Nauplius found himself in the honored seat at the right of the king with the young princess Deidamia, Achilles’ wife, at his left. Servants moved efficiently and quietly, serving wine and refreshing platters of meat and sweet fruits.
The king addressed his guest only after they leaned back in their chairs, stuffed with food and warmed by the wine.
“Nauplius, tell me, what was your business at Troy? I see that you have brought no slaves, nor have you stores of wine or grain.”
The guest nodded, taking a slow sip from his wine cup. “You are correct. My business was far more … personal.”
“What could take a man to the brink of a war he did not intend to join?”
“Justice, my lord.”
“Justice?” The king sipped his wine, considering his guest. “For whom?”
“My son, my lord.”
“I do not understand,” the king said, setting down his cup.
“He was killed, my lord, at Agamemnon’s command.”
The clatter around the table silenced, and all eyes fell on the foreigner at the table.
King Lycomedes raised his eyebrows in surprise. “And what was the crime?”
“His crime, my lord, was his loyalty and obedience to his king.”
Several gasps circled the table, and the silence continued, awkward and heavier. “You speak in riddles, I think, Nauplius. Who was your son?”
It was a direct question. There could be no refusal to answer. “Palamedes, my lord.” Nauplius’ eyes filled with the angry tears of a grieving father. “He was servant to Agamemnon.”
“I have heard of your son’s devotion to his king. I heard it was he who tricked Odysseus to war.”
“You heard truthfully,” Nauplius said, avoiding any overt blame of Odysseus. No king would welcome a common man denigrating the reputation of another king, especially one as well-respected as the king of Ithaka. His next words were careful and quiet. “I believe some jealousy set the king against my son. He remained loyal until his last breath.”
Lycomedes sighed into his cup, as he drained it dry. “Jealousy is indeed a powerful weapon … so too is revenge.” He narrowed his eyes and studied his guest over the silver rim.
“My lord, Lycomedes, I seek no revenge. King Agamemnon gave me audience, and he was sympathetic to my grief … but he made clear the law.”
“What of this … justice you were seeking? You seek it no longer?”
“I had hoped that there would be someone responsible for a foul word, a motive perhaps, anything that could link the events that led to Palamedes’ stoning.”
Deidamia gasped, “Stoning?” She shuddered at the thought. “What an awful way to leave this world.”
The king held his cup out to be refilled. “There was no one to blame?”
“No. He was accused of betraying Agamemnon by a letter found on a dead Trojan prisoner. The letter was supposedly addressed to King Priam. I know in my heart—” His voice choked. “He would never …”
“Then you found justice had been served, according to the king’s law.”
Nauplius bowed his head, the lie slipping easily from his lips, “Yes, the king’s word stood as law.”
Deidamia interrupted, “My lord, Nauplius, how fairs my husband, Prince Achilles? Did you see him?”
Welcoming the reprieve, Nauplius turned his attention to the princess. “He is well, my lady. I did not meet him, but I did see his Black Shields preparing for battle. They were, without doubt, the most intimidating force of all the hosts combined. It is little wonder he does not always see fit to give deference to Agamemnon.”
The princess laughed behind her hand and tried not to smile. “He will bend to no master, but his own will, or the will of the gods.”
Nauplius shrugged. “And my son was … well, it no longer matters. He is for Hades now.”
“I am sorry about your son, truly,” the princess said, laying a soft hand on Nauplius’ arm. “There are no words for such a loss.”
“No, there are not words for the pain of losing a child. I always believed it would be he who buried me, not I gathering up his bones in a jar.”
King Lycomedes said, “As our guest, it is my duty to entertain you. You have been through enough. No more talk of death.” He clapped his hands. Musicians and singers entered, followed by dancers, and more platters heaped with roasted beef and boar and baskets of sweet fruits.
After the meal and songs were finished, the guests drifted away to their prepared chambers or made their way home. The princess stood from her seat, yawning from the wine and late hour. “My dear Nauplius, I cannot hold my eyes open any longer. Forgive me, will you? If I do not retire now, I am afraid I will sleep where I am standing.”
Nauplius nodded understanding. “Of course. But may I speak plainly before you go?”
“Certainly.”
The guest pulled Deidamia into the shadows of an enormous pillar. “I did not wish to speak everything I know regarding your husband in the presence of all the other guests. You have been most kind and generous with me. I think you deserve the truth.”
Alarmed, the princess wrenched her arm from his grasp. “You have ill news of Achilles? Is he well? Wounded?” Tears glistened in her dark eyes. “He has not been killed. Please tell me he is well. I beg you.”
“He is well, my lady. Unharmed. Uninjured.”
Deidamia shook her head in confusion. “What then is this truth you cannot speak of?”
“You deserve to know your husband is not a … faithful man. You have kept your fidelity, where he has not.”
The princess stared at her father’s guest as anger replaced the fear in her eyes. Her tears, moments ago shed in love, now fell in bitterness. “What are you saying? He has taken another wife?”
Nauplius laughed softly. “Achilles? Take a wife? He takes them all, my lady. Two or three at a time. They say his lust is as unbridled as his passion.”
“You lie!” Deidamia hissed. Even as the words passed her lips, she knew Achilles could take any woman he desired. And she knew that any woman who laid eyes upon him would desire him, as she had done. This stranger had birthed her deepest fears into life with a few words. “You came as guest in my father’s house, only to wreck it.”
Nauplius sighed, smiling thinly. “My lady, I but speak the truth. We all deserve the truth.” He turned and walked away, his form disappearing into the early morning shadows.
Deidamia, in her heartbreak, slid down the pillar and wept. She had loved her beautiful husband with everything that she possessed, and now, her love was laid in ruins about her feet. Her heart scattered to the winds of Aeolus.
As dawn broke, the storm clouds parted, revealing blue skies. Nauplius’ ship was already heading out to sea, the vast blue horizon before him. Nauplius began to laugh. He laughed until his tears wet his cheeks. He’d sown the seeds of discontent and betrayal. Achilles, if he ever made it home from the accursed war, would not find a loyal and loving wife to greet him. If Nauplius had dug the knife deep enough, Achilles would find a bastard or two at his wife’s ample breasts. The black vengeance in his heart hungered for more.
“Where shall I set the course, my lord?” the captain asked.
“We make first for Mycenae, then Ithaka.”
TWENTY SEVEN
MYCENAE
1246 BCE
Clytemnestra caressed the slight mound of her belly. She had thought her womb a barren field, until the gentle flutter of life revealed otherwise. Watching the sky shift from palest blues to gold, as the orb of fire Apollo pulled into the sky rose above the polis in the east, her mind drifted into the far distant past. The face of her beloved Tantalus rose behind her eyes. The faded images of his squared jaw, his engaging smile, and his dark brown eyes sparkling down as he murmured his love to her still held the power to reach her iron heart and melt it with a simple thought. All these years. So long and yet it was only a day ago. The queen quickly put the thought of her first husband aside before the memory
of their infant son, brutally murdered by Agamemnon, could surface fully. She closed her eyes tightly, willing other thoughts to suffocate her life-long grief. But Iphigenia’s visage floated through the veil, haunting her with sweet smiles, tender kisses, and the goddess’ words. ‘She is yours for a time … for a time. Treasure your days with her …’
The queen sighed, a single tear escaping the corner of her eye. Curse the goddess for delivering only the riddle of Iphigenia’s life. She knew what was to happen. I could have prevented it. I could have saved my sweet girl.
Aegisthus stirred behind her. “Come back to bed.”
The queen turned, remaining where she stood on the balcony. “I am with child.”
Her lover sat up. “You are certain?”
“Yes.”
“I had thought … Years have passed since I was …”
Clytemnestra walked across the space between them and sat on the edge of the bed. “I also thought my fertile years behind me. My only wonder is why now? What new heartache do the gods have planned for me?”
“I had not thought to be a father so late in my own life either.” He smiled warmly. “Maybe this will be a balm for your―”
“Nothing will take my pain from me. After all this time, Aegisthus, I must cling to what I know. I will not allow you, or any other, not even another child to soften the black to grey.” Even as she spoke, the image of Iphigenia’s final gasp for breath pressed through. Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed in her lover’s presence. She stood, quickly walking back to the balcony, wiping her grief from her eyes with an elegant flourish of her hand. “You will regret taking to my bed before long.”
“Are you not concerned what the people will think of you carrying a child obviously not Agamemnon’s?”
“The thought did cross my mind. I could blame it on Zeus,” she said, thinking of her mother’s rape by the Thunder God.
“Best not to pull the wrath of Olympus down on purpose,” Aegisthus warned. “Their vengeance is always sharp … and always most bitter.”
Clytemnestra nodded, thinking, And lethal. Their vengeance is always lethal. “It was a jest, my lover. Simply a jest.” Yes, no need to call more agony on my family. A knock sounded at the door.
The faithful matron cracked the door open. “My lady?” Her habit now that her queen had taken a lover was to never enter the chamber directly, allowing time for privacy. It drove Clytemnestra mad, although she appreciated the loyalty Neola continued to show her.
“Enter, Neola. We are not abed.”
Neola stepped through the door carrying a tray of fresh bread, figs, and salted fish. “I thought you would be hungry this morning.”
The queen eyed the contents of the tray suspiciously, and looked to her servant. She knows. “Gratitude. You know me well. Too well.”
Neola bowed her head and smiled. “Well enough, my lady.”
Clytemnestra motioned for Neola to set the tray on her table. “There is something else?” the queen asked, as she sat. She picked up a fat, purple fig.
“A man has come seeking audience with you. He says he has news from … Troy,” Neola said carefully.
Clytemnestra dropped the fig from her fingers and it clattered against the tray, rolling awkwardly to the floor. Her throat tightened as her eyes met the matron’s. “Troy?”
Neola’s eyes widened as the queen visibly paled before her. “My lady, are you―”
Aegisthus rush to Clytemnestra’s side as she slipped from her chair. He caught her before she hit the hard floor. “My love! Clytemnestra?” he said as he gently tried to wake her.
The queen’s eyes fluttered slowly open, focusing on the two concerned faces staring down at her. “I am fine,” she said tersely, annoyed with her weakness. They helped Clytemnestra to her feet and back into her chair. “Did this man give any other word?”
Neola shook her head. “Only that he has come from Troy and wishes to speak with you.”
“So, he does not come with direction from Agamemnon?”
“I have no idea, my lady.” Neola turned to leave, and then added, “I do not like him.”
“Why is that?” the queen asked.
“His eyes are dead,” Neola answered, leaving the couple to their food and privacy.
Nauplius waited impatiently for the Queen of Mycenae to grace him with her presence. He wondered how she would take the news he itched to deliver. It was known throughout the west about the sacrifice of Iphigenia by Agamemnon’s order, so he hoped to push the queen to revolt against her husband. If Agamemnon had no kingdom to return to, he would suffer.
A door opened behind him. He turned to face the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her dark hair spilled about slender shoulders, her dark skin shone in its perfection, and her eyes sparkled darkly. Yet, he thought, Hers are the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. He remembered just then that Clytemnestra was Helen’s elder sister, explaining the queen’s exotic beauty. He bowed deeply as she approached.
“What brings you to Mycenae?” the queen asked.
“I have news of Agamemnon.”
“Is he dead?” she asked dryly.
The queen’s bluntness took Nauplius aback. He sputtered, “N-no, m-my lady, he is not dead.”
The queen’s mouth settled to a hard line of indifference. “That would have been welcomed news. So, why have you come here? Has he sent you with a word or two for me? Our children?”
Again, Nauplius choked. The sharp coldness in her voice sliced his confidence in half. He began thinking he should not have come to Mycenae. “No, I come bearing no news directly from your husband.”
Clytemnestra shuddered at the word, and her patience thinned. “What is your news then?”
“I wish to … that …” He silently cursed the queen’s unwavering stare. He finally spit out, “Agamemnon has encouraged his army to take foreign women in place of their proper wives.”
Nauplius watched her face soften, and then she laughed. “Who are you then? Speak up!”
“I am Nauplius.”
Her laughter slowed, as she considered him. “Why did you go to Troy, when clearly you are too old and frail for war?”
“To avenge my son’s murder.”
“What happened to your son?”
“I believe he was betrayed by someone. Set up for conspiracy, but I know he would never have betrayed his king.”
“His king? Which king did he serve? Odysseus? Menelaus? Diomedes?”
“My lady, he served Agamemnon.”
Clytemnestra asked with a steady voice, “Who was your son?”
“Palamedes, my lady.”
The mask of civility dropped, shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor, one for every ship that sailed from Aulis. “You dare to come here? Seek audience with me?”
“Only to inform you that the king encourages dishonor among his men and does not deserve such a faithful wife.”
The queen’s voice shook with growing rage as she spoke, “He has long been dishonorable in my eyes! I pray silently for the gods to take his life in some grotesque way!” She began to laugh hysterically. “Clearly, you have no idea what your son has done to me. It was his wretched hand that drew the blade across my daughter’s neck at Aulis! That bastard deserved to die!”
Nauplius realized too late his mistake. He had not known about Aulis. He’d assumed the deed was done at the hand of the king. Palamedes had not shared that bit of truth, probably to spare himself the guilt of the act. “I-I … did not know. Apolog―” He began to back away toward the audience chamber door.
With a black hatred blinding her to all else, she lunged at her guest. “I will kill you with my own hands!” She pushed a table aside, sending pottery crashing to the ground. Nauplius scrambled backward, tripping over the hem of his cloak. The queen managed to grab the front of his tunic in her hand, bringing him close to her, as she reached her free hand for the blade hidden in the folds of her gown. “I will kill you myself!”
The raised
voices and the clamor brought the queen’s guards rushing into the room. They pulled their queen to safety.
Nauplius, visibly shaken and in fear for his life, was trapped between two guards awaiting Clytemnestra’s command. At that moment, she realized that if she ordered Nauplius’ death word might get back to Agamemnon of what she’d done. If that happened, he‘d realize the extent of her rage, jeopardizing her plans to avenge her daughter’s murder. Sensibility slowly returned to her. “Let him go,” she said, the steady coldness returning to her voice.
No one was more surprised than Nauplius by her command. As soon as the guards released him, he ran as fast as he could, hobbling and tripping, from the palace.
TWENTY EIGHT
ITHAKA
1246 BCE
From her private window, Penelope gazed down at the roses growing beneath the sill and out across the rugged hillside to the pearl-frosted sea. Her eyes scanned the distant line of the horizon, hoping against all, that she could will Odysseus’ ship into view. How many wives wait as I do? Hearts broken and eyes wet with tears. In the five years since her husband’s fleet joined the navies under Agamemnon’s command, she’d grown tired and lonely. Her only joy now was found in her son’s sparkling brown eyes. When he looked at her, she saw his father’s image there in his young face.
Before she left the chamber, she once again knelt before her private shrine to Athena, praying that Odysseus would be granted safe passage. Please, Goddess, bring him home swiftly.
Penelope found her maid servants chatting and sorting olives in the kitchen. They paused in their duties and greeted her. She nodded politely, acknowledging them all before asking, “Where is Anticlea this morning?”
“My lady, she is out with the goat herder, Eumaeus, and your son,” Stefanie answered, as she sealed a jar with salt and fresh olives. “She asked that you join her, when you awoke.”
Rise of Princes (Homeric Chronicles Book 2) Page 19