The Girl From Ithaca (8 page)

Agamemnon snatched his arm away and turned to leave. In an instant, Odysseus pressed the point of his sword against the king of Mycenae’s lower back. “Answer me, or by the grey eyes of Goddess Athena, we’ll need a new commander to lead this great army.”

“Palamedes. It was Palamedes who suggested your sister. You can get her out of here now, if you wish. She has served her purpose,” he growled, and then stormed away towards the altar.

My heart raced as I glanced about. I couldn’t see a bull being prepared for sacrifice or any sign of wine.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” I cried.

“A dreadful deceit. Tell Phoebus I order him to take you home, immediately. I’ll find four Ithacan soldiers to escort you. Now go, sister.”

“But what about Iphigenia?”

“You can’t help her. Just go, before you’re hurt. Get Phoebus and we’ll meet at his chariot.”

Phoebus was hurrying to the altar, and hardly knowing what I was doing, I ran after him, dodging in and out of soldiers who stood in the way. Phoebus would save Iphigenia. He’d taken orders from Clytemnestra. He’d have to save her.

Agamemnon and a long-robed priest of Apollo were washing their hands at the altar and by the time I reached him, Phoebus was backing away from them. I grabbed his cloak.

“Something’s wrong. Iphigenia’s in danger,” I gasped.

Phoebus pulled me further from the altar. “Listen carefully. This isn’t a wedding. Go back to the mule cart and warn Iphigenia and her servants. I’ll bring my chariot round and get you both from here. Hurry.”

I struggled against the tide of soldiers surging towards the altar. Ithacan men would have cleared a path for me, but these were strangers. They had no idea who I was, and probably wouldn’t have cared if they’d known. Finally reaching the end of them, I looked ahead to the mule cart. It was empty. I couldn’t even see Rhea or Io.

I found a sour-looking Mycenaean. “Princess Iphigenia? Where’s she gone?”

He frowned and marched on.

“She’s your princess. Where is she?” I cried.

The Mycenaean swung round. “Keep quiet and stay out of this.”

I scrambled onto the top of an upturned barrel, searching for sight of Iphigenia’s auburn hair. My stomach lurched as I spotted her, a flicker of white through the dark barrier of men. She was walking towards the altar, her attendants following. Achilles strode after her and then, some way behind, there was Ajax, Palamedes and Menelaus. I cupped my hands and called out a warning, but no one could hear. I looked round for Odysseus, or any Ithacan I could trust. All I saw was a sea of strangers.

But I’d promised Clytemnestra. I leapt from the barrel and then charged into the crowd. Head down, I elbowed my way through. Soldiers looked round in surprise when they found a girl pushing against them. A few shouted curses, but several laughed as they stepped aside, shouting that if I wanted Achilles, I’d better hurry up.

Jumping to look above their heads, I saw Agamemnon grab his daughter and pull her to the altar. I fumbled for Clytemnestra’s knife as the priest held his arms towards the sky and called out a prayer.

“In the name of Apollo, we sacrifice this daughter of Agamemnon, so that Artemis, the goddess of hunting, will forgive Agamemnon for his arrogance in hunting her sacred deer.”

The attendants screamed and perhaps I did too. Rhea and Io darted towards the altar and I ran after them, swerving away from hands that tried to stop me. I glimpsed Io kicking out at the soldiers who dragged her away, but Rhea made it to the altar and stood in front of Iphigenia. She turned to face Agamemnon, her eyes wide with terror as she used her own body as a shield. Achilles raced past me and leapt upon Agamemnon like a mountain lion, snarling and knocking him onto his back. Then a black mass of Mycenaean soldiers tumbled onto the young prince and tried to pull him away. I slipped past the swirling tangle of arms and legs and reached Iphigenia.

“Get to Phoebus’ chariot, by the cart!” I cried, tugging at her arm.

Someone grabbed my hair and yanked me backwards. A bony hand hit me across the face. “Quiet, Ithacan bitch.”

It was Palamedes. I twisted round and stabbed blindly, catching his arm in a lucky swipe. Another hand covered my mouth. I bit down hard and felt the crunch of bone. The hand fell away and I dashed back towards the altar. Agamemnon was on his feet again, knocking Rhea to the ground.

Screaming with rage, I ran from behind and rammed the knife into his back. The blade jarred against his armour. He swept his sword in an arc towards me.

Different hands seized my arm and pulled me sideways. I crashed to the ground. One man knelt near my face, shouting at me. I snatched my right arm free and hit him on the mouth like Lysander had taught me. Then I slid my hand under his chin and pushed his head back.

“Stay still, sister. You’re about to break my neck.”

I froze. Odysseus? It was Odysseus. And Phoebus with him.

“He’s killing her. Stop him, why aren’t you stopping him?”

“We can’t fight the entire army. Stay still or he’ll kill us too.”

“I don’t care. We’ve got to stop him.” I looked at Phoebus. “Phoebus, please!”

Phoebus shook his head and they held onto me while the rasping voice of the priest finished the prayer. “We ask that the West Wind replaces the North, and guides our ships to Troy.”

I heard Iphigenia pleading with her father and then the final, terrified scream. I closed my eyes and the large crowd of men seemed to groan as one. Then all was quiet. Odysseus loosed his grip and I got to my feet. Phoebus stood with his hands over his face. Rhea knelt on the ground, sobbing. I saw Agamemnon, his back to me, obscuring my view of the altar, but blood dripped down the sword he held.

No one spoke while the priest moved back and forth along the stone slab, muttering some sort of prayer in a high-pitched voice. Then Agamemnon turned to walk away. I saw his face splattered with her blood and his arms and breast plate crimson. What could I fear in Hades after seeing such a face, the face of a man who killed his own daughter? I wrenched myself from Odysseus and ran to the altar.

Iphigenia’s small body lay on the stone, almost as if she was sleeping. But her face shone with the whiteness of alabaster, the purity only interrupted by the cruel, gaping wound across her neck and the blood that turned her white bridal gown red.

Achilles stood there too, gently touching Iphigenia’s hand. He opened her clenched fist and found the ivory lion.

“A gift from her mother,” I sobbed, staring at the small crouching lion. “It was meant to protect her.”

My legs felt numb and refused to move. Odysseus guided me away and I stumbled across the sand, gasping for breath. There were voices all around, but they made no sense, and the next thing I knew I was curled up on a bundle of fleeces while Odysseus mixed herbs with a watered wine.

“This will help you sleep, you’ve seen too much today,” he said.

I took the wooden cup and sipped the sweet tasting drink. Its warmth spread through my body and Odysseus’ face blurred. He unlaced my sandals and covered me in a sheepskin blanket. His voice sounded far away and although I fought to listen to his words, everything faded into the distance.

Chapter SIX

Persuasion

A
man’s voice woke me. I turned onto my side and saw Menelaus talking to my brother.

“I just want Helen back,” he said quietly, shoulders hunched under his purple cloak. “But it’s Agamemnon. He’s got his chance to lead the alliance against Troy and nothing can stop him.”

“Yet if the Trojans were to release Helen,” Odysseus said, “the apparent reason for his campaign would be over. Most of the leaders would leave for home and the alliance would disintegrate. Agamemnon can’t fight on alone.”

Menelaus swept his hands over his face and groaned. “That’s true, but how can we convince Paris to release her?”

“We don’t have to convince Paris, only King Priam and his advisers. We will put it to them in simple terms. If they don’t return Helen to you, then the greatest Greek army there’s ever been will invade their land, destroy their city, kill the men and enslave their wives and children. Priam is reputed to be a wise king. He would be mad not to order Paris to give up Helen.”

“Sounds simple, but Agamemnon will lead us to Troy as soon as the wind changes, there’s no time to talk with the Trojans,” Menelaus said.

Odysseus rubbed his forehead. “There’s a way round this. When the fleet sails, Agamemnon has ordered us to regroup on the isle of Tenedos before we invade. That’s the plan, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, but how does that help?”

“We’re going straight to Troy. We’ll sail in my fastest ship, built by the best Ithacan shipwrights, and I’ll select the strongest oarsmen as the crew. We won’t hug the coast and stop to sleep on the shore. Instead, we’ll travel through the night, sailing across the sea to reach Troy in three days. That’s enough time to gain an audience with Priam, collect Helen and still reach Tenedos in time to welcome your brother to the island.”

“Travelling at night? How’s that possible? We’ll not see the land marks.”

“I’ll take Evander as pilot and we’ll use the stars as our guide.”

Menelaus drew a breath. “I’m a Spartan, we don’t know the sea like the Ithacans do. So I’ll have to trust you on that,” he said. “But what then? Walk up to the gates of Troy and ask for an audience with their king? They’d kill us on the spot. You know the reputation of the Trojans, treachery is in their blood.”

“We go unarmed to emphasise our desire for peace. Remember we’re not yet at war and the Trojan reputation for treachery comes from Priam’s father, not Priam himself. If he’s as honourable as I’ve heard he is, he won’t harm two unarmed envoys seeking a peaceful settlement. Once we reach Priam, we must trust in our powers of persuasion.”

“More likely your powers of persuasion. I’m not a man for fancy words,” Menelaus murmured.

“Perhaps not, my friend. But all you need do is tell Priam how you welcomed his son into your home and how he betrayed you. The wrong that Paris has done to you and to the gods should speak for itself.”

Menelaus thought for a moment and then nodded. “All right, Odysseus, this plan of yours is the only chance we’ve got. I’ve no choice but go along with it.”

He looked up and saw me wrapped in one of the fleeces. “I think I’ve got something of yours.” He reached inside his cloak and brought out the little knife. “I believe you used it on my brother. I found it by the altar and I’m curious, because I recognise my father’s lion on the hilt. Who gave it you?”

“Clytemnestra. I was meant to protect Iphigenia, but I failed,” I whispered, taking the knife again.

Menelaus sighed. “It was the lion that worried me. Young Iphigenia dead, killed by her own father, and lying beside her the Lion of Atreus. I thought it was a sign from the gods.”

My hands trembled as I touched the embossed pattern on the hilt. “What sign, Menelaus?”

“A sign that the curse on my family extends to our children too. My daughter, she is so young and she needs her mother. Her grandmother Leda is a kind and noble lady, but she doesn’t know of the curse. She doesn’t know to guard against the … ”

“Come now, you’re seeing something that isn’t there,” Odysseus said, sounding relaxed. “My sister dropped the knife, that’s all. Hermione will be well looked after by her nurse and grandmother until Helen returns. Your only worry is that they’ll spoil her.”

Menelaus smiled. “I fear my daughter is spoilt already.”

There were heavy footsteps outside the tent and Agamemnon’s herald stepped inside. He bowed his head to Odysseus and Menelaus, glanced in my direction and then ignored me.

“King Agamemnon wishes to inform all his leaders that the wind has changed and is set for Troy. Prepare your ships and your men, we sail at noon.”

“Thank you, herald. The Ithacans and the Spartans will be ready,” Odysseus replied.

Menelaus waited for the herald to leave and then jumped to his feet, as if energised by the practical task ahead. “We haven’t much time. I’ll see to my Spartan ships and meet you at the harbour.”

Odysseus turned to me. “Let’s share a meal together before you leave. You’ll find a place to wash by the stream and then Phoebus will escort you to Ithaca. Tell Penelope of our envoy to Troy. Tell her I will be home.”

“I can’t go back,” I whispered. “I was meant to look after Iphigenia, the first really grown up task I’ve been asked to do. I failed. I can’t go back.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Even Achilles couldn’t protect her.”

“But I promised Clytemnestra. I took the knife.”

“The attendants will bear witness to the way you fought.”

“But I failed and I’ve got to make up for it. I’ve got to come with you to Troy and help get Helen back.”

Odysseus held my hands. “No, not that. You heard me talking with Menelaus. It’s dangerous. Far too dangerous for you, little sister. This isn’t one of Lysander’s games.”

“I know. I saw Iphigenia killed, remember?” I snapped. I closed my eyes and saw the blooded face of Agamemnon. “I owe it to Clytemnestra.”