As he moves on top of her, she thinks of Helen in bed with Paris, right at this very moment, their perfect bodies woven together, moving like a dance.
*
The army leaves at dawn. Clytemnestra wraps herself in a cloak and goes to the Lion Gate to watch. Orestes is already there, waving to his father, his curls a messy knot on his head. Outside the citadel, the road is thick with soldiers, polishing their armor, soothing their horses. The sky has cleared after the storm, and now the shields are glistening in the warm light.
At the gate, Agamemnon looks up and their eyes lock. Then he spurs his horse, and his men follow, the banners of Mycenae flying like golden swans around them.
Last night, before falling asleep, he told her he would return for her. “You know you can’t escape me. I always come back. So be a good wife for once and wait.”
Now, as she watches him against the brightening sky, she hopes her husband will die in the war.
24
Aulis
IT HAS BEEN just two weeks since the army’s departure when an envoy no older than a boy comes to Mycenae. His hair is as black and shiny as olives, and his tunic is covered with dust and dirt. Clytemnestra receives him in the megaron, sitting on her husband’s throne. Leon is at her side, polishing his sword, yawning. It has been a boring day so far, filled with merchants’ requests and noble women’s gossip.
“Where do you come from?” she asks as servants give the envoy bread and water. He takes it too willingly, coughing when he almost chokes himself. He clearly isn’t used to speaking to royalty.
“Aulis, my queen,” he says.
She frowns. “Who sent you?”
“The king and lord of men, Agamemnon, my queen.” Lord of men. Her husband has already found himself a pretty name. The boy pants, drinking some more water. “He wants you to go to Aulis and meet him there with your eldest daughter.”
“Why would he send you and not a general?”
The boy looks apologetic. He scratches a scab on his elbow. “All the men are preparing for the war, my queen. The generals must stay with the lord of men, Agamemnon. So they found me in the village and sent me.”
“And what does my husband want?”
The boy stands straight, proud to give the news. “A marriage, my queen.”
“A marriage?”
The boy nods, his eyes shiny with excitement. “Among the generals, there is the greatest warrior who ever lived, Achilles Pelides.” The son of Peleus. “King Agamemnon wants your oldest daughter to marry him before the troops sail for Troy.”
Leon’s head jerks up. He stares at the boy with contempt. “Why would Iphigenia marry a man who is about to leave for war?” he asks.
The envoy gives him a perplexed look, then turns back to Clytemnestra. “The army will be ready to sail soon, but King Agamemnon says that the men need to be cheered up before the long war. He says that a wedding is the perfect occasion, and even better, one between the best of the Greeks and the leader’s beautiful daughter.”
“And if I refuse to come?” Clytemnestra asks.
“King Agamemnon says you won’t. He says this would be an important political alliance that will make Mycenae even more powerful.” He speaks as though reciting a poem.
“Very well,” Clytemnestra says. “Go and rest before you go back to Aulis.”
The boy seems confused. “Will you come, my queen?”
“Your job is done, boy,” she says. “Rest and go back to your village. You have no more news to bring.”
He nods, stuffing his tunic with one more loaf of bread, like a thief. When he leaves the megaron, his steps are as light and quick as a bird’s.
Leon turns to her. “You will go?” he asks.
She can tell from his eyes that he had meant the words to be an accusation, but his voice is feeble, little more than a whisper. “I must,” she says. “I can’t turn away from a political alliance.”
“But she will marry a man she doesn’t even know.”
“Don’t we all?”
“What if he doesn’t love her?”
They say Achilles lives with his companion, Patroclus, Timandra had told her. They eat together, play together, sleep together.
Her hesitancy makes him bolder. “Don’t you want someone who can love her?”
“Achilles is young, handsome, and the greatest warrior of his generation.”
He has grown paler, his eyes shinier. “Iphigenia should choose.”
Clytemnestra stands, a weight in her chest. “Which is why I shall ask her now. No one has ever made Iphigenia do anything she didn’t want to do.”
He shakes his head. It is not his place to say more. And Clytemnestra doesn’t need to tell him the obvious. Leon understands many things—that he will never be with her beautiful Iphigenia, that Clytemnestra loves her daughter above all else. But he doesn’t see other things. That for Clytemnestra, no one would ever be good enough for her daughter. That whoever Achilles likes or doesn’t like, he won’t hurt Iphigenia, or Clytemnestra will kill him. That sometimes it is better to be with a man who doesn’t regard you than with someone who wishes to wound you.
She takes Leon’s arm, slowly and carefully, as if to show him she is sorry. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t speak. He stares at the wall, contemplating what he is about to lose. His silence hits the hall like a wave, spreading its grief until Clytemnestra feels as if she is drowning.
*
Iphigenia is sitting on a bench in the gynaeceum, plucking the strings of a lyre. She is learning the song of Artemis and Actaeon, and her brows are furrowed in concentration. Next to her, Electra is looking at some new vases brought from the artists’ quarter of the citadel. Aileen waits patiently by her side as she traces the curves of each pattern—octopods with tentacles like sea anemones, hunting dogs, and warrior women. Clytemnestra takes a step forward. “I have news for you, Iphigenia,” she says.
Her daughter puts the lyre down, looks guarded. “What is it?”
“We are going to Aulis.” She waits a moment. “You are to marry the prince Achilles.”
Iphigenia opens her mouth. “Achilles Pelides?”
“Yes, the best of the Greeks. Or so everyone says.”
“Isn’t he going to war?” Electra asks, her hand still held midair, her fingers outstretched.
“Your father thinks this marriage could be a great political alliance. Mycenae is the most powerful kingdom of Greece, and Achilles the strongest soldier in its army. But,” Clytemnestra adds, turning back to Iphigenia, “you don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to.”
Her daughter is silent, staring out the window, as if no one is waiting for her answer, as if there aren’t three women staring at her. Then she says, “If I marry him, I’ll have to go and live in Phthia.”
“Not before the war is over. You can stay here, with us,” Clytemnestra says. “Then when Achilles comes back a hero, you’ll go with him.”
Iphigenia doesn’t comment. She stays seated, considering something, studying it.
“Phthia is small but beautiful,” Clytemnestra adds. “It’s a land between the mountains and the sea.”
Iphigenia smiles. “I love the sea.” Then she stands and says, very seriously, “I will marry him.”
Aileen looks radiant, her hands clasped in delight. Clytemnestra forces herself to smile. Her daughter’s voice is calm, sure, and she knows that Iphigenia has made her choice. I will marry him. Clytemnestra had once said those same words to her own mother. She had been so sure of her own future.
“Good,” she says. “We will leave tomorrow. Now go and find your best tunic with Aileen.”
Iphigenia grabs Aileen’s hand and runs out of the room, her body light with excitement, her eyes glittering. Their long hair dances behind them, golden and bronze.
“I thought Achilles didn’t like girls,” Electra says when her sister is out of sight.
“Who told you that?” Clytemnestra asks.
Electra shrugs.
“He will like your sister. She has the best heart and he will see that.” As Clytemnestra speaks, she realizes it almost sounds like a threat.
“You will stay here,” Clytemnestra adds. “My men will advise you, so listen to them.”
“Shouldn’t they advise Orestes?”
“You are older. And I trust you more.”