offered platters of sweets. It had been a long time since I’d enjoyed such luxury. I felt embarrassed by the condition of my well-worn peplos.

  The conversation proceeded pleasantly, avoiding all serious subjects, until Electra, her palms pressed together, bent toward King Menestheus and spoke earnestly for us both. “We’ve come to Athens with the hope of finding my brother, Orestes, and his friend, Pylades,” she said. “They’ve been sent by Apollo to retrieve an image of Artemis from the shrine in Tauris where my sister Iphigenia has been kept for years by the Taurians. We pray that she’ll be rescued and they’ll bring her here. Have you had any word of them?”

  The smiling Menestheus also turned serious, drumming his fingers on an ebony table. “I know about this. Orestes and Pylades stopped here on their way to Tauris.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised in a question. “I take it you have more than just a cousinly interest in Orestes? I remember seeing the two of you often in each other’s company in the encampment at Troy.”

  I felt myself blushing and lowered my gaze. “We planned to marry.”

  “But Menelaus had other plans for you, am I correct? And married you to Achilles’ son, Pyrrhus?”

  “He did, against my wishes. But Pyrrhus insulted the oracle at Delphi, and he was killed by one of Apollo’s priests.”

  “I know about that, too. Sooner or later we learn about everything of importance that happens in Greece. But Orestes has been driven mad by the furies, his mind destroyed. He’s become a different person from the young man I knew and admired at Troy.”

  “It’s true,” Electra said. “He might not even recognize Hermione.”

  “But I believe that once I see him, my love will restore him.” I covered my eyes with my hands, unable to continue.

  “So you believe in the curative powers of love!” Menestheus sighed. “I don’t doubt that you can do that. But first he must return here to Athens with the sacred image, and—we hope—with Iphigenia as well.”

  “And Pylades,” Electra murmured.

  “Of course, with Pylades. A brave man. His mother was determined that he would not go to Troy and risk death. He walks with a stick, but that hasn’t diminished his courage. I loaned them a ship and fifty oarsmen and sacrificed three fine oxen to Apollo for their expedition. And now all we can do is wait.”

  “You are most generous, my lord! But have you heard anything since they sailed from here? Any messages, or word of any kind?” I cried. “Because, as you said, sooner or later you learn everything that happens in Greece.”

  “Perhaps this is still ‘sooner’ and we must wait a while longer for ‘later.’”

  “Would it be possible to send another ship with a few men onboard,” I asked desperately, “to offer help, if it’s needed?”

  “I can’t risk any more men or ships against the Taurians, Hermione. They’re a cruel people.”

  I heard the slight impatience in Menestheus’s voice, but I could not give up, even at the risk of annoying him. “We came here in a small boat, not big enough to undertake such a long voyage. But if you would agree to lend me a larger ship and enough rowers, I’m sure my friend Leucus would serve as captain when he comes back from Sminthos. He was a captain in Pyrrhus’s fleet, and he’s been a great help to me. Zethus, too, would be willing to sail to Tauris, and Asius, who was once Orestes’ charioteer. That would be enough, surely!”

  It seemed so clear to me what should be done—why couldn’t Menestheus see it as well? But his answer was no. I tried every way I knew, but I couldn’t shake him from that decision.

  He did, however, offer the hospitality of his palace. “It would be my pleasure for you and Electra and your friends to stay here as guests of my wife, Queen Clymene, and me for as long as you wish. And I promise to do everything I can to get news of Orestes and Pylades and Iphigenia.”

  My friends and I settled into a separate wing of the beautiful palace overlooking the city. Queen Clymene, a woman with a warm heart and a homely face, did everything to make us comfortable. I wondered at first how Menestheus could have married such a plain-looking woman—square jawed, her small eyes set too close together—when he’d once been in love with Helen of Sparta. But perhaps he’d been wise enough to recognize early that a warm heart is worth far more than all the world’s beauty, and I admired him all the more for it.

  Queen Clymene furnished us with looms and shuttles, and during the cool mornings her daughters and daughters-in-law joined us with their servants to spin wool while children raced in and out, shouting noisily, or played quietly beside us. In the afternoons Electra and I made the long walk from the Acropolis down to the agora. We wandered through the marketplace, examining scarabs from Egypt, wine jars from Canaan, tin ware and other goods brought by ship to the port of Piraeus. Sometimes we visited the Kerameikos, where the potters produced their excellent wares, and we always made offerings for the safe return of Orestes, Pylades, and Iphigenia at the shrines on the banks of the Eridanos.

  In the evenings the king and queen entertained us at lavish banquets with spit-roasted meats, bread still warm from the ovens, and rich red wine from nearby vineyards. The king’s four sons and their wives, and his four daughters and their husbands, along with numerous young children, all made us feel welcome. Musicians played, and poets recited stories about the lives of the gods, and afterward we retired to beds piled with soft fleeces.

  I had fled from Pharsalos when the days were growing short and the nights long and bitterly cold. I had endured wintry days traveling on muddy roads and crossing wind-whipped seas and suffered through frigid nights trying to keep warm on musty fleeces. Now the days were mild, the air sweetly perfumed. Everything seemed fresh and new. I should have been content, but of course I was not. I was restless. If I were a man, I thought, I’d hire a ship and oarsmen and sail to Tauris myself. But a woman couldn’t do such a thing.

  “I must be lacking in courage,” I
grumbled to Electra, “or I’d smuggle myself aboard a ship as I did at Aulis when I sailed to Troy with the concubines.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that!” Electra cried, and so I entertained the queen and her daughters and daughters-in-law with stories of my early adventures on the beach at Troy until they were weak with laughter.

  Throughout the lengthening days of spring Electra and I wove glistening wool and soft linen for new gowns and tunics, and veils of rare wild silk, and we talked about the feasts we’d have when our lovers returned. But at night on our fleeces we wept in secret, not daring to mention our fear that we might never again lie in our lovers’ arms or exchange caresses. That we might never even see them again.

  31

  Arrivals

  THE FIRST SIGHTING OF the new moon after the summer solstice marked the start of the new year. Preparations for a celebration were going on throughout the city, and Electra and I went to the agora to watch. Ardeste didn’t accompany us; her belly had grown large, and though the walk down was easy, the climb back up was not. After we’d bargained for a finely woven basket to buy for the baby Ardeste expected soon, we joined the crowd under the canopy waiting for the heralds. News from all over Greece traveled from runner to runner until it reached the agora and was announced to those who’d gathered to hear it. The noisy crowd quieted at once when the first of the heralds stepped onto a platform and raised a large cone to his mouth to make himself heard.

  “Now hear this!” he cried. “The ship belonging to King Menestheus, graciously loaned to Prince Orestes of Mycenae and Prince Pylades of Krisa for the long and perilous journey to the land of the Taurians, has made landfall on the eastern coast of Attica. The sacred image having been left at the shrine of Artemis at Brauron, as the goddess decreed, the ship has again set sail and with favorable winds will arrive at Piraeus today or tomorrow.”

  The news created a stir of excitement. “They’re coming!” Electra and I cried ecstatically and embraced with tears of joy in our eyes. “They’re nearly here!”

  We looked at each other. “We’ll find Asius and ask him to take us down to the port,” Electra said. “We can welcome them there.”

  Off we flew.

  We’d waited for this day for months, dreamed of it, made and remade plans for it. We would bathe and smooth our skin with perfumed oils, clean our teeth, and put oil and honey on our faces, dress in our new gowns and whatever jewels we could find. Ardeste would arrange our hair and help us to extend our eyebrows and redden our lips with cosmetics made of beeswax.

  But in our excitement we forgot all that. We also forgot that Helios’s flaming chariot still rode high in the sky. There was no breeze to relieve the heat, not a single cloud, and we ran through the agora sweating like slaves and having no real idea of where we were going.

  Where was Asius? Where did he keep the chariot and the horses and the donkey? Neither Electra nor I was familiar with this part of the city. I thought I knew where the stables were, but now I couldn’t remember how to find them.

  “You’ve gotten us lost,” Electra said, exasperated.

  I admitted that I had. The sheer white cliffs of the Acropolis rose up from the center of the city, the only familiar landmark, and we hurried that way. Rather than searching for the broad path we always followed up to the citadel, we decided to take the first shortcut we found, a steep stairway cut into the limestone. We began climbing. Halfway up I stopped to look down. That was a mistake. I dropped the basket we’d bought for Ardeste’s baby and watched it tumble down, down, down. Too frightened to do anything else, we forced ourselves to keep climbing.

  “Never again those stairs,” Electra vowed when we arrived, panting, at the palace. “There must be better ones.”

  Ardeste was waiting for us, pacing impatiently and wringing her hands. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” she said, breathless with excitement. “Have you heard? The king’s ship has been sighted! Orestes and Pylades are coming! King Menestheus has already sent Zethus and Asius to Piraeus with chariots to bring them back.”

  Electra and I dropped wearily onto a bench, wiping our brows. “We know,” Electra said. “We heard the news in the agora. We would have gone to greet them ourselves, but we got lost.” She looked at me accusingly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ardeste said. “No one knew where you were. You could have gone to Piraeus with them.”

  “Well, then, there’s time for us to bathe and make ourselves attractive!” I cried, trying to make the best of the situation. “We would not have wanted to greet them looking like this, would we?”

  Servants hurried to carry up jars of water from the deep underground cistern. Oil scented with rose petals was rubbed on our skin, and we put on our new gowns. Ardeste, nearly as excited as we were, secured our hair with ivory combs.

  Then we waited, trying to keep ourselves calm. I was so nervous that I kept dropping things. Electra hummed until I asked her to stop. When we thought we couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, King Menestheus sent for us, and we hurried to the megaron. He and Queen Clymene, dressed in their splendid robes, sat on their ebony thrones. The royal sons and daughters and their families were gathered expectantly. We heard footsteps and hushed voices on the columned porch. Then the conch shell sounded, the double doors were thrown open, and the king’s herald announced the arrival of the honored guests, one by one:

  “Princess Iphigenia of Mycenae!”

  Iphigenia entered, smiling, and greeted the king and queen. With a cry, Electra rushed to her sister for a tearful embrace. I hadn’t seen Iphigenia since she lay on the sacrificial altar at Aulis. The sweet beauty of her youth had faded, her features had grown gaunt, yet she possessed great dignity and a regal grace. Iphigenia was a woman who would look as elegant in a peasant’s tunic as she did in a fine peplos.

  “Prince Pylades of Krisa!” cried the herald.

  Pylades, Orestes’ faithful friend and Electra’s lover, limped into the great hall, leaning heavily on a carved stick. After acknowledging King Menestheus and Queen Clymene, he dropped his stick with a clatter and gathered a radiant Electra in his arms.

  “Prince Orestes of Mycenae!”

  I leaned forward, standing on tiptoe, straining for my first glimpse. I’d last seen him the night before he was to hide with the others inside the wooden horse for the invasion of Troy. That was the night he’d come to my tent with two halves of an intricately made golden goblet, and he’d filled the two halves with wine. That was the night we’d pledged our love, promising not to drink from the goblet again until the two halves were finally united on our wedding day. I wondered if, after all that had happened since that night on the beach, Orestes still had his half.

  The young man who entered the megaron appeared just as I remembered him—a little thinner, maybe, but still handsome with the same splendid physique, the same dark curls falling across his broad brow. Orestes approached the king and queen and stood before them, silent and unsmiling. Menestheus studied his guest. The queen’s sympathetic glance moved from Orestes to me, and I saw her dismay. Electra detached herself from Pylades and went to embrace her brother, but Orestes’ arms stayed rigidly at his sides.

  “Look, Orestes, it’s Hermione!” Electra urged, gesturing for me to join them. “Your own Hermione!”

  Orestes regarded me without even a flicker of recognition in his eyes and greeted me as one greets a stranger in whom one has no interest at all.

  “Orestes,” I said softly, thinking the sound of my voice might stir his memory.

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “She’s your cousin,” Electra prompted. “Daughter of Menelaus, our father’s brother, and of Helen of Sparta, our mother’s sister.”

  Orestes nodded. “I see,” he said.

  Iphigenia, who had been watching, stepped up and squeezed my hand. “We often played together as children,” she explained to her brother. “Remember?”

  “Ah, yes, I remember now,” Orestes said, though it w
as obvious to all of us that he did not. In most ways his appearance hadn’t changed. His front teeth still overlapped in the way that had always charmed me, but his eyes were no longer merry. The tiny golden fires that used to glow in them had gone out. This was not the same Orestes. This was not the young man I knew and loved.

  I had to turn away.

  Menestheus, witnessing this painful scene, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Queen Clymene cleared her throat. “Tonight we shall have a banquet in honor of our guests,” she said. “But first they must have an opportunity to rest from their long and arduous journey.” She signaled for servants to escort them to their quarters.

  Iphigenia gave me a fleeting look as she led Orestes away. Electra hurried off to be with Pylades. I returned alone to my rooms and flung myself down on my bed. My heart was shattered, my pain too deep for tears. I felt as though my life with all my hopes and dreams had come to a sudden end.

  Ardeste entered quietly and sat beside me, stroking my shoulder. I lay facing the wall, and I didn’t turn to look at her.

  “He doesn’t remember me,” I murmured.

  “Not yet,” Ardeste soothed. “But one day soon he will. Come, I’ll help you prepare for the banquet.”

  “I can’t bear to see him there. He doesn’t know who I am, and he doesn’t want to know.” I rolled over and looked at her. “It’s the work of the Furies, Ardeste. I didn’t think he’d be like this.”

  “You’ve said all along that you believed you could heal him with your love. But you must have patience, Hermione. Healing doesn’t take place overnight. Now if you will sit up, I can try to repair the damage you’ve done to your hair.”

  THE BANQUET GUESTS WERE eager to hear about Iphigenia’s escape from the Taurians. Men were by tradition the storytellers, but instead of passing the myrtle branch to Pylades or to Orestes, King Menestheus passed it to Iphigenia. “She must tell the story herself,” said the king.