Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (21 page)

CHIRON’S NEWS WEIGHED
heavy on Peleus’ mind. Years ago he would have welcomed the opportunity to wage war against the city of Iolcus and Queen Astydamia. Peleus paced the great hall. “That wretched bitch deserves death,” he said.

Chiron pawed the floor with his hoof. “There would be no better time to strike than now, Peleus. The king is dead and she is weak.”

“That may be true. I will never forgive that schemer for her part in Antigone’s death.”

Chiron crossed his arms over his chest. “Most unfortunate, indeed.”

“She lied, Chiron. Lied! Pushed my wife to...” Antigone’s limp body hanging from a noose flashed through his mind. “She did not deserve an end such as that.”

“There is no more ruthless creature on earth than a woman spurned,” Chiron agreed.

“That sack of lies told my wife, Antigone, I was going to cast her aside and marry her daughter.”

“Which was only a half-truth,” the centaur mused.

“Wishing to bed a woman is not a proposal of marriage.” The king sharply eyed his friend. “I regret that.”

“I am certain you do, Peleus. I know all too well the temptations stirred by the soft flesh of a woman.”

Peleus continued pacing. “When that bitch Astydamia she told her husband, the man who purified me for killing my father-in-law, accidently mind you―”

Chiron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, the unfortunate boar incident.”

The king whipped around facing the centaur. “Do you doubt me?”

“On the contrary. I would say Artemis had her hand in the entire affair. Continue,” Chiron encouraged.

“Not long after news of Antigone’s death reached me, Astydamia tried to console me with her naked body. But I would not have her.”

“That would have been difficult for any man to resist. You are to be commended, my friend. I am not quite certain I would have been so...off-putting.”

“After the pain she caused? I could not have been more repulsed than if she had been smeared in shit. She told her husband I tried to seduce her. Can you believe that? I tried to seduce her?!”

“Lies. All lies,” Chiron agreed. “And after the accusations, King Acastus abandoned you in the woods of Mount Pelion.”

“I can hardly forget that. If you had not come to my aid—”

“My centaur brothers would have killed you,” Chiron acknowledged with an understanding sigh.

Peleus stopped pacing and rubbed his thin beard. “If I attack her now...”

“You would have your revenge and gather to your coffers great wealth.”

“True. Sea raids only bring so much gold. Sacking Iolcus would bring slaves as well.” Peleus nodded his head. “There is always need for gold and slaves.”

“Slave girls,” Chiron laughed.

“The mind of a centaur, even one so blessed with knowledge, is always on the rut.”

“But what of Achilles? He is young yet,” Peleus asked.

“Send him to me. I will train him as I did you.”

“Then it is settled. I will assemble the Myrmidons. Head for Iolcus.” A wicked grin spread across Peleus’ face as he thought of war and retribution. “That bitch will wish she had never laid eyes on me.”

Chiron twitched his tail. “I almost pity her. Almost.”

ACHILLES KICKED THE
ground. “I do not want to go, Father.”

Peleus placed a firm hand on his son’s head. He was already taller than any other boy his age. “It is only for a time. It is not forever.”

“But I do not like the centaur. He is mean.”

Peleus laughed at Achilles’ worried face. “You are only five. Your opinion is not surprising, my son. He seeks only to make you grow strong in mind and body.”

Achilles exhaled defeat. “I will not like it.”

“No, I suppose you may not. In time I promise you will appreciate the gifts he gives.”

“What gifts?” Achilles asked mildly intrigued. He hadn’t thought he’d be receiving anything of value from the shaggy man-horse. “A sword? A shield?”

“Knowledge, Achilles.”

Disappointment filled his voice, “Oh.”

The king admonished, “Close your mouth or flies—”

“Will put worms in my belly. I know...” Achilles closed his mouth, but remained disappointed.

NEOLA EYED THE
swell of her mistress’s middle. “It is close to your time,” she said knowingly.

“It is different this time, yet the same,” replied Queen Clytemnestra. She placed her hand beneath her heavy belly lifting the pressure for a moment. “This child is quieter than...” Her voice trailed off into silence. She would never forget her first born. Her son. In her heart, she buried her grief and anger at his cruel death but she would never forget or forgive her husband.

“His Majesty will be pleased that you are well.”

“That he should care so deeply, I am grateful,” Clytemnestra smiled through her response.

The maid nodded her understanding. “My lady, forgive my boldness...”

“Go on, Neola. Your honesty is a gift to me.”

Neola lowered her eyes. “If you find some joy in this child, it takes nothing from your memory.”

“You may go,” Clytemnestra said. She waited until the door shut quietly and knew she was alone at last. She walked to the open balcony and stood gazing out over the sea. She’d heard so many tales in her life about warriors setting out for war and adventures over this expanse of blue. The wine dark sea some called it. Sometimes, she wished Poseidon would rise up as a huge sea beast and swallow her whole. She hated Mycenae now. The sun glinted on the water’s surface as she prayed silently for death to claim her. As her grief crept through her like a sickness, the child kicked her roughly in the ribs. It was enough to bring her back to the world. “Do not worry. I am yet here.”

“Where else would you be?” A deep voice spoke behind her.

“My Lord Agamemnon,” the queen said. She quickly wiped a stray tear with an elegant finger and turned to flash her husband a brilliant smile. “I speak only to comfort this child.”

Agamemnon reached between them and placed his hands on either side of her belly. “Our child, my love. My son.” Since she’d revealed her pregnancy to him, he’d softened and become quite loving. Although his affection sickened her, she promised herself she would endure it not just for her own sake but for her children, the heirs of the Mycenaean throne. She would rule her world and the kingdom, that she’d swore to the gods of Olympus in the quiet of her heart.

“We can only hope, my lord.” She could never bring herself to return his love greeting. It turned her stomach to hear him speak with love’s tongue to her.
Never
, she thought,
never will I love you
. “Has word come yet from Sparta?”

“It has. Your mother and her entourage arrive within the week.”

“And the child? The girl?” she asked.

Agamemnon grimaced. “The girl child comes with her.”

“Helen,” murmured the queen. “I shall like to meet my youngest sister.”

“Unfortunately, the rumors proceed her,” Agamemnon scowled.

Clytemnestra playfully slapped his arm. “She is but a baby yet. Surely, you can hold no grudge against such an innocent?” She remembered all too well how he regarded the innocence of youth not at all. To soften the chastisement, she reached up to kiss his rough cheek.

The king smiled as he shook his head. “How you lead me by the cock woman.”

“Is there any other way to lead a man, my dear?”

“Woman...” Agamemnon whisked her up in his arms. “You will pay for that remark.”

Clytemnestra laughed sweetly, “As you wish.”

The king laid her gently on the bed. She watched him disrobe revealing his huge muscled chest covered in dark curls of hair. She couldn’t help but compare him to her love, the husband of her heart, Tantalus. He was smooth with little body hair and smelled of salt and honey...
Agamemnon lifted her gown, exposing her bare stomach and naked flesh. She closed her eyes and conjured up the face of Tantalus as Agamemnon pressed firmly into her wet flesh. With her dead husband’s dark eyes looking down at her, behind the veil of her eyes, she endured the act...and she found her body more willing with child. She climaxed quickly and Agamemnon rammed her until he shook with his own release and collapsed next to her.

CLYTEMNESTRA ROSE TIRED
and achy from her bed. She rubbed the dull ache in her back with a knuckled hand. “Neola!”

As if from air, her maid appeared. “My lady?”

“Draw a hot bath.”

Neola eyed her queen suspiciously. “How long has your back pained you?”

“All night. After Agamemnon and I...he left and I have been unable to settle comfortably.”

Neola clapped her hands together. “My lady, have you not guessed?”

“At what?” the queen asked irritated. “Guessed at what?”

“Perhaps your labor has begun.”

Clytemnestra blinked and shook her head. “No. That is not possible.”

“Why not?”

“It...I...am not ready,” she said. Memory of the pain and work of childbirth filled her with dread. “I am not ready.”

“My lady, perhaps the child is? You are strong. Delivered of a healthy babe already...” Neola’s voice trailed into silence. She sighed slowly. “Apologies...I intended no—”

Again a reminder of the past. The heartache of losing her young son ripped open the tender scar she bore in silence to keep him always with her. “I know. It is the truth.” Suddenly it occurred to her that she hadn’t considered she might lose this child before it was born, or that she herself might lose her life.
Death would not be so horrible
, she thought.
I could escape this wretched place
...a sharp pain low under her belly pulled her from her morbid thoughts. “Neola, you are perceptive. The child
is
coming.”

The maid clapped her hands again in excitement again. “To your bed then, my queen. I will fetch the women to ready your chamber and inform the king.”

Clytemnestra obeyed the maid. “I trust in your hands, Neola.”

The maid bowed her head. “Too high is your praise for me.”

“It most certainly is not. Go, now, fetch your women.”

Neola left quickly and returned before Clytemnestra had settled into the bed. The gaggle of concerned women followed the queen’s personal maid. Two male servants carried in the birthing chair and promptly left the sacred work of delivering the heir of Mycenae to the women. The birth attendants shook freshly bleached linens open, refolded them across the foot of the bed. They poured water into waiting basins and stoked the hearth fire in the chamber.

“Neola, I am too warm already. Please, put the fire out.”

“My lady, soon enough you will shiver with cold and pain and ask for flames. We must keep the fire stoked and the water warm. For the child.” Neola pulled the coverlet down and folded it neatly at her queen’s feet. “Mira, come.” A rounded woman with kind dark eyes appeared at the bedside. She motioned the woman toward Clytemnestra. “How much longer will the queen labor?”

Mira looked into her queen’s eyes, nodded deference. “Forgive any discomfort this may cause. I will be as gentle as I can.” A painful spasm took Clytemnestra by surprise. She sat up as the sharpness increased pulling a tight ring of pain beneath her navel. The queen screamed out her agony. The mid-wife pressed her hand gently against the queen’s abdomen and inside her once the pain passed. “I can feel the child’s head. It will not be much longer if the goddess Eleithyia wills it.” Another woman rushed to the mid-wife’s side with a basin of water. She washed her hands clean of the birthing muck.

A few short hours passed before Clytemnestra felt the urge to push the child to the light. The pressure built and her eyes flew wide open with surprise and exhaustion. She grabbed Neola’s arm in fright. “It is time!” The mid-wife and her attendants rushed to the queen’s side and helped her to the edge of the bed. Neola assisted Clytemnestra the short steps to the birthing chair. The mid-wife shifted the queen’s gown up over her waist. Another searing pain ripped down the queen’s back and her thighs. She grunted with the urge to push the child to the light. A small gush of water mixed with blood splashed on the tile. The queen threw her head back and cried tears of exhaustion. “I cannot...”

“You can my queen...and you will,” Neola assured her.

“I am so tired—” another overwhelming urge gripped her body. Her legs shook with the effort to birth the baby.

“The head! You are close little one!” the mid-wife cried aloud. And quietly to herself she whispered, “Eleithyia, beloved goddess, bring him swiftly if it pleases you.” Just then, the hearth flames flickered. The women turned to witness a breeze fluttering through the curtain at the balcony window. A pale dusty ray of light spilled into a circle on the floor in the center of the chamber. The women ceased all movement and bowed down in awe as the goddess materialized before them. She towered over them. Her gown’s shimmering folds flashed silver and bronze. Stars flashed at the hem as she walked toward the queen. The women whispered her name in awe, “Eleithyia...” Clytemnestra’s eyes met the goddess’s gaze.

“My daughter,” the goddess of childbirth’s honeyed voice soothed the laboring queen. “You have suffered long with this pain.” She knelt before Clytemnestra and placed her cool hand on the queen’s arm. “You have suffered much in silence. I have been watching you. Rest easy, daughter. I will finish the work for you.” The gleaming goddess reached her hands beneath the queen and without pain or crying out; the queen delivered the baby into the welcoming arms of Eleithyia. The goddess extended a long pale arm toward the astounded maids. “Bring me the blade and the linen,” she commanded in a hushed voice. Neola scrambled to obey. Eleithyia cooed softly to the babe as she cut its life-cord and wrapped it securely. The goddess looked up, smiling, “It is a girl.”

“May I see her?” Clytemnestra asked.

“She is yours...for a time. Treasure your days with her,” Eleithyia said solemnly.

The queen shivered with the veiled warning, tears filled her eyes. “I promise.”

“Do her no harm, my daughter. She is an innocent.”

“My word, goddess.”

Eleithyia laid the swaddled babe into her mother’s eager arms, then turned and walked to the balcony, disappearing from sight. A joy so deep filled Clytemnestra that she cried and smiled. She didn’t believe it possible that her broken heart could ever love anyone or anything again. Her ruined soul rejoiced in the little hand griping her finger. She undid the covering to kiss the baby’s tiny toes and fingers.

Neola wept to see her queen so obviously filled with happiness. “Praise Eleithyia,” she whispered.

Clytemnestra looked up at Neola. “She is perfect, is she not?”

“She is, my lady. What will you call her?”

“Iphigenia,” she said. “My strong little one.”