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<b><center>The Wrath of a Mother</center></b>
The sun?s rays gently cascaded into the spacious antechamber, completely belying the churning cauldron of turbulent passions pounding beneath the composed and demure fa?ade I wore as I sat rooted to the brocade covered chair. The chamber?s white stone columns, the meticulously painted wall murals that extended from corner to corner, the statues of gold that silently stood watch, the lavish brocades that covered the tables and chairs, the bronze torches with inlaid jewels, the great wealth that they represented didn?t matter to me anymore; I hardly paid notice to them. It had been two weeks since my return to Mycenae and I was still reeling from the emotional onslaught bestowed upon me by my ?loving and loyal? husband Agamemnon.
Three weeks ago, he sent word by messenger that our daughter was to wed the great Achilles, so Iphigenia and I happily journeyed by ship to the war camp in Aulis, expecting a lavish wedding and a great amount of festivities. It was quite foolish of me not realize that something was very wrong as our ship docked alongside the sleek warships. There was nothing in the camp that even hinted at festivity. I dismissed the detail, believing that no one knew yet, and that festivities would begin the next day. Then several hours later, soldiers barged into our tent unannounced and roughly bore my daughter away, brusquely informing me that Artemis of the Moon was displeased with my husband for killing one of her sacred stags during a hunt and wouldn?t allow the winds to be favorable until his eldest daughter was sacrificed by his hand. Had Agamemnon been struck by some madness? He was going to sacrifice our eldest daughter like some prize cow, just so he could retrieve that deceitful, spoiled, perfect sister of mine who abandoned her honorable husband for a lusty, untried Trojan? How dare he do this to me! He knew how I would react!
It was just as much Helen?s fault as it was my husband?s that Iphigenia was going to die a premature and wrongful death. I don?t think she even realized how selfish and conceited her behavior was! For her entire life, she had been coddled and spoiled while I had been rudimentarily cared for and all but cast aside. It was always, ?Clytemnestra dear, why can?t you be more like your darling sister?? or worse yet, ?Why can?t you be as beautiful as your sister?? No one ever raised a disapproving or scolding voice towards her. If something went wrong, I was always the one to suffer for it, even if Helen was one who had caused it. When this stupid war was over, I hoped she would have to accept the fact that her scatterbrained head might not rest on her pretty little shoulders anymore. Frankly, I didn?t care if she was killed when the Achaean army destroyed the walls of Troy or was returned without another drop of blood being shed; it was only proper that she would have to mirror the price my innocent daughter was being forced to pay.
My eyes ablaze, I ordered the servants who had accompanied us to pack everything for immediate departure; I wasn?t going to remain there any longer. It probably was not the most polite thing to do, but what other options were there? My husband was probably expecting me to come plead for our daughter?s life, but I was not going to lose whatever dignity I had left by getting on my knees and begging for a cause that was already lost, no matter how much I was set against it. Once Agamemnon set his mind on a goal, he accomplished it. This was going to be no different; he was going to restore my sister to her husband at all costs, and he wasn?t going to let a weak, spineless woman get in the way. As much as I dreaded it, my beloved daughter was going to become the first casualty in this useless and pointless war that she shouldn't have ever been involved in.
The three-day journey back to Mycenae was mercifully swift. The sudden arrival of our ship in port weeks earlier than expected must have truly confused the people, but I was beyond the point of caring; I had just lost my most precious child to the worthless cause of bringing back my even more useless sister. Ignoring the concerned exclamations of the palace servants and their attempts to be useful, I threw the palace doors open, strode quickly through the antechamber, down the elaborately decorated halls and into the capacious bedchamber that Agamemnon and I shared. Reaching into the lapis inlaid chest that sat at the foot of our bed, I seized the intricately and painstakingly wrought jewel encrusted silver and gold circlet that he had given me on our wedding day and flung it at the full length silver mirror he had given to me as an engagement present, shattering both into an assortment of tiny shards that littered the floor. Turning on my heel, I left the room, giving a passing messenger the order to set up a network of signal fires reaching from the heart of Mycenae to Troy and to tell the guards at the fire closest to Troy to light their fire only when the Greek ships were seen leaving the city. I would deal with my husband when he returned.
??Your Majesty?? The voice of the head maidservant brought me out of my dark musings.
?Yes, Alcyone?? My husband may have humiliated me greatly by robbing me of my favorite child, but I was still the Queen of Mycenae and until I said otherwise, I still had my dignity and pride.
The woman bowed deferentially. ?My Queen, there is a man standing outside the palace gates. Shall I send him in??
?Of course! Welcome him in and provide him with a hot bath and fresh clothing. Send word to the kitchens to prepare a feast and have some maids ready a table. We will dine together.? My last order must have surprised her, since I hadn?t eaten anything substantial since my return, but she made no comment and bowed again before leaving to do as instructed.
Reclining back in my chair, I wondered who my visitor was, but I would not press for his identity until both our appetites for food and wine were sated. It was what good hosts did, and that was one thing I knew Helen did not excel in. She had run off with Paris and a large portion of the Spartan treasury, after all. Poor Menelaus. My sister may have been the most desirable bride in Greece, but she lacked common sense.
The palace door swung open, and Alcyone led in a tall, black haired young man dressed in dusty, travel worn robes made of plain blue linen, a medium sized pack slung over a well muscled shoulder, and a sharpened sword belted to his hip. When he looked up to marvel at the extravagance of the room, I was awestruck by the perfection of his face, the way his ebony curls were pulled back by a simple leather band, and how his hard gray eyes were filled with the urge to seek vengeance. It was in that instant that I, Clytemnestra, daughter of Leda and Tyndareus of Sparta, knew that I finally found my revenge?
