by Diana Gainer
"What?" the youthful commander demanded, leaning forward as if to hear her better, though he had understood perfectly well. "She threatens her own kinswoman with war? I cannot believe it!"
"Ai gar, Orésta, you are so childish," Lawodíka scolded. "You think everything is a simple matter. You think kinsmen and areté always go together. Queen Penelópa rules It'áka because she is ambitious, not because the gods love her. Our mother is in Mukénai today for the same reason. Kinship means nothing to either one and it never has."
Her brother leaned back against the throne, frowning, his brows drawn together over his eyes. "What is the matter with you, Lawodíka? Why are you so angry?"
She stood, glaring harshly at him, her fists clenched at her sides. "You lived in the same household with our poor aunt for ten years and you do not know? What is the worst fate for a woman? What does she fear the most? Seeing her city burned, her people slaughtered, and herself carried off to some barbarian land as a slave or concubine! That is what a woman fears." She began to pace, stiff-legged, back and forth before the youth on the throne. "I did not want to come to Tíruns, simply because this is where a war would most likely begin. But Aígist'o was the wánaks and he insisted. I could not refuse. And what happened? I wake up this morning hearing my serving maids whispering about an attack. They had seen armed men, right here in the palace. What was I to think?"
"All right, so you were frightened," Orésta responded, dismissing her complaint with a wave of his hand. "But now you see that you are in no danger. So why are you still angry?"
"You could have warned me! You could have sent a message!" the furious woman shouted, her face red and her eyes burning. "But no, my own brother thinks nothing of endangering me. It never entered his thoughts to worry about his sister's peace of mind." She plopped down again in her chair, fuming, her arms crossed and her breast heaving.
The princess recovered her composure by mid-morning. After a day of feasting and a night of rest, the joint southern contingent set out for Mukénai, a day's travel inland. Orésta performed the sacrifice demanded by custom, before the journey began. His sister stood beside him to read the omens in the ram's entrails. "The gods approved of Agamémnon," Lawodíka announced to the people of Tíruns. "They give their blessings to his son."
Watching the royal offspring from a window in the upper story of the palace, T'érsite and the serving women shook their heads. "He will be just like his father," the grizzled man told them. "Ambition will run away with him. I can see it in his eyes already."
"What of our Diwoméde?" asked the woman beside him, a tiny baby resting listlessly on her shoulder. "Do you think he will come back here?"
"Yes, Dáuniya," T'érsite answered, leaning his elbows on the windowsill. "He will come back. He thinks he will get some great reward for avenging Agamémnon. But, in the end, the gods and the royal family will see that he returns just as he began. He will still be qasiléyu in Tíruns when it is all over."
Dáuniya sighed. "I suppose you are right. Ai, it could be worse." Patting the baby's bare back, she added, "Still, I am worried about him. Did you see how much wine he drank?"
T'érsite nodded with a sigh of his own. "Meneláwo has reintroduced him to the poppy, too."
"I saw the power of those evil blooms when I was at Tróya. We will have to break him of that craving when he gets back," the woman decided firmly.
T'érsite stood up straight. "No, no, no!" he answered. "I saw such men in Wilúsiya myself and I want nothing to do with any breaking. No, I still hope to live to a ripe old age. A man in love with the poppy is worse than a dáimon or a mainád."
aaa
Orésta rode in Aígist'o's royal chariot at the head of the advancing army, announcing his identity and his bloody revenge as he went. Behind him, on a train of ass-drawn carts, his followers distributed grain to the hungry country people. They delivered sack after linen sack full of T'rákiyan barley from his ample stores. As Odushéyu had predicted, the triumphant Argive leader reached Mukénai with a vast, supportive mob behind him. The It'ákan exile was not reticent about pointing this out. "Did I not tell you it would be this way?" Odushéyu asked Orésta and Diwoméde in turn. "Now, perhaps, you see the advantages of coupling your power with the wisdom of an experienced troop leader. I may be an exile, but I am still a most valuable ally."
"Let us complete this campaign," Orésta answered. "Then we will talk of alliances."
The steep hill capped by the fortress of Mukénai rose above the plain before the travelers, by mid-afternoon. Its outer walls followed the irregular contour of the hilltop and were constructed of massive stones. Though variable in size, the stones had been chiseled to match up with their neighbors so neatly that a thin blade could not be inserted between them. Above the courses of pale stone rose ramparts of brick with rounded battlements at the top to provide protection to the bowmen forever on watch. The road leading up to the city's main gate was relatively wide. But the crowd following the Argive prince and qasiléyu was too large for that path to accommodate easily. The commoners were forced by the terrain to spread themselves out in a long column behind their leaders' chariots.
Up the steep hillside, Orésta led the way, approaching the citadel from the southeast. His heart began to pound as he neared the gate. It had been many years since he had seen the two stone lions over the massive doors, their two mouths gaping wide, their tongues gilded. Between their front paws rose a capped pillar, symbol of the fortress and of the great goddess who guarded it. He raised his hand to his heart, his forehead and the sky in salute to the emblem of Argo's royal family. Beside and behind him, the other Argives did the same.
But the archers guarding Mukénai's lion gate considered the approaching rabble a threat. With shouted threats and a few well-aimed arrows, they prevented the entry of all comers. Orésta was forced to turn back. He entered the city without opposition, a short time later, through the smaller postern gate in the north wall. There the guards were more sympathetic. For a handful of barley and a promise of more to come, they opened the way for the only legitimate son of wánaks Agamémnon and wánasha Klutaimnéstra.
As the young Argive leader marched in and through the citadel, he was met sometimes with shouts of welcome and freely opened doors. At other times, spearmen blocked his passage. With his followers, Diwoméde chief among them, he then had to fight his way through. But the men still loyal to the newly dead king were vastly outnumbered. Nothing seriously slowed Orésta's advance until he was well into the Mukénayan palace.
In the last courtyard before the mégaron, resistance became determined. The soldiers there were loyal to Klutaimnéstra and, as she had not informed them of her son's coming, they greeted him as an enemy. Orésta sent a wave of spearmen to storm the courtyard and they dutifully scaled the low wall. But, met by the bristling spears of the warriors within and a palisade of shields, the advancing troops fell back. Orésta ordered a second charge, but it too was repelled. Bodies began to stack up at the foot of the courtyard wall and the stones were painted red with the blood of the wounded.
Diwoméde was preparing a few picked men for a third assault, when Orésta called out, "Archers!" Bowmen came forward to more quickly and efficiently reduce the numbers of the mégaron's defenders. The slender darts flew across the short, open space between the two groups of warriors, thudding into circular ox-hide shields or crashing through the stiff leather to softer flesh behind. But the desperate men in the courtyard pulled the arrows out of their fallen companions' bodies and shot them back over the wall. They, too, had bows and the skill to use them. They even hurled their heavy spears against the would-be invaders. Again, Orésta called his followers back, consulting with Diwoméde and Odushéyu.
"Negotiate," the qasiléyu urged his kinsman. "There are many more of us than there are of them. They are doomed. But we will suffer a great deal before we can overcome them all. They seem determined to fight to the last man. In these cramped conditions we cannot bring our larger numbers toget
her to full advantage. We can expect to lose ten men for every one of them, if we are forced to continue fighting in this way."
Orésta frowned. "It is true that my men have suffered heavier losses than I expected, here. But if I try to bargain for peace too soon, I will appear weak. That may lead to more bloodshed in the long run. There is no point in buying a temporary truce if it will mean civil war in the end."
"Burn the palace then," Odushéyu advised the young Argive leader. He bellowed his advice so that the men within and without the courtyard would hear. "That will take care of these traitors. They do not deserve the honor of death in combat."
Several foot soldiers repeated the It'ákan's advice, "Burn the palace!" Hearing this cry, Lakedaimóniyans and Argive commoners further back in the ranks moved to carry it out as a royal command.
Orésta was infuriated. "My mother is still inside," he cried, striking Odushéyu with the butt of his spear. "Do you intend to kill her along with her men? Quick, Diwoméde, stop them!"
Pushing through armed men cramming the halls, he found soldiers were already pulling torches from their brackets in the walls of the palace corridors. "Stop what you are doing! Put away those torches!" he cried out, chasing those who had disappeared with burning brands in their hands. Despite his shouts, despite the blows he gave those who ignored his voice, the qasiléyu could not stop them all. Though the palace walls were largely stone and brick, much of the building was soon burning, wooden pillars, beams supporting the roofs, and the furnishings of the rooms. The limestone bases of the support columns, and the staircases of the same materials also fed the flames. Diwoméde sent men and palace servants to bring jars of water and dirt with which to quench the fire. The qasiléyu ran down the last of those who had taken torches or spread the cry for them. Outside the palace proper, Diwoméde was able to convince the troops not to set fire to the other buildings within the capital's outer wall.
"Throw down your weapons," Orésta demanded of the beleaguered troops in the mégaron courtyard as smoke thickened around them. "Beg for your lives or burn like dry leaves." The remaining spears came over the courtyard wall, not hurtling through the air as before but dropping harmlessly on the still bodies outside. Finally, the last of Klutaimnéstra's defenders came forward, their hands raised to show that they held no more weapons, to kneel at the attackers' feet.
As they came, Orésta ordered, "Wipíno, chose ten men to stay beside me, to locate the queen. T'érsite, lead the rest of my men and take the prisoners outside. Then find Diwoméde and put the troops and captives in his hands until I come out."
"Yes, wánaks," T'érsite responded quickly, eying Odushéyu with some anxiety. The It'ákan's fury was evident despite the decreasing visibility due to the smoke. But Odushéyu made no protest, following the Argive laborer as silently as any foot soldier might follow a qasiléyu.
Once the corridors began to clear, the Argive prince pressed forward, his spear out and ready, across the blood-splashed courtyard and into the smoke-shrouded mégaron beyond. "Mother!" Orésta called, his eyes tearing and his throat burning. He heard coughing before and behind himself but he could see nothing in the haze and darkness. He was not aware of it when his men fell back with Wipíno, abandoning their leader as the smoke became too thick. Alone, Orésta pressed forward, holding his shield close to his face in a vain attempt to keep the acrid air from his lungs. "Mother," he croaked once more.
A sudden throaty cry rang out from before him. "Owái, fate, you have always been against me." A dark shape loomed out of the smoke and rushed toward him, howling. The young man thrust his spear forward instinctively as the figure came. The being cast itself onto the youth's spear. Crouched as he was, tense in expectation of danger, he did not fall back and the creature was impaled on his weapon. An inarticulate growling moan came from the being's lips and Orésta felt something wet and warm dripping on his hand where he gripped the spear shaft. Cursing in fear, he backed away, dropping the weapon. The dáimon collapsed on the floor of the throne room. "Owái, my son," Orésta heard as he fled. Too late, he knew it was his mother's voice.
aaa
Still choking from the smoke, Orésta staggered from the blazing palace into the outermost courtyard. Diwoméde and T'érsite hurried forward to pull their leader further from the burning buildings. Between coughs, the prince reported what had happened. Though his voice was scarcely audible, the word quickly spread. Argo's wánaks Aígist'o and wánasha Klutaimnéstra were both dead. Though the rulers had been unpopular, a pall settled over the crowd, for the succession of the kingship was far from clear.
"I am king now," Orésta announced, as soon as he was able. "Diwoméde, have all the warriors brought before me in groups of ten. Each man must swear an oath of loyalty to their new wánaks. Begin with the prisoners."
Forced by the fire to move to another section of the fortress, Orésta moved the meeting place to a circle of ancient graves just inside the lion gate. Here the prince and his followers sat on or leaned against the carved slabs of stone marking the graves of the royal family's illustrious ancestors. There Diwoméde brought a dozen chastened men in striped kilts. Threatened with a quick death on the qasiléyu's spear, still their leader refused to swear his loyalty to the son of Agamémnon and Klutaimnéstra. "I am a warrior and I am not afraid to die," the bearded man told the young prince firmly. "I am also a man of honor. No one who values areté will take an oath to you, Orésta. Have you been dancing with the maináds? Your own mother's blood is on your hands. Your very presence in this land is polluting and a danger to all of Argo. If I help to put you on the throne, will you protect my family against the anger of the gods?"
Orésta turned on the captive in fury, beating the older man about the face, cursing his soul to wander forever, unwelcome in 'Aidé. "Now kill him, Diwoméde," the prince demanded. "Run him through with your spear. Show the people what they can expect if they rebel against Argo's rightful king."
The qasiléyu hesitated. Quietly, he said, "I have already sworn my loyalty to you and so have all my men from Tíruns. But you and I both know that there is some truth in what this man has said. Argo's people blame their king for whatever misfortunes befall their country."
"What do you suggest then?" Orésta asked angrily. "Hold a purification ceremony? Here and now? I have no time for such formalities. Besides, Odushéyu is the one who is truly to blame for the death of the queen. If that accursed pirate had not given the command to burn the palace, my mother need not have died. What happened was an accident. I certainly had no intention of harming her in any way. I went into the palace to save her life, to rescue her!"
Odushéyu hotly disputed the prince's assessment. "I refuse to accept responsibility for this fiasco," he roared, calling on the people of Argo and the army to bear witness to what he said. Argives pressed in closely all around, filling the grave circle and the wide road passing beside it, some climbing the city walls to watch the proceedings. "Orésta is in charge of this campaign, not I," Odushéyu reminded them all. "Orésta was the one who pressed on into the throne room, despite the smoke. It was Orésta's spear that pierced the wánasha's chest and caused her death, too. None of this is in dispute. How am I to blame for any of it?" Odushéyu asked.
Argo's people, who had supported Agamémnon's son only moments before, now turned against him. Angry calls rang down from the surrounding walls and the raised street. "Down with Orésta! Banish the matricide!"
Diwoméde leaned close to his half-brother to speak in his ear. "Make some public show of penance," the qasiléyu urged, "something to appease both gods and men. I am your brother and I will support you. But I have no stomach for civil war. You must find a peaceful solution to the problem of royal succession, even if it means that you cannot take the title of wánaks."
"Ai gar, your courage has rotted away from so much contact with the poppy," Orésta complained.
Stung by the accusation, Diwoméde countered, "A man cannot fight with all his strength unless he knows his cause is jus
t. Listen to what our countrymen are saying. It sounds like most of the people of Mukénai are opposed to your rule. More will soon turn away from you, too, unless you can convince them that you truly have the support of Díwo's divine scales."
Odushéyu continued to harangue the crowd, reminding commoners and warriors alike of the crimes of Orésta's family. "Why does any man hesitate?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten who this prince's father was? Agamémnon slit his own daughter's throat, did he not? What kind of a man was his father before him? Atréyu killed his own brother's children. Ai, you Argives, if this kingdom has suffered over the years, how can you consider placing another of this cursed family on Mukénai's throne?"
Following on the heels of Orésta's army, Lawodíka finally managed to thread her way through the mob to confront Odushéyu on the raised border of the grave circle. The shouted curses ceased as the princess raised her arms above her head as if to address the gods. With regal composure, she stood in silence, saluting each of the graves before speaking. When she spoke, she refused to stand by her brother's claim to the throne. "I know that you did not set out intending to kill our mother," she told him, "but it was your recklessness, your lack of concern for the lives of your kin, that caused her death. You are tainted with our mother's blood and you cannot remain in this land." Odushéyu nodded vigorously, with gestures urging the surrounding people to voice their support.
