The House of Atreus bears a curse. One steeped in blood and nourished by decades of violence.
Klytemnestra knew this when she married Agamemnon, but being a princess in Sparta doesn't leave you with much choice, though she longs for it. The Fates s...
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I remember when I first laid eyes on Agamemnon as if it were only yesterday. He and his brother had come to Sparta to seek asylum. Or because they were in exile. No one really knew for sure. Something had happened in Mycenae. King Atreus was no more and his sons had shown up at our doorstep. My parents should've known they would bring us nothing but trouble. I knew from the moment I saw Agamemon's face.
It was a broad face, with a strong jaw, that was hidden under a beard. He had thick brown hair that curled around his ears and temples. In the sunlight that hit him from behind, it had a coppery glow. It settled like a halo around his head, but his eyes were so dark, they almost seemed black. He assessed me, letting his gaze run over my frame, shamelessly, before moving on to my sister. There he lingered.
Helen had always been the more beautiful one, with her golden locks and clear eyes. The Swan Daughter, they used to call her. Always the centre of attention. She used to hate it.
Menelaus was standing next to his brother, same dark hair, but no beard. He bowed and said something that I no longer remember. He stared, too but he was more discreet about it and offered us a little smile before he bowed his head slightly.
They would stay with us, was my father's decision. Until things in Mycenae blew over. They needed protection for now. Order would be restored, and Sparta would stand with the rightful heirs of the throne. Justice would be served.
Justice.
I didn't know it yet back then, but now I scoff at the word. Men talk about justice so easily, they lay it down on people with the smack of a fist, the blow of a sword because they're allowed to wield those weapons. Justice isn't for the powerless, for those without a voice.
Now I watch Menelaus speaking to my husband as Iphigenia and I dismount the carriage, he talks to him urgently, though I can't make out his words from a distance. Again, my mind conjures up images of the past. A younger Menelaus, raising up his fist into the air, an exhausted but happy smile twisting his mouth. The other suitors from all over Greece patted his shoulders, their faces holding various mixtures of disappointment and complaisance while Menelaus' gaze travelled the distance to where Helen sat and remains on her even as he was being congratulated on all sides.
My sister sat through the ordeal impassively, face blank, posture straight, rigid. Her hair was tumbling down her back, over her bare shoulders. The golden prize for the winner, all made up with flowers in her hair and jewels around her neck. Her attire was almost bridal, all that was missing was the red veil. I beside her, was almost invisible in my blue garment, though my belly bulged beneath it. Even though I could sense her discomfort, something clawed at my insides, the inexplicable desire to have those looks directed at me instead. The wish that my own wedding had been as big an event.
I had been promised and given to the King of Pisa, two oikoi successfully united, an ally for times of war secured. Since Father didn't have an heir, his throne would belong to Helen's husband along with his daughter.
