by Diana Gainer
Meneláwo sighed wearily. "Yes," he moaned. "I suffered every kind of hardship with her brothers, in my earlier campaigns. Ai, their lives meant more to me than my own brother's. When they died trying to save Ariyádna, I grieved. But I thought that would end when I brought her home again. Ai, T'úwa, it has been ten years and more since Kástor and Poludéyuke fell and still, every day, I think of them and miss them. I cannot get my fill of mourning, either for them or for all the other fine men, lost on both sides in the Tróyan war. But most of all, I grieve for the woman I still love. Owái, I would pay any price to have her whole again! Ariyádna, forgive me for saying so, but though the gods may condemn me to never-ending tortures for what I have done, I would do it all again for you, my beloved!" He stared down gloomily into his half-filled cup. "It takes more than wine to drown my sorrow." Tears spilled again over his hollow cheeks and he wept, with the low, weary sound of an exhausted child.
T'úwa found himself blinking to clear his own eyes, to his surprise. He clapped Meneláwo on the shoulder, gently so as not to push him from the bench. The Mar-Ashántiyan priest rose. "I must see about something. Stay, my friend, drink more wine. I will be back in a moment." He hurried outside.
In the chilly night air, T'úwa spoke to his followers. "Prepare a second longboat. It must sail after the first, in the morning. Go directly to Mar-Yandún this time. You must be quick. Bring Meneláwo's men back, alive if you can. If it is too late for that, then at least we can return their bones to him." On his return to the king's side, the priest collected an armful of poppy-shaped juglets from his storerooms.
aaa
On the island of Mar-Yandún, Diwoméde and Orésta spent a long and difficult night. They were given nothing to eat or drink and the leather strips binding them cut into their flesh. It was no longer clear whether both would die in the morning, or whether one might yet be spared to carried the priestess's message to Argo. Nor was Orésta sure whether the woman was Ip'emédeya or not. Neither man was able to sleep. Diwoméde struggled against his bonds, off and on throughout the night, encouraging his kinsman to do the same. "We cannot depend on gods or on strange women to save us," the qasiléyu noted. "Our lives are in our own hands."
But Orésta only sat with his head drooping. He thought of his older sister, Ip'emédeya, smiling through her tears as their mother told her she was to wed a T'eshalíyan prince called Ak'illéyu. The girl had always resembled her aunt more closely than her own mother. Klutaimnéstra had patted her daughter's hand and explained, "Ariyádna refused to be wánasha of a northern land and look what was happened to her, carried off by Tróyan pirates. So you must be a P'ilísta queen instead, for her sake. It is fate."
But how Klutaimnéstra had bewailed that bride's true destiny, to be an offering on the altar of the divine queen of maináds, her blood spilled by her own father. Orésta's mind recoiled from that. Surely it could not be true. He had always cherished the belief that Ip'emédeya had survived, somehow. Still, unbidden memories came to him of his father's other deeds, how he had beaten Klutaimnéstra into submission when she had argued with him about one or another royal decision he had made. He remembered, too, the day when Agamémnon had set out in his chariot, with all his men, never to return to golden Mukénai.
He felt the sting of Aígist'o's belt on his back, the furious screams of his mother ringing in his ears, "Obey him, Orésta, he will be your father one day." But Klutaimnéstra had been wrong about that. His uncle had taken him to Lakedaimón before Aígist'o married Klutaimnéstra and the boy had never once called any man 'Father' but Agamémnon. Meneláwo's sorrowful eyes seemed to overflow in the young man's mind, as they had when his uncle told him his father was dead. His heart ached again as it had when 'Ermiyóna had journeyed north with her new husband, leaving Orésta behind, despite their childhood promises to one another of a life spent together.
Meneláwo had grieved along with him, for Ip'emédeya, for Agamémnon, and for 'Ermiyóna. The king could give no comfort to his nephew, either, but only noted that the maináds had a strange fascination with the house of Atréyu. Long years past, Atréyu himself had battled his own brother and now his sons passed on that legacy of self-destruction to their children.
Sometimes, in his dreams, Orésta thought he could see the grimly beautiful goddesses stalking him and his family. Here in this foreign land, the daughters of Díwo were surely nearby. He could feel their eyes shining in the dark, like those of wolves, striking men dumb with a look, before devouring their souls.
Diwoméde succeeded at last in working one hand loose, just before dawn. "Orésta," the qasiléyu called out, "I will have us free in a moment." But before he could do anything more, unkempt men of Mar-Yandún threw open the hide flap that served for a door and ducked down to enter the hut. The captives were freed of their remaining bonds, but guarded closely by warriors with black-tipped javelins.
The priestess came before the prisoners again, just as the sun peeked over the watery horizon. Her eyes betrayed no warmth and the look she gave them was as harsh as when the Argives had first seen her. Their spirits fell. She said nothing of messages or of a life to be spared. In silence, she led the way to the sea, dressed in her long, leather tunic with her amber beads, two black braids swinging at her back. Weak with hunger and fatigue, the Argives meekly followed her, walking out single file into the river mouth. A single spearman brought up the rear, two light javelins in each hand. When the water reached the dark-haired woman's knees, she stopped and raised her arms above her head. In one hand she clasped a long, thin blade, chipped from a greenish stone. In the other, she held a necklace of bear's teeth.
"We are dead men," Diwoméde groaned quietly to the younger man. Ahead of him, Orésta made no response.
The priestess looked out toward the blue-gray expanse in the east, where sky and sea blended in mist, and called, "Dobrógeya!" She repeated the name three times, dropping her arms to wet the knife and necklace in the sacred river's water each time. The third rendition of the name was the loudest, the voice of the priestess coarse and fierce. She whirled about to face the three men, the captives, and their guard. Her movement was so sudden that Diwoméde jumped and Orésta shuddered from head to toe.
"Dúni!" cried the red-haired spearman behind the prisoners. He raised his weapons in the air, dropped them to the water, and lifted them again. He drew in his breath and opened his mouth to call the name a second time.
But the priestess flung herself toward him, her knife raised. Though there would have been time for the guard to cast his weapons, he was too surprised to do so. The woman pounded the stone blade into his chest, piercing his heart and lungs. The man fell back with a splash into the shallow water, a crimson stain bubbling out around him. Orésta stood in a daze, not understanding what he saw. But Diwoméde sprang into action. He shoved his kinsman toward the open sea, shouting in his ear, "Go! Go!"
A great cry of outrage and fury rose from the shore. The women, lined up at the water's edge, shouted curses and waved their arms. Men rushed back toward their low houses and beyond to where their horses grazed. They threw their reins over the animals' heads with practiced ease, leaped to their backs, and rode out into the waters with quick, fluid motions.
But the Argive prisoners and the priestess were, by then, swimming in water that was growing ever deeper very quickly. Out of the surrounding fog, a boat glided forward to meet them. The vessel was a rude thing and small. It had been carved largely from a single log, with only a few planks added on either side to give it additional height. It had no sail, being propelled by a single oarsman who was withered with great age. Orésta reached the boat first and clambered in. He helped the priestess into the vessel as the horsemen of Mar-Yandún approached, giving the tremulous battle cry and throwing their lightweight javelins.
"Take the oar, Orésta," Diwoméde urged, grasping the back end of the boat. "I will swim and push. Hurry, hurry!"
Their progress over the misty water seemed painfully slow to the fleeing pris
oners. But it was fast enough. The horsemen dared to ride into the sea only until their horses' legs were underwater and the riders' boots wet. There the men of Mar-Yandún stopped, casting their remaining spears and shouting curses until the little boat was out of sight.
Not far out to sea, the small craft met a larger one, the longboat that T'úwa had sent out to bring the Argives home. Diwoméde and Orésta were greatly relieved to see it. Though the canoe that rescued them had seemed a beautiful thing at first, it was cramped and in constant danger of swamping. Two people might have ridden it easily enough, especially the younger, smaller man and the woman, but three threatened constantly to overturn it. The aging rower insisted that the sons of Agamémnon take turns swimming behind or alongside, as a fourth passenger was simply out of the question. By the time T'úwa's people had them aboard, both Argives were thoroughly chilled. Gratefully wrapping themselves in Mar-Ashántiyan woolen garments, they said nothing about the treachery of their earlier guides.
On the larger vessel, the half-brothers were at last able to talk to the priestess at length. "I am indeed Ip'emédeya," she told them. She had come to be in that distant land as T'érsite had speculated, spared by her father and uncle through trickery. "Meneláwo paid a T'rákiyan boatman to guide us secretly from Qoyotíya through the straits of Dáwan, along the northern coast. From there, Meneláwo carried me to the Mar-Ashántiyan shore alone, so that no one but he would know the route I had gone. But there, he left me to die," she told her brothers bitterly. "He would not see me to the end of my journey, though I begged and pleaded. All he could think about was his fawn-hearted wife, may Préswa torment her soul! Meneláwo sailed back to Tróya and never thought of me again."
"How did you come to be in Mar-Yandún?" Diwoméde asked, troubled by the woman's anger.
"T'úwa promised that he would take me to the farthest outpost he knew, a place where he claimed no Ak'áyan could ever find me. He said nothing more about the matter and Meneláwo asked no questions. Ai, may my uncle suffer endless years of hunger and disease for that! The Mar-Yandúns are cannibals, just as you said, Diwoméde. Only my training as a priestess saved me all those years ago." Although both her kinsmen had further questions, she would say nothing more about the horsemen.
Orésta thought to cheer her by talking of their ultimate destination and her return home. "Our fleet is in Tawári, so we must go there first. But then we will sail back through Dáwan's straits and take you back among Ak'áyans. Ai, it will be good to see civilization again."
To the young man's surprise, Ip'emédeya did not smile at the thought. "I care nothing about civilization," she said. "What I look forward to is vengeance."
Taken aback, Orésta asked, "On who?"
Beside him, his hair still dripping from his long swim, Diwoméde shook his head. "Your father had the same goal, lady. But he has beaten you to it. Qálki is dead, the seer who…"
"I remember Qálki," Ip'emédeya interrupted, in her fury, "may his soul never rest in 'Aidé. He demanded my death to appease Artémito. I remember Ak'illéyu as well. That blood-thirsty dog of a warrior defended Qálki against my father's anger."
"Ak'illéyu is dead, too," Diwoméde added quietly. " Agamémnon had Néstor's son killed, too, to punish the old king for demanding your sacrifice before the whole army."
"Good," Ip'emédeya told them. "But that is not enough. I will not rest until I see the whole army gone, every man who fought for my father in the Tróyan war. In fact, when I first guessed that I was to be sacrificed, I cursed the whole of the two continents, Ak'áiwiya and Assúwa. 'If I have to die,' I told the goddess, 'then make all the world suffer for it.' Now I intend to make certain I have my revenge."
Orésta and Diwoméde were shaken in their very souls by this talk. "But your own kinsmen fought in that war, your father and your uncle," Diwoméde reminded her. "And what of your sisters and cousins, suffering in the drought ever since?"
"Is the drought really your doing?" Orésta asked, awed by her claim.
"It is," she cried fiercely. "If my kinsmen are suffering because of it, then my heart rejoices. What right did they have to live and prosper, when I was condemned to die?"
"But you are still alive," Diwoméde argued, growing angry. "Agamémnon did not kill you, did he? He substituted a deer's bleeding heart for yours and Meneláwo helped him."
"Idé, and the two of them arranged for my living death instead, exile among barbarians," Ip'emédeya shouted, her face dark with rage. "I blame my father. He would not listen to reason or to prayers. He would not cancel the Tróyan campaign even to save his own child. My uncle and my mother share that blame as well."
Diwoméde threw up his hands. "She is caught by the maináds," he told Orésta in disgust. "I do not want to hear any more of this."
But this pronouncement did not please the younger man, impressed by her passion. "Our father died at the height of his power," he reminded the qasiléyu. "It had to be for some reason. I have always heard that a woman's curse is the worst."
Ip'emédeya was surprised to hear that Agamémnon was dead. But that slowed her tirade for only a short time. "My curse upon him was effective, then," she announced, having heard the tale of his demise. "I am pleased to hear it. And what of my uncle, who decided on the deceit and banished me?"
"Meneláwo is alive, but he has suffered, just as you prayed," Orésta told her eagerly. His half-brother put a hand on his arm to stop him, still shaking his head. But the younger man went on, "I have watched him and his 'Elléniya gradually wither before my eyes. Both are slaves of the poppy." He swallowed hard and blood drained from his face as he thought of another question, one that had troubled him for some time. "And what of our mother?" Orésta asked the priestess, in a whisper, "Is she really to blame, too?"
Ip'emédeya leered at her younger brother and answered in an ominous undertone. "Yes, because she did not oppose my sacrifice strongly enough. Idé, the woman only shed a few tears and made an idle threat or two! But when my father insisted on my death, she dried her cheeks and told me that it was fate. Ai, my destiny was truly evil! She had seen it in the entrails of the sacred geese when I was born. Our grandfather's brother was the reason, she told me. Tuwésta cursed our line for all time, so I was supposedly doomed to die from the moment I was conceived." She spat upon the stern platform where they were sitting. "Let me tell you the tale, Orésta."
Both he and Diwoméde protested that they had heard it all too often before. But the black-haired priestess ignored their words. "Our grandfather, Atréyu, wanted with all his heart to be wánaks of Argo. He knew it was against the custom, but his father desired it with the same evil passion. King Pelóq smothered his every daughter as she was born, so that he would have no female heirs. So Atréyu got his wish. He imported a holy woman from Kep'túr. That was our grandmother, Awerópa, the daughter of a wánaks and a trained priestess. She went to Atréyu's bed, cementing his claim to kingship, while Atréyu's brother, Tuwésta, had only a captive bride from Assúwa."
"We know, we know," Diwoméde cried, waving at her to be silent. "Ai, if I had an oil jar for every time I have heard this disgusting story, I could fill all of Mukénai's storerooms with the pots!"
Orésta turned toward the qasiléyu with eyes suddenly filled with suspicion. "Let her speak," he commanded grimly.
Ip'emédeya shot her illegitimate brother a look of contempt and went on. "Tuwésta was jealous of his brother and vowed to avenge this slight to his areté. Tuwésta tried to seduce his sister-in-law, and when Awerópa would not come to his bed willingly, he raped her. She told her husband of this affront to her honor and Atréyu plotted a monstrous revenge. He killed the children of his brother, all of them, and cooked their flesh. Atréyu served his brother the bodies of his own sons for supper. Tuwésta ate, not knowing what meat he was given. When Atréyu told him, Tuwésta stabbed himself with his own sword. But before he died, Tuwésta cursed his brother and Awerópa, and all their descendants to the end of time."
"That i
s just a story," Diwoméde growsed, clapping his hands to his thighs. "What is more, it is nonsense! Meneláwo says so and he remembers his grandfather and uncle. Besides, even if Tuwésta raped Awerópa and died for it, his son Aígist'o was never cooked, much less eaten. Your own mother took him to her bed when he murdered Agamémnon. Aígist'o is now wánaks of Argo."
In astonished disbelief, Ip'emédeya looked to Orésta. He nodded in confirmation. The woman considered that for only a moment. "Then it seems I have only one remaining act of vengeance to perform," she announced with satisfaction. "I will see my mother suffer and then I will be content."
Diwoméde ground his teeth and said no more.
But Orésta's spirits lifted. The younger man later told his half-brother that this was a good omen. "She does not realize it, of course," Orésta whispered, "but Ip'emédeya is giving us her blessing. It is as certain as anything a seer could find in the flight of eagles or doves. My sister has pronounced a favorable judgment on our plan to depose Aígist'o and the queen."
Diwoméde still had serious misgivings when the party returned to Tawári's misty shore. "Ip'emédeya is completely mad," he told his younger brother, "and if we try to take her back to Ak'áiwiya, she will only cause us trouble. Let us see if T'úwa can be induced to keep her here. We can tell her it is for her own safety. That will not be far wrong, you know. The surviving Ak'áyans who served at Tróya would threaten her life if they knew she had cheated the goddess out of a sacrifice. They would blame her for the drought."
"That is indeed a problem," Orésta admitted.
But, though he welcomed her brothers, T'úwa showed no pleasure at Ip'emédeya's presence. It was immediately clear that the priestess would not be welcome in his land. Imperiously, Ip'emédeya insisted on seeing Meneláwo as soon as she set foot on the shore. The spiral-painted priest was offended by her manner and told her so. But he led the way to the Lakedaimóniyan king, ignoring the warning gestures of the man's alarmed nephews. They found Meneláwo in T'úwa's house, where he had remained as a guest, constantly plied with poppy-tinged wine.
