I wondered briefly if this was Aphrodite’s doing, but quickly dismissed the idea. The goddess of love would not have opted for so clean a death as fever.
Following custom, the mausoleum served as a shrine to the deceased rulers. I could see the evidence of offerings – half a burning stick of incense, a few copper coins. Sometimes the grave of a ruler would become a permanent place of worship, but I knew this would not be the case for my parents. They had served their people faithfully for many years, but they would be footnotes in chroniclers’ dusty tomes, if they appeared at all. The looming war with Troy overshadowed everything.
A gentle hand fell on my shoulder. ‘Psyche,’ Iphigenia said, ‘It’s time to go. Odd wants to see you.’
I wiped away my tears. I knew one thing for certain: my father would never have wanted the first fruits of Mycenae to be sacrificed for a foolish war.
Odd, it turned out, was Odysseus, the king of Ithaka and Agamemnon’s most trusted advisor. I could not guess where Iphigenia had conceived this nickname, but she had managed to endear herself to all her father’s generals in one way or another.
I walked through the palace without truly seeing it. After the deaths of my parents, this was not a home. It was only a roof set over stone walls, which I moved through like a ghost.
Odd had taken over a small room in the administrative wing of the palace as his private office. He stood as I opened the door. He was not a large man, and in fact he stood a few finger-widths shorter than me. He walked with a slight stiffness, the relic of an old hunting injury, and that was how I knew he was truly dangerous. Agamemnon would never keep a limping man around if he was not a killer.
Odd greeted me as though we were old acquaintances, askingme to sit and make myself comfortable. And would I like some watered wine? I knew such politeness was as hollow as a rotted log, but I accepted it smoothly. Over the next hour, Odd peppered me with a seemingly endless barrage of questions, each a subtly different variation ofWho is your husband?andWhere is he now?
Once I realized what he was doing, I laughed. ‘You are trying to figure out how likely it is that my husband will walk through those gates and stake his claim to the city.’
Odd was too practised an interrogator to respond directly to my claim, but the tension in his jaw showed me that I was correct. ‘Agamemnon is about to fight a war,’ he told me. ‘He doesn’t need to worry about issues of succession in his kingdom. Your husband—’
‘Is a very private individual. He would have no interest in ruling,’ I replied. My heart thundered in my chest; now was the time to make my move. I laid my hands on the table, spreading my fingers to root myself in place. ‘Give the crown to me and I will rule in his stead. I am of the royal line, and I was raised here. I know this land.’
Odd’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, but I squared my shoulders. This was my birthright. I was the sole scion of the former king of Mycenae, and I had grown up in this palace. I could hold the throne until my child came of age and find my place in the mortal world once more.
An incredulous bark of a laugh escaped Odd’s bearded mouth. ‘You? Impossible,’ he chuckled. ‘The law is quite clear. Perhaps a woman could rule some barbarian place like Egypt, but not here. Agamemnon sits on the throne of the kingdom of Mycenae now, at least until that husband of yours – how did you put it? – walks through these gates.’
Rage nearly blinded me. I considered telling Odysseusthat my husband would do no such thing, that such a paltry title as king was beneath a god, but then thought better of it. Agamemnon held the throne now by right of succession. The ground shifted and swirled beneath me, and I understood that despite my lineage I was only a daughter of the former ruler, tolerated at will. The knowledge felt like a snare, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Odd appeared to soften as he said, ‘Do you understand what is at stake in this war? Why Agamemnon is marching on Troy?’
The sudden change in tone disarmed me. ‘Because of Helen,’ I answered, ‘and the vows her former suitors swore.’
He bestowed a condescending smile upon me, one meant for a precocious child who still did not know the ways of the world. ‘No, no, dear girl, that’s only pretext. Here’s the truth: Troy is the waypoint for every caravan crossing Asia, Africa, and Europe. It’s no secret that King Priam, the father of Helen’s abductor, sits on a pile of gold and picks his teeth with jewelled combs. Go along with what your uncle wants, and you’ll be a wealthy woman. We will all be rich by the end of this campaign.’ The light of that gold glittered in Odd’s eyes, and I realized he had already decided how to spend his share of the loot. I knew his like: I saw that same restless hunger in the eyes of the jackals that prowled at the edges of the firelight after Atalanta and I took down a kill. Hungry but cunning, willing to bide their time.
‘Agamemnon is the rightful heir to the throne, and his son Orestes will serve as regent in his absence,’ he continued. ‘Unless your husband reappears, which seems unlikely. You say he disappeared fighting the Dorians, and we both know that those savage people do not take prisoners. Your husband is gone, and you are here.’
I opened my mouth to reply, but Odd was quicker. Hissternness faded and was replaced by a conspiratorial look, as though we were sneaking pastries from the kitchen. ‘I think only of your well-being,’ he insisted, softening his voice so that I had to lean in to hear him. ‘I can tell you are god-chosen just as I am – the grey-eyed lady has favoured me since I was young. We mortals who are loved by them must help one another, for the love of the gods is beautiful but terrible.’
I was unsurprised by Odd’s claim to belong to Athena – as soon as I met him, I felt a presence redolent of old papyrus and naked bronze – but I was disconcerted by his statement that the gods were both beautiful and terrible. My husband was beautiful, certainly, but he had never been terrible. Even if he had lied to me and left me in the end.
‘In light of our divine connection, I offer you some advice: Don’t fight this,’ Odd continued. ‘The law of Mycenae is on your uncle’s side, and so is popular opinion. Cooperate and you will find yourself accorded all the respect due to your station as a childless widow and daughter of the former king.’
I noticed he made no mention of what would happen if I did not cooperate.
But I wasn’t a childless widow, and that was the problem. I fought the urge to touch my belly, then noticed Odd watching me very closely. He had been testing me for this very sign, for some indication that I carried a future prince of Mycenae in my womb, a snag in the orderly line of succession. I kept my hands carefully folded on my lap.
Finally, Odysseus stood, an indication that I should rise as well. ‘I thank you for your time, lady Psyche. I will not keep you longer from the women’s quarters – I’m sure you are still weary from your journey.’
A dismissal, one I was powerless to fight. Bile rising in my throat, I went back into the shadows.
I had spent very little time in the women’s quarters during my youth; I’d passed most of my days in the company of my father or Atalanta, out in the fields and forests. The section of the palace designated for the women of the household was organized around a long hallway, and turning down it, I could hear the echo of Iphigenia’s voice.
‘Are you blind? Does this look like purple to you? At the very best it’s a dull crimson …’
I sighed and pushed open the door. I saw that my cousin, her cheeks flushed with anger, was berating a terrified young servant and an older matron who had the competent look of a seamstress. Both women looked as though they wanted to disappear into the stone floor.
I considered the fabric, tilting my head. ‘I think it is a rather attractive shade.’
The seamstress and her assistant took my arrival as an opportunity to flee, pushing past me with deferential murmurs.
