‘I don’t know if Helen needed much convincing,’ I replied, picking at a piece of lamb wrapped in soft bread. ‘The woman I remember would have commandeered a fishing boat to get away.’
‘But don’t you see, Psyche?’ Iphigenia continued, clearly delighted by these conspiracies. ‘The former suitors are honour-bound to assist her husband Menelaus in getting her back, and so are Sparta’s allies. Even men like Father, who were never competitors for Helen’s hand in the first place, have been dragged into the war with Troy. Uncle Menelaus doesn’t have nearly the military experience that Father does, so he’s tapped Father to head the forces. Oh Psyche, what an army it’s going to be! Men from all over Greece are gathering, you’ve never seen anything like it. Not even the Argonauts were as grand asthis. Soldiers from cities that have been at one another’s throats for years are playing dice together in the camps. The poets will sing about it for centuries to come.’
‘They’ll need all the men they can get if they want to pry Helen from the arms of her handsome prince,’ I quipped. I thought of my own happiness with Cupid and wondered if Helen felt a fraction of the same joy with this Paris. I wondered if she even wanted to be found.
‘Troy has never fallen,’ Iphigenia told me, her eyes bright. ‘But it’s never faced Father with a full army at his back either. Oh Psyche! I haven’t even told you about the most exciting thing yet – I’m going to be married! To Achilles!’ Iphigenia said with a little squeal of glee. ‘He and his men have joined the army bound for Troy. Father said it will strengthen ties with the army if their champion is wedded to the commander’s daughter. The ceremony will happen within the month.’
I recalled the irritatingly handsome prince I had met so long ago at the Heraean Games. I was glad to see Iphigenia excited, but I couldn’t imagine that Achilles would make a decent husband.
‘I thought you were going to be a priestess of Artemis,’ I said before I could stop myself. ‘You were going to become a priestess and never marry.’
Iphigenia’s face darkened. Her eyebrows rushed together like storm clouds, and her mouth took on a hardness I remembered from her mother Clytemnestra. ‘And I thought you were going to become a hero,’ she shot back.
I jerked back as though I had been slapped. For the first time, I saw the shadow of Agamemnon in his daughter.
It quickly passed. Iphigenia’s hands flew to her lips, her natural sweetness returned. ‘I’m sorry, Psyche. It isn’t my place to say such things. It’s just that everything has changed so suddenlythat I can scarcely find my footing. Father ordered me to leave the college of priestesses behind for this marriage, and how could I refuse him? We need this alliance. And I like Achilles, so it’s not all that bad.’
‘Of course,’ I replied unsteadily. I wondered where Iphigenia had learned to speak so coldly. From her mother or father, perhaps, or from the priestesses of Artemis whose words are as sharp as arrows.
‘But enough about me,’ Iphigenia said with a wave. ‘You’ve hardly told me anything at all about your new life.’
‘Um,’ I began, frantically casting about for a cover. ‘My husband is older, so he’s confined to his bed …’
Iphigenia tilted her head. ‘I thought you said he was a young man, and you enjoyed hunting and archery together?’
I cursed myself for being a fool. Not wanting to worry Iphigenia, I had only succeeded in arousing her suspicion. ‘He’s a man of middle years,’ I added awkwardly. ‘You know, not quite young or old.’
Iphigenia gazed at me, placid amber eyes filled with curiosity. ‘What’s his name? Where are his people from? How did he contract the marriage with you?’
Her questions felt like stones hurled from a sling, and I hurried to dodge them. ‘His name is Cupid,’ I replied. That much I could be truthful about. ‘And his people have lived in these hills for many years. As for how he proposed marriage, well … it was a rather sudden affair.’ I shoved a piece of bread in my mouth and shrugged.
My cousin’s forehead was cleft with concern. ‘Psyche,’ Iphigenia said, dropping her voice so that no one else would hear. ‘Is your husband one of the Dorian tribesmen?’
The Dorians were a barbarian people, unwashed horse riders from the plains whose incursions upon the Greek city-statesgrew bolder year by year. Already some of the smaller, more remote towns had fallen under their sway. Agamemnon had spent much of his career fighting the Dorians, and even my father went forth to do battle with them when they ventured too near Mycenae. More than once the Dorians had stolen women from the cities of the Greeks to take into their hills.
‘Of course not!’ I snapped.
Iphigenia raised her hands in surrender, though uncertainty lingered in her eyes. ‘You were taken so suddenly, you will forgive me if I worry about such things. Especially with everything that’s happened with Helen.
‘But if your husbandwasa Dorian, for argument’s sake,’ she continued seamlessly. ‘It could have serious consequences. The man you marry is next in line for the throne of Mycenae, and your children are after him in the line of succession. If an enemy of our people has taken you for a wife … You understand what that would mean.’
I did. It would give our most dire enemy a strong claim to one of the great houses of Greece.
‘Then it’s a good thing my husband is not Dorian,’ I replied fiercely. I pushed my chair back with a screech and stood. ‘Since when have you learned to act like such a politician?’
‘Since I dedicated myself to serving my family rather than my own interests,’ Iphigenia replied coolly. She had not risen from her seat, staring at me unruffled as I fumed above her. ‘You might consider doing likewise,’ she finished.
When I did not reply, Iphigenia rose from her chair with fluid grace. ‘Perhaps I should take my leave,’ she said, face unreadable. ‘My father’s men have been pulled away from the war effort to escort me here, and I should not waste their time unnecessarily. I will bring word to your mother and father that you are well.’
As I watched Iphigenia descend the long staircase to thebeach, I thought about calling her back and explaining everything, but I quailed at the thought. Some things could not be explained, not without raising even more questions.
I watched the ship launch into the wine-dark sea and wondered what had happened to the bright-eyed cousin I’d known, and the brave young woman I had once been.
Doubt is a seed, and once planted it is sure to sprout.
It was no one’s fault. Iphigenia scented a lie, and her counsel held true based on her knowledge of the situation. I was certain that my husband was no Dorian, but I knew very little else about him.
And try as I might, I could not forget Prometheus’s words.You don’t know who your husband is, do you?
