He reached up a finger to feel the smoothness of her magic pearl on his mouth. “Why did you do that?” Nax couldn’t believe his teeth didn’t hurt anymore.
“Consider it a gift, Knaxon. My son should have a shining attendant to match his own countenance.” Thetis was pleased with her work. “Now, take this bag to Palamedes.”
Nax narrowed his eyes, “Why?”
The nymph leaned close to his ear. “To purchase your freedom, of course. All men have a price,” she whispered. Thetis placed her cool hands on the young man’s shoulders and squeezed him firmly, but with gentleness, “Go to Achilles straight after. Tell him I have sent you as my eyes and ears.”
Thetis handed him the small leather pouch. It weighed heavy. He shook the purse; the contents rang dull and metallic. His fingers probed inside. He could feel the rounded gemstones and heavy coins. “I’m not worth as much as this.” He handed the purse back to the nymph.
“It will appease your current master. Now, off with you.” Thetis spun Knaxon on his heel and shoved him back in the direction of the camp. He turned around to thank her, but she had already disappeared. Only the sea birds remained. He shrugged his shoulders and went to do exactly as commanded.
AS THE GLORY of the day faded and the stars blinked into existence one by one, Menelaus found it impossible to push away thoughts of Helen. His wife had always looked her most glorious in this golden light. That bitch has cursed me with her beauty. He slammed his fist against the map table scattering random items. I know the men mock me behind my back. They think me weak…cunt ravished. Fuck them all. They would be no different if they had bed her even once.
The thought of her lying cold beneath him stirred his loins. Helen had never seemed to enjoy the games of love, but he spilled his seed into her as often as he could. Just the wisp of her gown against his hand or the smell of her fresh from the bath was enough to drive him mad with desire. He wanted to conquer her heart, but she was an unwilling partner in the art of love. Other women had eagerly wrapped their legs around him and begged for more or mercy. He had given all and none. With Achilles’ arrival he took hope that the voyage to Troy would soon begin. I will bring my fucking wife back and make her mine again, even if I have to bruise her mind and body into submission.
Palamedes interrupted his brooding thoughts. “Excuse me, my lord. But your brother wishes a word with you.”
“Tell him I am on my way,” Menelaus replied.
“Yes, my lord.” Palamedes bowed and disappeared so quickly, it seemed to Menelaus that he’d vanished into the deepening night air.
ALL THE CAPTAINS of war filled Agamemnon’s tent. Menelaus noted with disdain that only Achilles was absent from the gathering. Kalchas stood with Agamemnon in a far corner engaged in heated whispers back and forth. The assembled captains grew anxious. Not one of them knew the reason the great king had called them forth.
“The goddess demands it! You have no choice!” Kalchas shouted, his voice breaking the mounting tension among the men.
All eyes turned toward the seer who dared raise his voice to the great king. Idle banter ceased. The warlords watched as Agamemnon’s head sagged to his chest in resignation. His shoulders slumped with some burden or other. They waited.
“First, I am forced to tolerate Achilles. Now, this? At every turn the gods fuck me. Every turn!” He paced. “I am bound by my own oath to avenge my brother, my very blood! If I turn back now, I am no better than that fucking Trojan traitor. I will have gathered the western tribes at my feet for nothing. Wasted resources. No rewards to carry home. Who would heed my call after that? No one I tell you no one!” His sigh was grave. “You are certain, Kalchas? There is no other way?”
“None. Unless you are willing to return home without finishing what you have begun.” Kalchas’ voice resonated grimly.
Agamemnon turned to the expectant warlords. “Palamedes, fetch the wine.” The hovering wraith of a servant had anticipated his master’s request and was pouring bowls of wine before the words finished tumbling from Agamemnon’s mouth. “Captains, it is well-known that the winds have not favored our departure. Indeed, there have been no winds at all.” Agamemnon began with the obvious. There was a general round of agreement and the king continued, “But tomorrow that will change.”
“How can you be certain?” Ajax asked. He was practical, not a great believer in the readings of bird signs or animal innards. And in particular, not an admirer of Kalchas. “The gods of wind do what they will, when they will. I think it a bad omen.”
“It is not a bad omen, brother, but rather a warning,” replied Agamemnon.
“What kind of warning?” Odysseus asked. “Perhaps we should all return home. Let Menelaus nurse his own pride. A wife who abandons her husband makes him not only a cuckold, but a fool for wishing her return.”
Agamemnon coughed. “Yes, we all know how you preferred to stay in Ithaka.” A round of laughter went about the gathering. “But that was not the oath you took.”
“Then, why no wind? Why are we still here if the cause is just?” Odysseus was exasperated.
“Kalchas has informed me that it is the goddess Artemis who is angered and has stopped the winds as punishment.”
Odysseus set his wine down. “Punishment? For what wrong doing? Who does the goddess fault?
“Brothers, it falls on my shoulders to right the situation. Kalchas has told me how her favor can be regained. I will do as commanded and the winds will follow and we will leave for Troy.”
“I will need more explanation than that Agamemnon. Kalchas says many things. How do you know he is right? I swear if the winds do not gather in our favor, I will row my warships all the way back home,” Ajax thundered.
“Patience, Ajax. His readings are truth,” the great king reassured the towering warrior.
Odysseus placed his hands on the table, leaning in toward Agamemnon. “You have yet to tell us what the goddess demands.”
“I must marry off my daughter. A great sacrifice.”
Odysseus looked around the gathered captains, the finest men from across all the western city-states. “Who is she to marry? Was she not betrothed to Achilles?”
“At break of day, five dawns from now, the demands of the goddess will be revealed,” Agamemnon said. “No more questions.”
With that, the drinking continued along with talk of war and the prizes waiting to be claimed. Night approached with the thousands of flickering stars. One by one, the generals of war retreated to their separate quarters to sleep off the heady effects of the wine, until only the royal brothers remained.
They sat in cushioned chairs, the silence between them tense. Menelaus suspected that his brother needed to speak of something. He was too cautious to raise the subject first. Only Agamemnon seemed to understand his predicament, that Helen had slashed his pride to the core. She’d left Hermione behind. Knowing that Paris ignited the fire between Helen’s thighs, where he could not, damaged his manhood more so than being thought of as a cuckold. Helen placated him, that he had always known, but he had convinced himself that her light affection was genuine. Now, it was plain to the world that she loved him not at all. What mother leaves behind her only child by a man she loves? He worried that without her, his entire claim to Sparta was threatened.
“Stop fretting brother. It annoys,” Agamemnon huffed.
Menelaus sat up straighter, “Apologies. It is difficult not to think of what that Trojan is doing to my wife against her will.” His thin effort to convey a public rationale for Helen’s behavior compelled him to speak of her departure as a kidnapping and the sole explanation.
Agamemnon ran his fingers through his beard. “That is the least of my concerns at this moment, brother. I have graver issues with which to grapple.”
“How do you mean?”
“The sacrifice.” Agamemnon could not finish the entire thought in one breath. “It is a price I am not convinced I should pay.”
“But certainly we have come too far to b
e halted because you are unwilling to give up something or other. You have more than you need of everything!”
“I have only one eldest fucking daughter, Menelaus. One!” Agamemnon rose from his seat; his face shaking with fear and anger. “One! And is your whore of a wife worth Iphigenia’s? Tell me you cunt ravished blood rag!” Agamemnon’s spittle flew across the space between them as he bellowed, “Tell me!”
Menelaus was stunned by his brother’s anger. “Iphigenia? A sacrifice in marriage? This is what upsets you so?”
Agamemnon sank back into his chair, his wits wracked with indecision. His hands gripped the arm rests until his knuckles whitened. He finally met his brother’s gaze. “It is my entire fault. This sacrificial horseshit,” the great king paused, “I killed a stag...a stag! I boasted, in jest mind you, that I was a better shot than Artemis.” He shook his head in disbelief. “The gods truly enjoy bending me over a table and fucking me.”
“It cannot be as bad as that? Is the match so undesirable?”
“It was a sacred stag.” The great king wiped an angry tear from his eye. “The marriage is a ruse.”
Menelaus sat up, intrigued. “A ruse? For what?”
“I must sacrifice Iphigenia to the goddess. Or we are lost.”
Menelaus sat back disbelieving. “That cannot be so.”
“It is.”
Menelaus thought of poor Iphigenia’s life bleeding away on his behalf. No one would forgive this transgression against an innocent for the life of Helen. “You cannot do this, brother. I will not allow it.”
“You will not allow it. You?! Menelaus?! You will not allow this,” Agamemnon mocked. “It is not up to you, you fucking imbecile! The gods make demands of us to test us…to torment us. If I refuse Artemis, do you think she will cease tormenting me? No goddess will be satisfied until her request is fulfilled.”
“Forgive me, brother. I meant no offense. Perhaps, Kalchas is wrong.”
“He is never wrong. Leave me. Get out of my sight. I must think.”
Menelaus left without finishing his wine. He thought nothing could be worse than his public humiliation, but now, he knew he was wrong. He would be blamed. Hated. Despised. Menelaus didn’t make it back to his tent before he vomited all the wine he’d consumed. Poor Iphigenia. I am so sorry child. He knew, even as he prayed, it would make no difference. Agamemnon was right. The gods delighted in tormenting their prey.
THE APPOINTED MORNING burst with brilliant light. Iphigenia had hardly slept at all. Three days ago, one of her father’s ships had arrived late in the evening bearing the good news. Artemis demanded the seal of her marriage to Achilles before the blessing of fair winds to Troy would be granted. Since the arrangement had been made years before, her father had given his immediate consent and blessing. And she was to make haste for Aulis. The fleet would make way as soon as she and Achilles consummated their marriage.
The very thought of Achilles bedding her made her blush. She had never felt a man’s touch before. And it was well-known among all women that Achilles walked as a god among men. Humor abounded regarding his prowess. Women jested that merely being in his presence caused the womb to flutter with life. Indeed, there were dozens of women around the Aegean claiming to have borne his children. In the weaving room, the women talked of sweet lingering kisses, lips drenched in honeyed wine. And much to her curiosity and embarrassment, they spoke of the glorious taste of a man’s seed, and learning to crave the tang of its saltiness that lingered on the tongue. The women teased one another about that delicacy being an essence requiring time to truly appreciate. They also spoke of the act as a necessity to keep one from having too many babies. They joked how Trojan men must not enjoy their cocks being sucked, or maybe they enjoyed other men more. Talk of this nature usually ended in rounds of laughter and sly smiles.
It was strange, Iphigenia noted, that when weaving in a gaggle, women tended to speak openly of their personal lives. It was while carding wool or spinning threads that she had learned of the delights between a man and woman during love making. Only a man planting his seed deep inside a woman could cause her legs to shake and her belly to quiver, if she was a fortunate bride. One woman, who’d been newly married, had said her husband could bring her to such ecstasy over and over in a single night, so much so that walking the next day was nearly impossible. The women teased her hobbling gait from time to time since the wedding. And so they laughed as women do when speaking of such intimate things.
A gentle knock sounded at her door. “Iphigenia?”
“Enter, Mother.” Iphigenia turned to greet Clytemnestra. Iphigenia had always thought her mother the most beautiful, rivaling even her younger sister, Helen. Where her aunt was golden splendor, her mother was darkly exotic. It was like comparing the sun to the moon and stars.
Clytemnestra carried a gown wrapped in bleached linen draped over her arms. “Here, my darling, I set the women to work as soon as word came that you were to be wed.” She held out the gift. “Take it, my sweet girl. I had hoped for more time to plan, that this day would follow tradition. That you would have seen more than fifteen springs. I did not see it coming in such a rushed manner.”
Iphigenia laid the gift on her bed and slowly unfolded the covering. She held the gown up against her body. “Do you like it, Mother? Is it what you imagined?” Each saffron layer was so finely spun it was practically transparent. A magnificent golden broach, encrusted with blue and green gems, pinned the shoulder on one side; the other exposed a bare shoulder. A golden belt gathered the sheer layers into concealing folds leaving her nude outline a mystery for her husband alone to discover.
“It only pales in comparison to you, my sweet girl,” the queen said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I still cannot believe I am to lose you.” The cloudy memory of her first born rose up to haunt her in her happiness. In that moment, she recalled the words the goddess spoke on the day of Iphigenia’s birth... She is yours...for a time...treasure your days with her... A chill shivered through her.
“It is only in marriage. My husband will be gone to war, as will father. I will stay with you until he returns. Nothing will change.” Iphigenia smoothed the gown with her hands. “It is truly lovely, Mother. Gratitude.” She smiled. She hoped Achilles would be pleased by the vision of her in the gown.
“If the goddess favors, perhaps we shall have your son to help us pass the days until the men return.” Iphigenia blushed at her mother’s implication. “I will have my maid stow this carefully for our journey. In two days time, you will be a married woman and I will have gained a son.” Clytemnestra kissed her beloved daughter good night and swept from the room as if her feet never touched the stone floor.
AGAMEMNON’S SUMMONS HAD called all the captains to a giant pavilion erected just outside of the main encampment. Word spread quickly that Clytemnestra had arrived with an entourage including the royal princess of Mycenae. The great king and his wife stood near a wide altar that had been hastily adorned with garlands of field flowers and boughs of slender olive branches. Menelaus stood nearby as did Palamedes. The captains stood, ranked in order of importance, opposite the royal family members of Mycenae and Sparta. The gathering crowd of soldiers speculated among themselves about what Agamemnon’s purpose could be. When Iphigenia appeared, veiled and glowing in a golden gown it became clear Agamemnon intended to marry his eldest daughter to someone. The soldiers looked to each other wondering who had been chosen as groom, since Achilles had taken a bride from Skyros.
Iphigenia walked the short distance toward her father, her veil concealing her nervous smile. Her saffron gown fluttered softly as she walked and sparkled as it caught Apollo’s light. Agamemnon steeled himself against her beauty. His smile urged her forward. She returned his smile as if a blessing and dared a glance at the men nearby, none bore the appearance of Achilles. As the princess approached the sacred alter, Palamedes gripped Clytemnestra’s arm with the speed of a snake stunning its helpless prey, and two soldiers grabbed Iphigenia roughly by
each arm. The princess looked to her father, confused. He made no move to help her.
“What are you doing?!” Clytemnestra shouted.
Iphigenia sank to her knees in fright. “Father?! Father?!” The men ignored her distress and dragged her screaming across the hard sand and rocks to the altar. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother struggling to free herself from Palamedes’ hold.
The crowd shouted its confusion and concern. The great king ignored them all.
“My lord?!” the queen cried out, a terrible tremble in her voice. Agamemnon flashed a look of warning at her, chilling her blood. The great king’s face was all fire and stone. She recalled that look from the past with horror... when he’d taken her husband and first born son...fear gripped her heart. “Why?! Why?!” she screamed, her voice now frantic and pathetic.
Agamemnon pulled a gleaming silver dagger from his belt and held it high in the air. “ARTEMIS!”
Clytemnestra strained against Palamedes, twisted in desperation against his iron hold on her. “No! No! Please my lord, not again! Do not take her from me!”
“The goddess Artemis has spoken!” he shouted so all could hear. “She has spoken and must be obeyed,” he said, softer than before, the burden of the act weighing on him now.
The assembly stood in shock at the drama playing out in front of them. They openly questioned Agamemnon who answered them. “Artemis demands the sacrifice of my daughter to raise the winds for Troy.”
Clytemnestra howled in desperation. She freed one arm and managed to scratch Palamedes across the face, before he could subdue her in his grasp again. “Husband, my lord! I beg you!”
Only now could Iphigenia see that her father’s eyes were swollen and rimmed blood red. His smile faded to a thin line of determination. She searched his face for any sign of the love he’d born her, but found only a gray coldness. Iphigenia’s heart pounded. “Where is Achilles?” her voice cracked with fear. Agamemnon refused to meet her eyes. “Please, Father! What have I done to offend you?” She struggled vainly against the hard arms holding her captive.
Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) Page 34
