Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (20 page)

“I WILL BE FINE!
Quit fussing. It is a short walk from the palace. What harm can come to me here?” Queen Leda insisted.

“Mother. Take your maids at least,” Clytemnestra pleaded.

Leda took her daughter’s lovely face in her hands, noticing her swollen eyes and slightly sunken cheeks. She sighed, “The truth, my darling, is I rather enjoy my solitude. All these guests arriving. The commotion. I require a few moments when someone or other is not calling out for my approval or opinion.” Queen Leda understood the wrinkled brow on her daughter’s face. “Do not fret Clytemnestra. Everything will be set right...in time.”

“There are more guests than I expected,” the princess admitted, casting her eyes downward. “Mother, I do not wish to marry Agamemnon.”

“I asked your father to reconsider. He would not budge.” Leda took her daughter’s face between her soft palms again and looked her directly in the eyes. “Daughter, we women are all pawns of the men we wed. Men such as your father and Agamemnon, they have business that reaches passed our feminine understanding. Be certain of one thing, when they engage in the politics of power, it is we who pay the price.” The queen pulled the faded green himation over her head concealing her identity and walked out the garden gate.

Leda enjoyed walking in solitude. The quiet surrounding her gave her calm to endure the loud and constant clamoring of palace halls. Always visitors requiring her attention to hospitality. The butchers, the bakers and the kitchen work never ended and always required her final word. How many goats to kill? Which stores of wine to serve? How much bread should be prepared? So many questions and calls on her name wearied her.

“I wish the sun would stand still for one day and let me have peace,” Leda said aloud. She walked on in silence until she came to the edge of the clearing leading to the pond. She let her head covering slide to her shoulders and breathed the air deeply like one who had been imprisoned in a stale putrid chamber. Only now did she allow herself to think of her daughter’s circumstance. What Agamemnon had done was unforgivable. And forcing Clytemnestra to play the cornerstone of their plan by marrying her to the man whose hand took the life of Tantalus, for the purpose of gaining power and wealth, was more than cruel. She’d never held much love for Tyndareus, but their children she adored, yet she kept her distance even from them to protect them from Hera, and Zeus himself. Tyndareus’ affections for her had cooled early in the marriage after he discovered Pollux was sired by Zeus. It garnered him no honor that the mighty Olympian had invaded her body against her will. Her husband had spurned her affections seeking solace elsewhere, far from her bed except on the drunken occasion when he felt he must reclaim what the divine intrusion had taken. Being at the mercy of men, be they mortal or not, soured Leda on intimacy entirely.

Leda took in the sight of the deep green water ahead. “Finally.” As she approached the pond, she caught sight of the pair of snow swans that had nested along the banks and their downy grey cygnets. Leda laughed as the babies bobbed and crisscrossed behind their parents feeding and clumsily navigating the water. The graceful parents trumpeted their business back and forth.

The queen’s thoughts turned again to the marriage her husband had negotiated for their elder daughter. Agamemnon impressed her as a shrewd man, an intelligent man...and quite used to having all manner of his life strictly controlled. He possessed an outward appearance of civility, but she sensed something dark ran beneath his cool presence. A loud collision sounded behind her. Leda startled and turned expecting to find a bandit or worse.

A lone black swan with wings slightly open, chest heaving met her surprised gaze. Above an eagle screeched its fury. Leda squinted into the sky catching sight of the golden bird of prey circling high over head. “Seems you have escaped the clutches of certain death and dinner,” the queen said. The swan folded its wings and made no move to retreat. Leda held out her hand. “Come, then bird. Come. I will not hurt you.” As if in understanding, the dark beauty approached. The queen stood still not wishing to frighten the exquisite foul. When it finally stood at her feet, its elegant neck and head reached almost to her shoulder. “What a magnificent bird you are.” The swan nuzzled its head against her breast. Leda took a step backward with the unexpected force of the swan’s presence. “Strong for a—”

“God,” a voice echoed in her ear.

Confused, Leda backed away from the advancing foul.

“You will not escape me, Queen of Sparta.”

Leda froze. “You! You speak?”

“Why look so surprised, Leda?”

“Zeus?” she questioned.

“Again, I come to you.”

Leda recalled the pain of coupling with Zeus. The agony of it rendered her ill for days. “No, please. No more. You promised you would not violate me a second time, if I bore your offspring. I have given you sons. Please—”

“It pleases me to do so. You will bend to my desire. I am bound by no promises to mortals,” the feathered Zeus said. The loss of Thetis still burned within him. He would sate his appetite for the mortal flesh of a woman with Leda. The black swan pressed toward her and Leda scrambled backwards, stumbling on the hem of her gown. She fell hard against the ground. The swan flapped its wings as if taking off in flight, but instead launched itself at her, landing heavily on her belly, pressing her firmly against the wet grass. Pain seared through her sacred cross as the dark-feathered beast shook its body into hers; its wings opened wide above her in triumph of its act.

The sunlight dimmed as the bird waddled toward the brush. It shimmered darkly, its form stretching its length and shape into the silver god-king of Olympus. Leda lay ruined and bleeding on the ground as the Zeus disappeared into the green and from her sight. The queen placed a shaking hand on her stomach. She knew he’d left her with child once again. Tyndareus would not be pleased. She wept wondering what would happen next. The rape exhausted her and she collapsed on the ground unable to rise. After a long time, she slowly stood to her feet.
Zeus will not defeat me. No man, god or no, will ever defeat me.
Disheveled and dirty, Queen Leda made her way back to the palace, hoping no one would see her before she could cleanse her body of the despicable act.

CLYTEMNESTRA SAT QUIETLY
as her maid arranged her hair, her heart thudding heavily in her chest. Knowing that her father had arranged this tragedy only deepened the wound. She sighed, resigned to her fate but unwilling to accept it. She would find some way to survive this marriage. Even as her maid fussed over her, she was planning her escape. She wanted to run for anywhere else and when an opportunity presented itself she would travel as far away as she could.

The door opened followed quickly by her mother in a flowing red gown and a sheer golden himation wrapped around her shoulders. “My darling,” she smiled and leaned to kiss Clytemnestra on the cheek. “You are a most stunning bride.”

“I do not care how I look for that murderer,” Clytemnestra responded.

“You will drop such tones of treason immediately. You may be the future queen of Mycenae, but you are yet young. You are not above being slapped for your impudence by your mother.” Leda turned and spoke sharply to the chamber maid, “Leave us.” The queen waited until the room was empty before she softened. She approached her daughter with both hands out stretched in apology. “My sweet child. Do you think I wish you to marry this bastard after what he has done to you? Your family?”

“You confuse me Mother.”

“Do you know that maid?” Leda asked.

Clytemnestra thought for a moment, and then she realized she’d never seen her before today. “No.”

“Do you think Agamemnon will not have you watched? Not wait for a sign you are disloyal? Do you think he would not turn his rage against you once he has achieved his purpose?”

“What is his purpose, Mother?”

“To make Mycenae the richest kingdom of the Three Seas.”

“You would have me continue as if he has done nothing? Even Thyestes received greater mercy than I am expected to endure. Agamemnon killed my husband. My son. Your grandson. Does this mean nothing to you?”

Leda took her daughter roughly by the shoulders, shaking her words into the young woman between clenched teeth. “You stupid girl! Have you not learned already? Do you think men the only creatures who go to war? The only ones who gird themselves in armor? You think there is more bravery in hacking a man in two than the plight of women, who pass by the horror, slipping on the blood and shit of strangers to find their men? Bring them home. Stitch their gaping holes, praying to the gods for their healing all the while knowing death drags them to the Underworld? Every step you take, every word you utter is a strategy in a war for control of your world. Agamemnon has won the first battle.” Tears slid down her daughter’s cheek, and Leda gentled her tone. “Gird yourself, my darling, with your words, your plans. Do not let him win the war.”

The princess wiped the tears from her eyes and stiffened her jaw. “I will rule my world.”

“Now, you sound the true Spartan princess.”

Clytemnestra stood, smoothing her gown. Leda admired her daughter. “So young, my darling. Yet, none more beautiful...save the goddesses of Olympia.” A brief flutter in her womb startled her.

“What is wrong Mother?”

“Nothing. I will be fine.” Leda placed a hand over her lower belly. Her womb was already budding with new life.
Not yet, not yet
...She silently cursed Zeus. A knock sounded on the door. Leda stepped to open it, pushing all other concerns aside. Neola stood in the doorway.

“Let her in, Mother.” Clytemnestra smiled at the elderly woman she’d met days ago. “She is trustworthy.”

Neola nodded to her mistress and the queen. “My lady, it is time. They await you in the great hall.”

“Tell my Lord Agamemnon that I am on my way.”

Neola nodded, bowed and left the chamber.

“Remember my words,” Leda warned.

“I will not soon forget any of this, Mother.”

CLYTEMNESTRA SMILED SWEETLY
but stiffly through the ceremony, even as her heart screamed for bloody vengeance. She sat unmoving on Agamemnon’s bed, the bed recently belonging to Thyestes, and waited for her new husband. “I hope he chokes on a bone and dies,” she thought. She passed the time examining the chamber. It looked much as it did before the son of Atreus returned to violently reclaim his throne. She noted to herself that she would make several changes, not because there was anything wrong with the bright colored frescos and mosaics, but because she would put her mark on the walls. Claim her rights as Queen of Mycenae.

Time passed too slowly. She had observed that Agamemnon had drunk his fill of wine at the wedding feast so she hoped that his marital rights would be over quickly. It hadn’t truly settled in her mind until now; she’d never lain with another man except Tantalus. The memory of his gentleness was a dull agony she needed to bury deep in her chest. She knew the love she bore her dead husband would not find its equal on this earth. Spreading her legs for Agamemnon would be a maneuver to secure her position and gain power for herself, gain control over as much of her realm as possible. Her mother was right. It was all a game to her father and newly-made husband. She would play the game and win Mycenae for herself. Then a thought occurred. A thought so alarming she hadn’t even dared allow its full materialization until this very moment. Children. She could very well find herself with child by coupling with Agamemnon. She forced the sight of her battered son from her mind. That memory would only ruin her new found resolve. Any children from this distasteful marriage would be innocents she could use to anchor her position.
Yes
, she thought,
I will need children
.

IN THE SWEET
and silent darkness of a foreign bed chamber, Leda slept soundly. From the abyssn of dreamers’ sleep, a hand softly shook her shoulder until her eyes fluttered open and she startled at the silver shimmering light of a goddess.

“Shah, Leda. It is I,” the silver goddess whispered.

“Aphrodite!” Leda exclaimed. She sat up, pressing her back against the wall behind her.

The goddess laughed. “Fear me not, Leda. I am here to deliver wondrous words to you.”

“I am your servant,” Leda spoke, the words cracking with uncertainty.

“Calm your fears, daughter. I know about the child you carry.”

Her hand moved protectively to her belly. The slight mound beneath her hand gave her some comfort. “Child?”

“You think my Father would not bless you this second time?”

Leda remained silent, petrified at what Aphrodite might divulge. When gods mixed with mortals it was never peaceful.

“Perhaps, you find dissatisfaction with his act?”

“No. I am pleased. I am only surprised,” Leda said quietly, pushing her rage at her violation by Zeus aside.

“I have come to bless the child,” the goddess informed.

The life in Leda’s womb fluttered again. “It is far too early to feel the child...” She looked to Aphrodite for answers.

“Not for the mortal children of Zeus. You should know.”

“He will be mortal then?” She found relief in the goddess’ words.

“Of course, mortal. It is not to be a boy this time. My blessing is for the girl child  you carry.”

“Girl child?”

“You mortals and your questions. Yes, your child is a girl. I am blessing her with great beauty. In fact, I mean to make her the most beautiful woman who ever graced mortal life. You will call her Helen.”

“Thank you, goddess. I am forever in your debt for such a blessing,” Leda said. Even as she said the required thanks, she knew that such a blessing would be a curse for any mortal woman. How much turmoil would such an existence cause for their family? For Sparta? Would this child turn the eye of jealous Hera in their direction?

Aphrodite nodded at the mortal queen and her light faded into nothing, leaving Leda staring into the dark. The silence had been a comfort, now it filled her with an eerie sense of doom and disaster. She contemplated the news. There was nothing she could do now, only time would reveal the fate of her unborn daughter, Helen of Sparta.