Menelaus, seated on the newlyweds’ dais, was glassy-eyed with wine but wore an expression of beatific happiness. After all, he had won the bride and the kingdom that came with her. Helen, seated next to him, looked like she was presiding over her own funeral.
There were toasts and oaths, of which I understood very little. My mind was elsewhere. I asked my mother, ‘Will I get married someday?’
Astydamia smiled indulgently. ‘You will, my dearest. You shall have the grandest wedding of all.’
My mother’s attention was pulled away suddenly by Penelope, so she did not notice the expression of dread on my face.
A plate of food was set before me, but I had lost my appetite. There were musicians and acrobats, but I could not focus on their performances. All I could see was the misery in Helen’s eyes, a fate that awaited me as well. All I wanted to do was run away from the world of men and women, back into the forest where I could be a wild creature again.
The next morning, I heard a knock on the door.
I lifted my head from the pillow, startled. Rosy-fingered dawn was just beginning to reach in through the windows. My parents slumbered in the great bed nearby, and servants lay scattered around on pallets, still snoring. I crossed the room on silent feet and opened the door.
Iphigenia stood there with a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a mischievous expression. ‘I got these from my brother, Orestes,’ she explained. ‘All I had to do was threaten to tell Mother about that servant girl he goes off with.’ The bewilderment must have shown on my face, because she added, ‘You said you would teach me archery.’
‘So I did!’ I whispered. ‘The bow’s a little big for you, but we’ll make do. Come on.’
I looked back into the room where everyone slept soundly. It seemed unfair to wake my parents to ask their permission. So I took Iphigenia’s hand, and together we ran soundlessly through the palace, past the heaps of dozing wedding guests who stilllingered in the halls. The morning air was brisk, and I hadn’t had time to grab my sandals or a cloak, but I didn’t care.
We found an empty courtyard that was large and windowless enough to act as an archery range. I found a sack filled with sand and propped it awkwardly at the rim of a large flowerpot to serve as our target. I showed Iphigenia how to position the arrow and draw back the bowstring. Her arms quivered with the effort, though her mouth was set in a fierce line.
‘Good, good,’ I said. ‘But drop your elbow. You won’t get any power behind your shot otherwise.’
The elbow dropped at once. Iphigenia took aim and released; the arrow clattered uselessly against the flagstones. I opened my mouth to offer some encouragement, but my cousin didn’t need it. Already she was pulling another arrow from the quiver, frowning.
This one lodged in the rough fabric of the sack. Iphigenia squealed with happiness, clapping like a little child, though she was careful not to drop the bow.
‘You’re a natural,’ I said. Though Atalanta might have used this moment to assess her technique, all I could do was grin with unbridled pride.
Iphigenia glanced at me shyly. ‘I’ve watched Father’s men practice plenty of times. It’s not as difficult as it looks.’
My curiosity was piqued. ‘You said you weren’t Spartan. Where is your city?’
Iphigenia shrugged her small shoulders. ‘Here and there. My father fights for whoever will pay him, so we go where he’s needed. Some people think it’s frightening to live with a war band and travel from place to place all the time, but it’s not. Father’s men are kind to me, though I rarely have other girls to play with. Well, there’s my sister Elektra, but she can’t even talk yet.’
‘I don’t have any siblings,’ I said, wondering what it was liketo live with a war band. It sounded exciting. ‘Sometimes I wish I did.’
‘Then I’ll be your sister,’ Iphigenia said in a rush. She slung the bow over her shoulder, leaving her hands free. Her fingers twined with mine, softer and smaller but no less strong. ‘Sworn sisters. We’ll take an oath, like Father’s men do, and practice archery in secret forever.’ She beamed at me, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning in response. Whenever Iphigenia smiled at you, it was as though the warmth of a summer afternoon settled upon your soul.
‘And so we will,’ I said, squeezing her hand tighter.
Iphigenia tilted her head like a bird, thoughtful. ‘You said your teacher was the great Atalanta, didn’t you? She’s a favourite of the goddess Artemis, and I think Artemis must have brought us together.’ My cousin dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘I dream of the day I’ll be able to dedicate myself to the goddess. Father says I’ll marry a king and bear his sons, but I don’t want that. I want to become a priestess of Artemis.’
My heart swelled. We were sisters indeed, bound not only by the blood we shared, but by the things we loved. ‘I will too,’ I told her with fierce conviction. ‘I’ll become her priestess and then I’ll be a wandering hero like Atalanta.’
Iphigenia crinkled her nose playfully. ‘You can’t be both, Psyche. You’ll have to pick one. But whichever you choose, I promise I’ll be with you.’
I was robbed of my response by a thundering voice that cut the silence of the early morning air. At the door stood my uncle Agamemnon. His eyes were bloodshot from the festivities of the night before, and a tremendous stink rose from him, the scent of unwashed flesh and alcohol.
Iphigenia drew back as he stalked towards us. ‘Father, I’m sorry. I—’
Crack. Iphigenia staggered back, the force of her father’s slap nearly knocking her from her feet. I was aghast; my own father would never have struck me like that, not for any infraction under the sun. Instinctively, I found myself moving to stand between Agamemnon and his daughter, the shaft of an arrow clutched in my hand. Its tip was as sharp as any knife.
Agamemnon’s reddened gaze turned towards me, flicking down to take in the arrow. A rumble emerged from the depths of his chest, and it took me a moment to recognize it as a low chuckle. ‘And what exactly are you planning to do withthat?’ Then he paused, squinting, getting a good look at my face for the first time. ‘Oh, I see – you’re Alkaios’s girl.’
‘I am,’ I replied, quivering like a bowstring pulled taut as I looked up to meet his eyes. He loomed above me, a mountain of flesh and muscle. Each of his hands was larger than my head, and a blow would send me flying.
I thought of the great bears that roamed the woods outside of Mycenae. I hadn’t killed one yet, but Atalanta had promised to teach me one day. If I could learn to face a beast like that, then surely I could face my uncle, who had no fangs or claws.
