Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1)

by Janell Rhiannon

  “Look upon the magnificence you spurn with your mortal fear.”

  Her eyes traced a path along the floor toward the sound of Apollo’s voice. She glanced up and beheld the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. He stood unashamedly naked and taller than any man she’d ever known, even Hektor himself would be dwarfed by such a size. She averted her gaze from his fiery member. The god’s skin shimmered with gold. His eyes burned bright blue and orange. His hair curled perfection of honeyed crystal veined with silver.

  Cassandra met his gaze. “I am sorry I do not please.”

  “I have no pity for mortal fear. What do I care for your sentiments? I do not. I take what is owed me. I take what I want. Sometimes, I am satisfied. This time, unfortunately for you, I am not.”

  “Am I to be rejected?” Cassandra asked, thinking that to return home would be a disgrace yet a relief after this experience.

  “No. No. No, you will serve me simple mortal. I grant you the foresight you desire.”

  Cassandra bowed her head. “I am grateful.”

  “You may not be considering your words will always fall upon deaf ears.”

  Anger and surprise fueled Cassandra’s thin courage. “You hand your blessing with a curse?”

  Apollo rubbed his squared jaw in amusement. “It will make the games much more interesting.”

  “The games?”

  “Mortals,” the god sighed in exasperation. “You intrigue from afar, yet up close you tend to bore.” He continued, “Your prayers and supplications, mortal. It is our greatest entertainment. Though I admit, at times, our disappointment.”

  Cassandra now understood the god’s meaning. He would use her for his benefit, for his pleasure, for his entertainment. “We are nothing but pawns to you? Our lives...meaningless to you?”

  “Now, by the balls of Zeus, she understands.”

  “What is to become of me now?”

  “You will be trained, here, in my temple. Serve me. Obey me. Submit to me without question.”

  “And if I refuse?” Cassandra dared to ask.

  Apollo’s laughter rang sweetly through the chamber. “You are one to question, are you not? There is no refusal, unless you wish a plague or two to sweep the citadel.”

  Cassandra realized with foreboding that any effort at reasoning with Apollo would be futile. She knew submission must come. She could not bear it if her disgust and disillusionment for Apollo should bring harm to Troy. Secretly, she vowed to protect her beloved city and family against such a tyrannical patron. Serving the god would not be the joyful serenity she believed it would be. “I accept your blessing, Apollo.” She lowered her head. “I give my full obedience to the god.”

  “There it is! My docile mortal has finally figured out the game. You may end up pleasing the god...in time.”

  When Cassandra looked up, he was gone. She glanced about the chamber. The fire was out. The light had dimmed and she felt suddenly chilled. Within moments the high priestess entered followed by three young female attendants. The first carried a bowl, the second a towel, and the last a fresh chiton. They looked so young, younger than she. Had they also been subjected to Apollo’s assault? She shuddered at the thought.

  “Step down Cassandra. You must be cleansed,” the high priestess commanded.

  Cassandra slid from the altar. “Is it always this way? With Apollo?”

  “Only the chosen are bound to Apollo as you now are. The rest serve in peace.”

  “What do you mean...serve in peace?”

  “Spread your legs so you may be washed clean of your blood and the god’s flow.”

  She looked down at her thighs and saw her blood mingled with pale silver liquid. The contrast a beautiful mess smearing her legs with the visible evidence of the god’s intrusion into her body and his taking of her virginity. A single thought horrified her. “I will not conceive a child from this will I?”

  “Only if the god wishes it.”

  As the maids busied themselves bathing and dressing her, tears once again welled and spilled down Cassandra’s cheeks. Her life was no longer her own. Her body was no longer her own. Her mind would no longer be her own. Apollo would be life and torment for her. She would curse and serve him until her death.

  CLYTEMNESTRA WEPT IN horror as thin fingers of bitter smoke crept beneath the barricaded door. Loud crashing, men barking orders and screaming filled her with even more fear. She’d never heard a man scream before tonight. War had always been something that happened far away from her, regaled in stories and song around late night fires.

  “Shah, little one.” The princess pressed her crying baby to her chest and opened her gown so he could latch on to her breast. He quickly took her nipple in his mouth and suckled himself calm. She wondered where her husband was. Did he yet live? Tantalus had given her strict orders to remain unseen and hidden in this unused maid’s room, hoping, she was certain, that no one would recognize her as his wife if the palace should fall to Agamemnon and his invaders. She stroked her son’s brow and cheek as he nursed, the babe oblivious now to the danger moving through the palace.

  When her husband told her that word had reached the palace that her father, Tyndareus of Sparta, had sided with Agamemnon against King Thyestes of Mycenae, her husband’s father and her father-in-law, she had not believed it. Clytemnestra had argued that her father would never turn such a force against Mycenae because he had already pledged his loyalty to Thyestes through their marriage. Tantalus had no answer for her but the truth, she realized now, as she sat in fear waiting for Tantalus to return.

  “Where is she?!” bellowed a voice outside. Clytemnestra closed her eyes against her worst fears. She recognized the voice. Agamemnon was approaching.

  A loud pounding resonated in the hall, then a crash and the shuffling feet of warriors followed by another crash.

  “There is no one here,” a subordinate voice spoke.

  “Next!” another subordinate voice yelled.

  Then the banging began on the door to her room. She knew within moments she and her son would be prisoners of the exiled prince come to reclaim his throne.

  With each bash against the wood, she shuddered. Within moments, the wood splintered and the enemy spilled through the opening like a flood. Clytemnestra screamed. Agamemnon pushed his way through his men dragging a body.

  “Tantalus?!” she shrieked. The fist of the exiled prince wrapped so tightly in her husband’s hair that his eyes shone as swollen bloody slits in his face. The parts of his flesh she could see were smeared with dark red streaks and blotches. Had it not been for his royal armor she would not have known the identity of the captive being dragged before her. The contents of her stomach soured and choked her. She turned her head and vomited onto the floor.

  “Ah! You could not even keep your woman safe!” Agamemnon laughed. His men followed suit laughing at her wretchedness.

  “You are a cruel man!” she spat out weakly. The baby at her breast began to whimper.

  “Shut that squalling noise up.”

  Clytemnestra gently bounced her baby in her arms to calm him. Tantalus reached an arm in her direction.

  “Look at this fucking fool!” the exiled king bellowed. “Look upon her while you can usurper. May the horror in her eyes haunt you in the Underworld.”

  Clytemnestra’s eyes rounded in fear at his words. The giant man hovered over Tantalus, his blade arched and glinting in the air. With a tremendous force, he drove the blade point deep through her husband’s chest. Blood spurted from the wound and gushed down the corners of his mouth. His eyes wide with shock found his wife’s. His unintelligible words gurgled through the blood pooling in his mouth, and then he collapsed in an unmoving heap at his murderer’s feet.

  “Give me the child,” Agamemnon roared.

  Clytemnestra wept and pressed her baby closer to her breast. “Please, he is only a babe. Still suckling from my breast.” Her body shook with premonition of her attacker’s intent.

  “Do you think
I give one shit for a bastard son of Tantalus? The usurper’s son?” Agamemnon sneered at her. “Retrieve the child,” he said calmly to his men. A nameless, blank-eyed soldier stepped forward and roughly grabbed the infant from her arms. She lurched forward in a futile effort to stop him.

  “Take hold of her,” Agamemnon ordered. “Give me that bastard’s child.”

  “He is also my son, my lord! Please, let him live! He will cause you no harm,” Clytemnestra pleaded. “I will take him back to Sparta. Raise him without claim.” Tears burned her eyes and blurred her vision. Mucus ran from her nose, dribbling into her mouth. “Please...I beg you...” The baby’s cries ripped her heart from her chest.

  Agamemnon stopped for a brief moment, as if considering her request, and then he lifted the child up by both feet and swung him overhead and bashed his body down into the floor.

  Clytemnestra howled and turned her head before the dull thud of her child hit the hard floor, wetness sprayed her cheek. The chamber fell silent, except for Agamemnon’s breathing and her sobbing. She dared not look in his direction. She had no wish to see her battered son’s remains.

  “Throw this piece of meat to the dogs.”

  Clytemnestra heaved uncontrollably, spasms shaking her entire body. She wailed, “My father will make you pay for what you have done to me!”

  “On that account, princess, you are wrong. It is I who paid for you.”

  She pried her eyes from the floor to meet his, passing carefully over the bloodied mess on the floor at his feet. “Paid for me?”

  “Why else do you think I would spare your life? I have no love for you.”

  “I will not be your slave! I will kill myself first!” she screeched. “My father would never agree to barter me into slavery! Never!”

  “He did not.” Agamemnon sneered and let his words sink in. Slowly, the truth dawned on Clytemnestra.

  She shook her head slowly, then more vigorously. “I will never marry you, you fucking murderer!” Spittle spewed from her mouth as she screamed, “You killed my husband. Made me a widow!” Her body shook with anger and new grief. “My son...” She lowered her head and her shoulders slumped with her loss. A tiny moment of silence filled the chamber, then Clytemnestra leapt to her feet and reached for the nearest soldier, grabbing clumsily for his sword. Her effort was easily subdued by a pair of strong hands.

  “Tie her up securely. I cannot have my bride trying to kill me in my sleep or escaping into the Underworld after the gold I have paid her father. Set watch on her for the entire cycle of Apollo.”

  “Yes, my king,” answered a young warrior in bloodied armor.

  “Send an envoy to Sparta. Inform king Tyndareus his daughter is safe. The marriage will take place as we arranged.”

  “I will never submit to you?!” shrieked Clytemnestra. “Never!”

  Agamemnon crossed the space between them in two heavy strides. He seized her roughly by the chin. A whimper of pain passed her smashed lips. “You will do as I tell you bitch. You have no options now.” He released her from his grasp and turned and walked away, barking orders as he passed down the hall.

  Three men escorted her to her chamber and tied her securely to a chair. Two stood outside her door, while one remained in the room.

  “What happens now?” she asked her guard. He remained silent. “For love of Zeus!” The princess resigned herself to waiting. Waiting for what, she had no idea. Behind her eyes, she saw her beloved Tantalus on their wedding night, his hands shaking with desire. He’d come to her gently, softly not wishing to frighten her. He’d coaxed her love with sweet words and tender caresses. She tilted her head back and howled her anguish. Her son, her sweet son. The front of her gown wet against her engorged breasts. Her son would have nursed hours ago. She couldn’t even wrap her arms around herself in her grief. She wanted to lie on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and weep a river, but she was pinned to a hard chair. Soon, images of her battered husband and her innocent babe flashed behind her eyes. Fresh tears fell. She did not care anymore what happened to her. Everything she loved had been taken. Nothing remained to anchor her to this world. Nothing. She closed her eyes and sobbed quietly until sleep took her to another realm. She prayed silently for death to claim her.

  “WAKE UP, PRINCESS,” a woman’s gentle voice coaxed her through a fog of memory and dreams. “Wake up, Princess.” Slowly, Clytemnestra’s mind focused. Her eyes blinked slowly open. A pair of unfamiliar dark eyes stared down at her.

  “Who are you? Where am I?” she asked. She sat up.

  “You are in the master’s bed, my lady.” The older woman fussed about the linen covers as if the morning greeting was ritual.

  Clytemnestra shook her head. “Where?”

  “My lady, you are in the master’s chambers in Mycenae. Does the lady not remember?”

  “How long have I been sleeping?”

  The maid stopped smoothing the coverlets. “For three days, my lady.”

  “Three days? That’s impossible. Just yesterday...” She tried to recall the events, but they came only as blurred images. “Yesterday...” The princess looked at the old woman.

  “The past is gone my lady.” Her eyes didn’t waver. Their steady gaze discouraged questions. “Come, you must bathe and make yourself presentable.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To meet your future husband, of course.”

  Clytemnestra froze. “Agamemnon.”

  “Who else my lady?” Her eyes again warned of speaking too much.

  “I cannot.”

  The elder maid leaned close enough to her face that Clytemnestra could smell the mixture of honey and mint on her breath. “If you wish to keep the breath the gods grant you...Agamemnon is not kind, my lady. He is a man of war. Your tears mean nothing. Your pain means nothing. Only the wealth your family provides means anything to him. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly.”

  The princess considered the maid. “What do they call you?

  “Neola, my lady.”

  Clytemnestra raised an eyebrow. “Full of youth?”

  “There was a time...,” Neola smiled slightly. “Some of us have years long enough to remember the Old Ones.”

  “The Titans?” the princess partially stifled a small laugh. “Mirthful is a name that would have suited you fine, I think.”

  “Come, my lady. We must get you up and ready.”

  The reality of her situation crashed in on her again and Clytemnestra dropped her thin smile. It was no fault of Neola’s that she was in this predicament. It was politics and coin to blame...and the loss of the gods’ favor in her regard.

  “Neola?”

  “Yes, my Lady?”

  “What happened to...to...the king?”

  “The usurper Thyestes has been exiled to Cythera.”

  “Mercy. Granted mercy?”

  Neola arranged the folds of her mistress’s dress, arranging the pleats beneath the golden belt. “It is no mercy to live in isolation from all you love. To grieve over the loss of one’s son. Better he had been killed.”

  Clytemnestra stiffened.

  Neola bowed her head and backed away. “Apologies, my lady.”

  Clytemnestra reached a gentle hand toward her. “Please, you meant no harshness on my account.”

  “I spoke without thought. It will not happen twice.”

  “You may be the only kindness I will find here now.”

  “You will find joy again, my lady.”

  “All that was happiness has abandoned me.”

  The maid folded her arms across her chest. “While you live, hope exists. It is only hidden beneath your pain.”

  “How do I forgive what he has done?”

  “If I could answer that, my lady, I would be called oracle.”

  Clytemnestra laughed quietly. “Truly, you possess a humorous quality.”

  “I may have some welcome words, my lady.”

  “Speak them.”

  “Your family arrives soon. Perhaps,
your mother can comfort you?”

  “Yes. That is welcomed news.” Clytemnestra headed for the door. She knew her way around the palace of Thyestes, now returned to the House of Atreus and Agamemnon.

  “I WILL BE FINE! Quit fussing. It is a short walk from the palace. What harm can come to me here?” Queen Leda insisted.

  “Mother. Take your maids at least,” Clytemnestra pleaded.

  Leda took her daughter’s lovely face in her hands, noticing her swollen eyes and slightly sunken cheeks. She sighed, “The truth, my darling, is I rather enjoy my solitude. All these guests arriving. The commotion. I require a few moments when someone or other is not calling out for my approval or opinion.” Queen Leda understood the wrinkled brow on her daughter’s face. “Do not fret Clytemnestra. Everything will be set right...in time.”

  “There are more guests than I expected,” the princess admitted, casting her eyes downward. “Mother, I do not wish to marry Agamemnon.”

  “I asked your father to reconsider. He would not budge.” Leda took her daughter’s face between her soft palms again and looked her directly in the eyes. “Daughter, we women are all pawns of the men we wed. Men such as your father and Agamemnon, they have business that reaches passed our feminine understanding. Be certain of one thing, when they engage in the politics of power, it is we who pay the price.” The queen pulled the faded green himation over her head concealing her identity and walked out the garden gate.

  Leda enjoyed walking in solitude. The quiet surrounding her gave her calm to endure the loud and constant clamoring of palace halls. Always visitors requiring her attention to hospitality. The butchers, the bakers and the kitchen work never ended and always required her final word. How many goats to kill? Which stores of wine to serve? How much bread should be prepared? So many questions and calls on her name wearied her.

  “I wish the sun would stand still for one day and let me have peace,” Leda said aloud. She walked on in silence until she came to the edge of the clearing leading to the pond. She let her head covering slide to her shoulders and breathed the air deeply like one who had been imprisoned in a stale putrid chamber. Only now did she allow herself to think of her daughter’s circumstance. What Agamemnon had done was unforgivable. And forcing Clytemnestra to play the cornerstone of their plan by marrying her to the man whose hand took the life of Tantalus, for the purpose of gaining power and wealth, was more than cruel. She’d never held much love for Tyndareus, but their children she adored, yet she kept her distance even from them to protect them from Hera, and Zeus himself. Tyndareus’ affections for her had cooled early in the marriage after he discovered Pollux was sired by Zeus. It garnered him no honor that the mighty Olympian had invaded her body against her will. Her husband had spurned her affections seeking solace elsewhere, far from her bed except on the drunken occasion when he felt he must reclaim what the divine intrusion had taken. Being at the mercy of men, be they mortal or not, soured Leda on intimacy entirely.