Beauty's Daughter: The Story of Hermione and Helen of Troy (7 page)

After three days we arrived at Aulis. Who could have imagined such a scene! A thousand ships lay at anchor, long wooden vessels coated with black pitch to protect them from salt water and painted with huge, glaring eyes on the bows. Cheers greeted our ship as it maneuvered through the dense crowd, right up to the beach. All three of Agamemnon’s daughters stood ready, dressed in their wedding garb, smiling anxiously. Achilles came forward, carrying a garland of flowers for the bride. I knew it must be the great warrior, for he was the tallest and handsomest, and everyone stepped aside in awe of him.

Achilles placed the garland around Iphigenia’s neck and led her toward a huge stone altar where a sacrificial animal would be slaughtered. Her beaming mother and two pouting sisters followed. Agamemnon waited at the altar, wearing a robe of deep purple. On his brow a golden diadem gleamed in the afternoon sun.

Odysseus, who’d traveled with us from Mycenae, had melted into the crowd on the beach. Iphigenia and her family were taking part in an elaborate welcoming ceremony. I glanced around, searching for Father, always recognizable by his red hair and beard. I found him standing a short distance away and ran to him.

“I’m glad you’re here, Hermione,” he said, embracing me, and steered me away from the crowd. We made our way up the scree at the base of the cliff.

“When will the wedding be held?” I asked. “I want to have a good view of it.”

“Soon,” he said, but I felt that he was avoiding looking at me.

He chose a flat rock, but I wasn’t pleased with it. “I can’t see well,” I said, and insisted on finding a better spot. Why was he hesitating? Finally I found a satisfactory seat and pulled him down beside me.

“We’ve been here for many days,” Menelaus said, “because the winds haven’t been favorable.”

“I know. Odysseus told us.”

“We’ve made all the proper sacrifices to Apollo, but his sister, Artemis, is angry with Agamemnon. My foolish brother once bragged that he’s as good a shot as she is. You don’t say something like that about the goddess of the hunt and not expect her to be angry! To punish him, she’s keeping the winds at bay until he does what she demands.”

“Odysseus says a wedding will please her. And Achilles has chosen Iphigenia for his bride.”

My father was silent—for much too long, I thought. Down on the beach a howl rose from the women, and I jumped up. Father grabbed my hand and pulled me back down beside him. “Artemis has demanded the sacrifice of Iphigenia.”

“What?” I cried. “They’re going to kill her?”

Father nodded, saying nothing.

I convulsed with horror. “She’s not here to marry Achilles? It was all a lie? And her father is letting it happen?”

Father shook his head. “Agamemnon knew Clytemnestra would never allow it. But the other Greek leaders were threatening to abandon the mission and return home. I couldn’t let that happen, Hermione! In the end, Agamemnon agreed.”

I glared at him furiously. “So you persuaded him to lie!”

“It’s more complicated than that, daughter. My brother only pretended to go along with my plan. He sent Odysseus to fetch Iphigenia and her sisters with the promise that one of them would marry Achilles, but at the same time, he sent a coded message to their mother, warning her that it was all a ruse. I learned about the coded message and had the messenger intercepted and killed.”

“You made sure the warning never reached Clytemnestra?” I asked incredulously.

“I did.” He didn’t even sound remorseful.

“I don’t understand, Father—how could you do this?”

“Because I want to get your mother back, and this is the only way to do it.”

My poor cousin was going to die. My heart filled with loathing of everyone, including my father, who was involved in this terrible deception. Down on the beach the crowd had begun to chant. I shook off my father’s hand. “I’m going to be with her,” I told him, not bothering to hide my anger. “Don’t try to stop me.”

I scrambled down off the rocks and raced along the beach toward the excited crowd. I wondered where Orestes was—surely he would try to save his sister! All eyes were focused on the stone altar. Breathing hard, I pushed my way through until I reached the front. Iphigenia lay on the altar, dressed in the lovely gown in which she had planned to be married. Her wrists were bound with a silken cord, and her ankles, too, were tied. I expected her eyes to be rolling in terror—as mine surely would have been—but she looked very calm and at peace.

Agamemnon finished the ritual washing of his hands. Clytemnestra was hysterical, wailing and sobbing, her arms pinned to her sides by two strong guards. “I will put out your eyes, husband!” my aunt cried shrilly. “You will never draw another peaceful breath if you raise your sword by so much as the breadth of a finger! I will kill you, I swear by the gods!” She struggled futilely to free herself, and I was sure she would make good on her threat if she got away from them.

“It is the will of the gods!” Agamemnon shouted, and drew the silver-handled knife that hung beside his sword. “I sacrifice my own daughter because it has been demanded by Artemis. The goddess cannot be denied!”

“Murderer!” Clytemnestra screamed. “I curse you, Agamemnon!”

I rushed forward and seized Iphigenia’s bound hands. “I’m with you, dear cousin,” I whispered. She turned toward the sound of my voice, but her eyes were glazed as if she’d been drugged, and she seemed not to recognize me. “It’s Hermione,” I told her. “I won’t leave you.”

The murmuring of the crowd began to grow louder. Voices called out, some shouting that the sacrifice must be made to appease the gods, others shouting that the princess must be allowed to live. Where was Orestes? Surely he would come! But he did not.

As the cacophony grew, strong, handsome Achilles raised his arms and called out, “King Agamemnon!” His commanding voice brought instant quiet. My uncle, who was holding the knife against his daughter’s throat, hesitated. “By what authority have you used my name to deceive this beautiful virgin, your own daughter?” Achilles demanded.

“Artemis requires it,” Agamemnon grunted, looking somewhat shamefaced. “Otherwise the northeasterly gale will continue, and we will not sail.”

“Find some other way to appease her,” Achilles said sharply. He turned his attention to Iphigenia and with his own knife cut the silken cords that bound her hands and feet. “You’re free, Iphigenia,” he said. But the crowd turned against him and roared its disapproval, threatening to stone Achilles if he saved her. A goddess had demanded a sacrifice, and she must be satisfied.

But my cousin didn’t move. “I am willing to die for the glory of Greece,” she said, gazing up at Achilles with her soft brown eyes. “And for love of you, Achilles.” She wasn’t going to flee! I thought she was unbelievably brave. I knew that I could never do what she was doing. She closed her eyes and murmured, so softly that I nearly missed her words, “Do what you must do, Father.”

Eyes bulging, teeth bared, Agamemnon drew back and swiftly brought the bronze blade to Iphigenia’s throat as Clytemnestra unleashed a terrible scream and fainted. A deafening clap of thunder split the air, and the bright sky went blacker than the blackest night. It was as if we had all been struck blind. There was a rush of wind, and when the darkness vanished as suddenly as it had come and the sun again blazed on Agamemnon’s killing knife blade, Iphigenia was gone. In her place on the altar lay a hind, a female deer, with an enormous rack of antlers. The sacrificial knife fell on the beast’s throat, blood spurted in a red fountain, and the crowd gasped.

One of Artemis’s priests stepped forward and in a high, reedy voice addressed the astonished crowd. “Princess Iphigenia has been spared,” he told them. “She has been wrapped in a cloud and taken away by the great goddess to serve as her priestess in the land of the Taurians.”

Immediately the northeasterly gale shifted. The black ships would sail.

8

THE BEACH AT AULIS
thrummed with excitement, and I was swept into the activity swirling all around me. Many men came to the altar where the dead hind lay, touched her great rack, and dipped their fingers in the animal’s still-warm blood. Clytemnestra swayed, clutching the arms of Electra and Chrysothemis, the two daughters still left to her, both wearing stunned expressions. Agamemnon, too, looked stunned, but also relieved. I could no longer locate my father.

I turned my attention to Achilles, handsomer by far than Paris, in my opinion, with a hard-muscled chest and the long, sinewy legs of a fleet-footed runner, masses of pale locks falling over a wide brow, and finely chiseled features. He moved with confidence and authority. He had acted nobly, trying to save my cousin’s life. I had already decided what I was going to do. I would not return to Mycenae with my aunt and her two daughters. Iphigenia was gone to Tauris, a land that lay far to the north. Orestes, who had been restrained while his sister lay on the altar, would sail with Agamemnon. There was nothing at all for me in Mycenae.

I would go to Troy.

I intended to smuggle myself onboard Father’s ship. I was angry with my father for betraying Iphigenia, but still I wanted to be with him. When it was too late to turn back, I would reveal myself to him. He would be happy to see me, I was sure of that. Perhaps a little angered at what I had done, but proud of me too. We would forgive each other.

But I had no idea where my father was in that noisy, churning crowd, or how to find his ship among the thousand.

Achilles glanced at me briefly. There was no reason for the great warrior to notice me, but I reached out my hand, and his gaze returned and rested on me.

“Who are you?” he asked, frowning.

“Princess Hermione, daughter of Queen Helen and King Menelaus. I’m looking for my father’s ship,” I said.

I knew at once I’d made a mistake. I should not have given myself away. I should have made up a lie, told Achilles that I was a servant. Now it was too late. He would no doubt offer to take me to my father, who would then turn me over to my aunt and insist that I return to Mycenae as planned. A boy trailing behind Achilles stared at me sullenly. He bore a strong resemblance to the great warrior—the same pale locks, the same chiseled features. I wondered if he was Achilles’ son.

Achilles was laughing. “I should have known—those bright red curls!” At that moment I cursed my red curls. What man could ever love a girl with such hair! “Come along, then, and we’ll find your father,” he said, and continued striding along the beach, assuming I suppose that I would follow him. And I did. The boy ignored me.

Up ahead I glimpsed my father. I ran to catch up with Achilles and tugged at his tunic, thanked him, and assured him I knew my way and no longer needed his help. He nodded then, smiling his beautiful smile, and he and the boy turned away.

Enterprising people from nearby villages had set up a marketplace on the beach and were selling all manner of things: baskets of bread, piles of vegetables, sandals, clay pots, scarves dyed bright colors . . .
scarves!
Exactly what I needed! I slipped into the market, trying to be inconspicuous. But I had nothing with which to pay, except my mother’s silver spindle, and that was not a fair trade.

And so I stole a scarf so dull and ugly that I was probably doing the merchant a favor, getting rid of one that no woman could possibly want to buy—or so I told myself. I ducked out of sight, threw the dun-colored scarf over my hair, and sidled away from the market and onto the crowded beach. I hurried toward the ships. Men were clambering aboard, and I spotted Father at the stern of his vessel, deep in conversation. I studied those belonging to my father’s fleet, trying to decide if it was better for me to be on his gleaming new lead ship, where he would soon find me, or to smuggle myself aboard one of the smaller ones, where he would not realize I was there until it was too late to send me back.

My decision was made for me. A group of women were carrying bundles, their last-minute purchases at the market, onto one of the small ships. An aged crone grabbed my elbow. “Why are you standing there gawking, girl?” she demanded. “Best you come along with the rest of the lot, if you expect to find a decent place to sleep.”

I let her shove me up a rope ladder and into the hold of an old ship, battered and bad smelling. Then I realized that all of those onboard, except for a crew of rough-looking sailors, were women and girls. Slowly it dawned on me that they were concubines.

I needed to get off this ship.

It was too late. The crone had already taken charge of me. She yanked off my dun-colored scarf and grinned when she saw my red hair. I sighed. I’d been discovered.

“Ha!” she cackled. “I’ll wager you’re the daughter of King Menelaus himself, aren’t you?”

I nodded, miserably.

“And who’s your mother? Eh? Afraid to tell us?”

The other women had dropped their bundles and were staring at me. I opened my mouth to answer. Was it not obvious that I was Helen’s daughter? Who else could I be? “Why, I’m the daughter of Queen Helen!” I said, and was greeted with roars of laughter.

One of the women stepped forward and flounced around me, snapping her fingers and swinging her hips. “We all know who your father is, but we’re not so sure about your mother! It could be almost any one of us, couldn’t it?” she asked, grinning at the others, who responded with raucous laughter, “Oh, yes! Any one of us!”

Hot with embarrassment, I realized many of these concubines had lain with my father. My red hair gave me away as the daughter of Menelaus, but nothing about me hinted that I was the daughter of Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world. They assumed that I was the king’s bastard child. Why else would I be there among them?

The crone stepped back and looked me up and down, pinching me here and there. “Ay!” she cried. “You’re not even a woman yet, are you, my girl?”

I shook my head.

“Well, I have no idea who sent you to travel with us, for you aren’t old enough for this.” The other women and girls stood around, smirking, watching to see how this would play out. “I should have you put ashore,” she said thoughtfully. “Let somebody else worry about you.”