by Diana Gainer
As Ip'emédeya entered the dark room where he reclined on the bench, her uncle rose to his feet. He was unsteady and stiff, leaning to his old injury. His hands rose to his head and then to hers. He knew her immediately, a small sound in his throat, half chuckle, half cry.
It was a while before Ip'emédeya's eyes adjusted to the dark of the room. When they did, she stared without recognition at the graying, bearded warrior covered with scars. In a shocked whisper, she asked, "Grandfather?"
"T'ugátriyon," he sighed in response, his voice the weak and low sound of an old man. "Ai, little daughter."
"Owái," Ip'emédeya wailed softly, her hands to her cheeks, "but Atréyu is dead. I have escaped the barbarian horsemen by going to the land of 'Aidé." She backed away from the apparition.
But Diwoméde came up behind her to stop her retreat. "That is Meneláwo," he told her quietly, trying to push her toward her dreamy-eyed uncle.
"Ip'emédeya," Meneláwo whispered tenderly and put his arms around her. Clasping the small woman tightly, the Lakedaimóniyan sighed, the happy sound of one satisfied after a longing of many years. She stood stiff and unresponsive, her heart beating wildly against his hairy chest. He released the priestess, only to grasp her hands with his. "Ai, my child," he whispered, sitting on the bench, and pulling her down beside him.
T'úwa took the other bench, pouring wine for all. "As you see, Meneláwo," the priest announced, "I guarded your niece well."
The graying king smiled. "My daughter, you mean." The younger Argives seated themselves cross-legged on the floor to listen, as Meneláwo told his rambling tale. "My Ariyádna had the misfortune to be raped twice," he told them, speaking more to T'úwa than anyone else. "She was first abducted when she was very young, not even fourteen. The man who kidnapped her was the Attikan, T'eséyu, son of wánaks Erékt'eyu. Ariyádna's father would accept no P'ilísta as a suitor for his daughter. Because of that affront to his honor, T'eséyu stole the bride he could not buy. Ariyádna's father was too old to take her back by force himself, her brothers too young to lead a military campaign.
"So Lakedaimón turned to Argo for help. Klutaimnéstra is Ariyádna's sister, you see, and she was already married to Agamémnon. My father had died not long before, and my brother was just taking the throne of Argo. He was sympathetic, but he thought it would be bad policy to leave the country so soon after his coronation. I had nothing better to do, so I went in his place. Ai, what a time we had, Kástor and Poludéyuke and I, fighting for their sister's honor.
"We sacked towns and villages all over Attika, even burned a sacred grove, and king Erékt'eyu finally yielded up his son's prize. We carried little Ariyádna back to Lakedaimón in triumph. Her father awarded her to me, as my reward. I thought that a fine prize, indeed. I knew I would have Lakedaimón's kingship when her parents died, into the bargain. But Ariyádna agreed to our match only if I would make her a promise. She must never be carried off again, she said. Ai, ai," he moaned, patting Ip'emédeya's hands, "I swore I would guard her as she wished. And I thought nothing of it. Why should anyone want her then, I thought? She was still a beauty, as wide around as a cistern, but she came to her second husband's bed pregnant with the first man's child.
"I was pleased with my life in Lakedaimón. I went hunting with her brothers. They thought as much of me as I did of them, and her parents loved me for bringing back their daughter. I even told Ariyádna that I would raise her child as my own, to make her happy. But when it was born, she seemed to see only the face of the man who had raped her. When the baby cried, she would cry too, thinking of what T'eséyu had done to her. When the child laughed, she seemed to see the man mocking her. I was afraid she would do some harm to the baby. So I talked her into sending it away for her sister to raise. After all, I thought, she and I would have many more children. She would soon forget this one. And my brother and her sister already had one of their own. They were experienced. Klutaimnéstra would know how to care for this problem child.
"Ariyádna did not want to let the baby go, even though she could not bear to keep it, either. But I pressed and argued and finally she agreed. But again, she asked me for a vow. No one should ever be allowed to harm this child. I must swear to protect it. I took that oath as easily as the other. Why should anything happen to a little girl in Argo? Agamémnon was already the strongest king in Ak'áiwiya. No wánaks would dare attack his land. So the child left our house. Owái, but our good fortune went with her. Ai, but that is another story. Because I had advised her so firmly, Ariyádna named the child 'Strong-Counsel,' Ip'emédeya."
The priestess gasped and Orésta and Diwoméde were no less taken aback by the revelation. But Meneláwo was not done. "When Qálki later blamed the Ak'áyans' troubles on Agamémnon, both my brother and his wife resisted the call to sacrifice their foster daughter. They had raised her, after all. But in their hearts, I suppose, Ip'emédeya was not really theirs and they thought it fitting that one of Ariyádna's own daughters die for her sake.
"I could not accept this. But how could I object, when the child's death would save her mother? I thought of the two vows I had made to my Ariyádna. The first was broken by a Wilúsiyan pirate, the second now endangered by my own brother. Which oath should I keep? Which would have to be broken? There seemed to be no honorable solution to my dilemma. I did not know if I could save my wife against the will of the gods. But I knew that, even if I brought Ariyádna back from Tróya, she would never come to my bed again if I let her daughter die.
"That is when I thought of sending Ip'emédeya into exile, to save her life. I arranged it all, before I told Agamémnon what I intended to do. First, I said he would have to get the seer to name some other sacrifice. Or, I told him, we would have to see our allies fall away, and just his men and mine sail to Tróya. But, he would have to kill me first, if he still insisted that Ip'emédeya be sacrificed. Ai, but I need not have worried about his support. My brother had no faith in gods or seers and he embraced my plan, as the best alternative, with all his heart. The pretended sacrifice was his idea, in fact. He thought of holding up the deer's heart and sending out a snake for an omen, to distract the men. With this, we were able to satisfy the army and the seer. So my daughter lived and the expedition to rescue her mother went ahead.
"Ai, Ip'emédeya, I always meant to fetch you back one day. I fully intended bring you home after the war, when everything was back to normal. But always there was one danger or another. If the drought seemed about to end, one year, then the Mesheníyans crossed the mountains, threatening to engulf my lands in war. Death would come through famine or pestilence. Or my coasts were under attack. You seemed better off in the north, where it still rained, and where pirates dared not raid." He caressed the woman's dark hair, dreamily gazing on her face. "Ai, so like your mother," he sighed.
Ip'emédeya's features softened, her bitterness and anger salved as much by the king's evident anguish as by his improbable story. "And my…mother?" the priestess asked, her voice tremulous. "What of Ariyádna? Did she ever ask about me?"
Meneláwo moaned and closed his eyes. "Ariyádna never had her fill of mourning your fate. I could not bear to see her tears. Ai, may the gods forgive me. I made her a slave of the poppy to give her some peace, until I could bring you home. Now she says that the end of the world is near, and I think she must be right. Forgive me, little daughter, for taking you from your sanctuary now. I wanted Ariyádna to see you once more, before the final catastrophe."
Ip'emédeya said nothing further about revenge to Diwoméde or Orésta. As they dined with T'úwa, and planned their return journey, she talked only of the things she remembered of Ak'áiwiya, things she looked forward to seeing again soon. In this more tractable state, she allowed her younger brother to prevail upon her to find a home outside of Argo. Orésta convinced her of the dangers of revealing her true identity and of being recognized in her native land.
"Go south to Lakedaimón, with me," Meneláwo urged her. "You must see your real mother again. S
tay there. I will protect you from any man who threatens you. When Ariyádna dies, you will rule the land with whoever you choose as your husband. My poor wife was too shattered after her Tróyan captivity to teach 'Ermiyóna properly. Our younger daughter is a wánasha in name only. She can barely write in the secular script, not at all in the sacred."
This offer did not please Orésta, since he had planned to rule with 'Ermiyóna beside him. "No, both Argo and Lakedaimón are far too dangerous," he told Ip'emédeya. "You have too many kinsmen in either kingdom who would recognize you. Even if they are loyal, the news would eventually get out. Choose a new home somewhere in the north, perhaps Aitolíya. Prince Puláda will be allied to the south on our return and his country has seen more rain than ours."
Ip'emédeya was not impressed with either of her kinsmen's suggestions. "Argo and Lakedaimón hold too many evil memories for me," she told them. "I will not make my home in either land. Do not worry about that. But Aitolíyans are P'ilístas and they are not known for their piety. I have no intention of living among any more godless men."
Diwoméde broke in to point out, "What we have to decide now is where to camp for the winter. Summer is long over and there is little enough left of autumn. We will not make it back to Argo until next spring."
"Set sail for the west in the morning," Ip'emédeya told them decisively. "You may leave me in Qoyotíya on your way to Argo. I am a priestess, after all, as well as a princess. If I cannot rule openly, at least I can still serve my goddess at Put'ó. Yes, Orésta, I agree to hide my true name, at least for awhile. But if men are not to know that I am alive, at least they should remember the great sacrifice that Agamémnon made. I will take as my new name one of the titles of the great lady, a name that will recall the sacrifice at Aúli when it is spoken. Qoyotíya's new priestess will be Ip'igéneya, the Strong Born."
aaa
So the priestess came to be known that winter in T'ráki, as well. As on the return from Wilúsiya a decade earlier, the Ak'áyans were forced by the lateness of the year to spend the cold season there. Across the narrow straits from Tróya, the combined forces of Argo and Lakedaimón passed a winter that was, fortunately, less eventful than Agamémnon's legendary stay ten years before. On the narrow peninsula facing Wilúsiya, the Ak'áyans erected hide tents and rude huts of timber and thatch. Trading bronze weapons and finely woven, linen cloth, they purchased grain, wine, and tolerance, for the span of cold months. To their surprise, the Ak'áyans found themselves welcome. Despite their number, which strained the resources of the nearby villages, and despite their history of less than cordial relations, Zeyugelátes and T'rákiyans passed the winter without violence.
The local chieftain even brought the Lakedaimóniyan king and his nephews into his own hilltop fort. Behind wooden walls, the visitors wrapped themselves in fox-skin cloaks and kept their feet warm in leather boots with upturned toes provided by their host. "Perhaps you will remember my hospitality in the spring," the tattooed chief suggested as his guests dined on barley gruel and mutton. "What your king Agamémnon did to chief Lukúrgu years ago means nothing to me. What does matter to me is that Agamémnon left a bastard son to one of Wilúsiya's island vassals. The boy is called K'rusé, named after his mother's father, and he is to inherit the island's kingship when the old man dies, which should be any time now. But both the islands of Lámno and Lázpa are mine by rights. Go and remove the young K'rusé from my realm, then – at your convenience, of course. Do this and I will consider myself your ally for life."
"I am glad you do not bear us a grudge because my brother had chief Lukúrgu blinded," Meneláwo answered with an understanding nod.
Orésta frowned. He had not known of this second half-brother and was not at all pleased to hear of it. His eyes rested on each of the men's faces, his uncle's haggard and drawn, the T'rákiyan's enigmatically smiling, Diwoméde's surprisingly tense and avoiding Orésta's.
"And if we do not choose to mount an expedition to Lázpa?" the qasiléyu began.
Smiling broadly, the tattooed chieftain laid a warm hand on Diwoméde's shoulder. "What I ask should not be difficult for you. If you do not want the bother and expense of a military expedition, tell the boy that his father's family wants him in Ak'áiwiya. Entice him onto your ship with promises of inheritance…or whatever you like. When he is gone, I will take care of the rest."
"But suppose we do not want the boy either," Diwoméde continued.
The chieftain laughed. "I do not care what you do with young K'rusé. Sell him into slavery or crown him king of holy 'Elléniya, whatever you please. Just get him out from under my feet."
"Agreed," Orésta said quickly, glaring harshly at his half-brother.
Diwoméde recognized the golden name of K'rusé, as did Meneláwo. Neither volunteered to recount for Orésta the encounter with the old man, which had marred the unity of the Ak'áyans during the Tróyan war. Nor did Agamémnon's legitimate son ask for details. Orésta's concerns were with the future, not the past. Accordingly, the young man spent most of the idle months discussing battles and strategies with their T'rákiyan host.
"It is a relief to find that we are welcome here," Diwoméde quietly told Meneláwo, as the two of them sought the quiet of the cabin that the local chief had provided. "But I feel the winter settling into my very bones. The wounds I took at Tróya and in Attika never completely healed and, in this damp cold, they ache until I can hardly move. Ai," he sighed, "I wish Dáuniya were here. Her warm hands are the only things that give me relief."
Sympathetically, Meneláwo nodded, his right arm pressed close to the massive scar that pinched his side. "Here," he offered, handing the qasiléyu a poppy flask. "T'úwa gave me enough to fill this T'rákiyan's stables." Well before spring, when the Ak'áyans set out again, Orésta alone was in charge, his half-brother and his uncle content to follow his orders.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LAWODIKA
The winter passed quickly, with little rain and less snow in the countries surrounding the Inner Sea. Spring's returning warmth came early and, with it, the burning desire for home. The Ak'áyans left their temporary huts in T'ráki, repaired their ships' hulls, and replaced the cables and sails that had rotted from disuse. They sailed west across the T'rákiyan coastline as spring came to an end. Along their route, they picked up northern warriors eager for a part in Orésta's campaign, for a price. By the time Orésta's army caught up with the contingent that had stayed in T'ráki, seeking grain, he had more men than seats on the rowing benches. The hulls of all his ships were also well stocked with barley. He turned his fleet south with a light heart, certain that the gods were with him.
His route was far from direct, since there were many enemy lands to avoid. T'eshalíya and Attika lay directly in his path and it took most of a month to skirt them and reach the isthmus between northern and southern Ak'áiwiya. There, Orésta was surprised to find, Odushéyu waited, just as he had been ordered, with the last third of the original force. To the young Argive's greater astonishment, Ainyáh was with the It'ákan. They had patched up their quarrel, they explained. "Wilúsiya and Argo are allies once more," Ainyáh would only tell them curtly, when Diwoméde expressed surprise. "We are both ready to take on wánaks Aígist'o in Mukénai."
The qasiléyu was suspicious. While Orésta sent out spies for information on Argo's king, Diwoméde questioned some of the Argives whom Odushéyu had commanded. Though they could confirm the current alliance between the It'ákan and the Tróyan commander, they had disturbing news, also. Odushéyu had led them to Aitolíya, as directed, and there they had wintered as prince Puláda's guests. Princess 'Ermiyóna had been treated well, they assured Diwoméde and Meneláwo. The young widow was safely awaiting her new husband in the Aitolíyan capital. But, during the late months of the previous autumn, despite the danger of storms, Odushéyu had sailed alone toward the east, returning only at the start of the spring. They did not know where the exile had spent the winter. These things troubled Orésta, too, when Diwoméd
e passed them on.
Confronted with the facts, Odushéyu was only too happy to explain. "I went to the oracle of Dodóna," he explained quickly and eagerly. "Not to my old homeland of It'áka, since you forbade it, Diwoméde. Let your spirit rest easy on that score. But my heart would not rest until I could find out whether I would ever see my homeland again."
"Did the oracle tell you?" the qasiléyu asked, uncertain whether to believe the tale.
"Yes, yes, certainly," the It'ákan beamed. "Ai, the seeress of Dodóna is the holiest of the barbarians and the most knowledgeable. Her sanctuary is in T'esprotíya, as you must know. From there, she led me on a most wondrous trip. Do you know where I have been?"
Diwoméde shook his head, not certain that he wanted to hear the answer.
"To the land of the dead," Odushéyu announced, in one of his loud, conspiratorial whispers. "I spoke with my own dead mother, I tell you. And I saw your father, boy. Ai, his spirit is weak and thin and tormented with a dreadful thirst. He can find no permanent dwelling in 'Aidé until his murder is avenged."
Orésta was stricken at the revelation. But Diwoméde's suspicion was contagious. The Argives turned to Odushéyu's fellow troop leader for confirmation of the tale.
"This is true, indeed," Ainyáh told them. "I know. I was visiting the oracle myself, seeking a new home for my people. It was the barbarian seeress herself who settled the quarrel between us."
Meneláwo had listened to the exchange without speaking thus far. But he felt enough curiosity to ask, "Why did you go to T'esprotíya, of all places? Why did you not go to our own oracle at Put'ó?"