A Prologue to the Euripide's ancient Greek play, Iphigenia.
Hooves thundered down the bay, kicking up wet clumps of sand in their wake. Sounds of pursuit echoed off the vast night sky, angered cries filling the void. The rider hunched lower over his mount's back, his heels digging in the horse's ribcage. Silently, the rider desperately urged his horse onward. They were so close, the silhouettes of the Hellene ships rocking in the quay only kilometers away. It was an alluring sight; the dull shine of the moon above casting its pale light onto the dark waves. The masts of the proud ships swayed, back and forth in a hypnotizing dance. Although it was beautiful sight, none appreciated the majestic quality of the scene. There was a constant drizzle from the heavens, the kind of dismal wetness that dispirited the hoplite foot soldiers, driving them taking shelter in their makeshift tents. It was these tents that lay just in the shadow of the trees farther up the bay, almost completely hidden in shadow. Indeed, if one was looking at the spot where the tents lay scattered among the foliage, they may go unnoticed, so well were they camouflaged. Only a lone scarlet banner stubbornly waved in the invisible night breeze. A moment later, the rider felt the whispering breeze play with the hem of his cloak, laughing as it swooped away into the endless night. The rider exhaled in irritation, the coldness numbing his hands into the horse's tangled mane. The occasional frozen droplet striking his face felt painfully like a shard of frosted glass. Although the rider itched to lower his hood for cover, he did not dare lessen his grip.
The slightest distraction, the slightest slow of pace, and they would be on him in a blink of an eye.
Even as his straining mount galloped across the bay, his pursuers were ever gaining. He could hear the sound of metal grating against metal as his enemy's armor clanged together. He could smell the leathery smell of their saddles and hear their indignant cries, screaming at him to halt. The rider easily ignored their commands, narrowing his eyes with renewed determination. He could not fail his mission, he had to warn them- his mount was slowing, its mouth foaming and eyes wild with exertion. The rider groaned, and he saw what was going to inevitability happen. His shoulders drooped in defeat. Above him, a single ship promising safety and protection waved at him teasingly. The nereid carved into the ship's mast smiled down at him coyly, as if enjoying the sense of hopelessness he was exuding.
The rider knew without a doubt in his mind that he could never reach that ship. Yet he refused to submit so easily; it was against all his beliefs to surrender, even when the battle was lost. His pursuers raced alongside him now, the moonlight glinting off their plumed war helmets making them look otherworldly. The man to his left reached over and wrestled to remain on his own mount while taking control over the rider's mount as well. Both pursuers closed in, barely a handbreadth away on either side. The rider's mount released a frightened knicker, adrenaline pumping through its body.
"Yield!" A man shouted, his voice being torn out of his throat and cast to the howling winds. All three men were riding toward the fast-approaching waterfront. The tide shrunk from the horsemen charging towards the sea at maddened speeds. It was a battle of wills, the pursuers refusing to let their hunted man escape. The sea was ten meters away, than five- With an angered cry, the rider pulled on his horse's mane, and the mount cantered to a stop, sea foam lapping at its legs. Wearily, the rider dismounted, glancing up at the ship above him with sheer annoyance. If he only had been stealthier, if he had been quicker- but it was for naught. The others had quickly slowed. The pursuers hopped off their horses and ran through the knee-deep saltwater towards him. As the man waited patiently for the others to reach him, he idly noticed the way the war helmets gave the hoplite soldiers cavernous shadows where their eyes should have been. If eyes were the windows to the soul, these demons were soulless. For some wild, unknown reason, this thought gave him courage. And then they were on top of him, drawing their wicked falcata blades. The rider drew himself up to his full height, looking down his nose disdainfully at the hoplite soldiers. One grabbed him roughly on the shoulder.
"Where is it?" He growled softly, his intricate links of armor reflecting off the moonlight like fish scales. "What have you done with it?"
"I do not understand." The captive man said smoothly, wearing an air of dignity like an invisible crown. The soldier snarled, and in one fluid motion rammed the hilt of his sword into the captive's chest. The man doubled over with a groan of pain, sinking to his knees in the murky water. The two men pounced on the man in an instant, roughly searching for their prize.
"Got it!" one of the soldiers crowed triumphantly, staggering to his feet, a scroll with a scarlet seal clutched in his fist. The captive tried to take the scroll back with a strangled yell, but the soldier aimed a swift kick at him, and he fell silent. The other soldier nodded briskly, and pulled the captive to his feet.
"Lord Menelaus requires your presence." The soldier said huskily, bringing his sword level with the captive's chest.
"I'll come." The captive growled, though there hardly seemed he had a choice in the matter. Shrugging the soldier's grip off his shoulder, the captive suppressed the moan of pain threatening to escape his lips. Glowering at the men and silently damning them both to Hades, the man resumed his lordly stance. Straightening his cloak and raising his head high, he allowed himself to be led back up the shore. Up ahead, the nereid mast leered down at the captured man, her faded painted eyes filled with malicious glee.
"Greetings, brother."
The captive was thrown unmercifully onto the forest floor, barely having time to throw his hands in front of him to catch himself. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyesight to the unbroken darkness under the canopy of trees. Raising his head slowly, his lip curled into a sneer.
"Menelaus." He intoned darkly, struggling to his feet. The man, Menelaus, watched the captive passively with glinting falcon eyes, his arms folded across his chest. Once the captive was standing, his fists clenched at his sides, Menelaus turned to his soldiers.
"Did you find it?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Silently, a soldier held out the scroll. Menelaus allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. Delicately, he took the scroll, holding it reverently with both hands. He turned back to his captive, who was staring at the scroll intensely, his brow furrowed.
"Well, Agamemnon?" Menelaus asked lightly. He held the scroll out tantalizingly. "Are the rumors true?" Agamemnon opened his mouth angrily, but Menelaus cut him off with a flick of his hand.
"No, don't tell me." Menelaus purred, a hidden sharpness underneath his silky words. He held the scroll up to his face, staring at it hungrily.
"Let me see your betrayal for myself. Torch!" A few moments later, a soldier came running, torch in hand. Menelaus inclined his head, and the soldier nervously brought the torch forward, its blinding light illumining the scroll. Gently, Menelaus broke the wax seal, letting the useless wax fall to the ground.
"Menelaus-" Agamemnon interrupted suddenly, perspiration on his brow. "I can explain-"
"Silence, brother!" Menelaus barked, his eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. Agamemnon frowned, but held his tongue nonetheless. Menelaus unrolled the scroll gingerly, his eyes darting as he read its contents. Agamemnon winced as he watched his brother's face transform gradually, his features turning stormy. By the time Menelaus was finished reading, his face was contorted into a mask of rage.
"So they were all correct about you." Menelaus whispered, and then started reading out loud.
"Dearest Clytemnestra,
Do not bring Iphigenia to Aulis. Our daughter is not betrothed to Achilles. I wish I had time to explain all the deception and lies, but I must hurry and pray that you will trust my judgment. Danger resides in Aulis. Stay home. Stay safe.
Agamemnon"
When Menelaus was done reading, he started rolling up the scroll so tight Agamemnon briefly thought the parchment would surely rip. Menelaus gripped the scroll in a talon-like grip, staring at his brother with contempt.
"Why did you go against the original plan? You were the last person I would suspect to be the traitor in our midst." Menelaus said vividly, not even trying to hold back his rage. Agamemnon stared straight back at him, his wearily determined gaze holding onto his brother's. Menelaus was the first to look away; Agamemnon felt a small thrill of pride in knowing that even in his disadvantaged state, he could still intimidate his brother.
"Why do you condemn your country?" Menelaus hissed. "You were the first to answer my summons when the Trojans dishonored me. You supported my cause wholeheartedly, recruiting troops and calling our entire nation to war. You raised funds, mobilized our army- however, when you are called to sacrifice, to give for our cause, you cower." Agamemnon's shoulders shook with contained emotions, his fists clenching and unclenching.
"I cannot do what you ask of me." He said doggedly, his jaw clenching.
"Then we are doomed to remain here for all eternity!" Menelaus shouted, spittle flying. "You heard the oracle's prophecy. The will of the gods cannot be so easily avoided. We will remain on the coast of Aulis until you can make the sacrifice. Without Iphigenia-"
"I cannot do it." Agamemnon said, his voice threatening to crack. "I will not murder my daughter."
"Then all of Hellas will fall to the Trojans!" Menelaus shrieked, stepping toward Agamemnon, his eyes narrowed. "Unless the eldest daughter of the king of Mycenae is sacrificed to appease the immortal huntress Artemis, the winds will forever bar us passage to Troy."
"I will not murder my daughter." Agamemnon stated, also stepping forward, almost nose to nose with his brother. Neither imposing figure shrank away, but stared into each other's eyes with loathing.
"So what sacrifices are you willing to make for this war?!" Menelaus spat, his face red with fury. "We are defending our homeland from foreign invasion. Every last woman and child count on us to protect them from the barbarians threatening our territories. Would you rather have us trapped on this small coast forevermore when those Trojans slaughter our unprotected children and carry away our wives? You have no honor." Menelaus said, disgusted.
"You have no honor!" Agamemnon countered with equal venom. "Taking an entire nation to war over your unfaithful wife."
"This war is not over my faithless Helen." Menelaus intoned dangerously. "Troy is at our gates. We are simply making our defensive move."
"So this has nothing to do with exacting your vengeance on Paris, who spirited away your traitorous Helen?"
"Enough! You forget your place!"
"And you yours! I am king of the great Mycenaeans and commanding general of your army. I do not deserve such hostile treatment!"
"You betrayed me and all of Hellas when you tried to warn Iphigenia about her fate. It is your blood or the nation's that must be split."
"It is not my blood that you ask to spill. If that were so, I would kill myself gladly for our cause. I cannot slay an innocent!"
"You are being narrow-minded. It is the individual or the nation that dies." Agamemnon scowled, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.
"My sweet Iphigenia-"
"We will continue with our original plan." Menelaus cut in, his tone leaving no brook for argument. "The letter you sent your wife Clytemnestra explaining that you've betrothed Iphigenia to Achilles will be reaching Mycenae within a fortnight. Iphigenia will come here to wed her betrothed, and then we will have her."
"She'll be so happy." Agamemnon said hollowly. "She'll be anticipating a new life ahead of her. But instead of towards happiness, she sails towards death."
"Her death will not be in vain." Menelaus said coldly. "All of Hellas will remember her as their savior." Agamemnon closed his eyes, as if doing so would make the dire situation disappear. Yet when he opened his eyes, the grieved look still lingered. But Agamemnon did not dare protest again. The mighty king stared into the trees, haunted by phantoms of guilt. His daughter, a maiden in the full blossom of her youth, was to be the first casualty of the brewing war ahead.
"Take him away." Menelaus told the soldiers, disdain coloring his voice as he sneered at Agamemnon's apparent weakness. The soldiers were on Agamemnon in an instant, swords drawn and eyes alert. They grabbed Agamemnon, pinning his arms behind his back. Agamemnon looked up at the branches rustling with leaves above, willing to any deity listening to his prayer to bless his sweet child. His dear Iphigenia…
"Hopefully you will find sense before your daughter arrives." Menelaus drawled as he watched Agamemnon being subdued by his guards. "If not-" Menelaus's face spread into a grin, a sight horrible to behold. "Then I will relish killing her myself." And with that Menelaus held the scroll over the torch, Agamemnon watching as his daughter's only hope of warning burst into flames, the smoke carried away by the whispering night wind.
* Hoplite: Ancient Greek foot solider.
** Nereiad: Water nymph, the ancient Greek equivalent to a mermaid.
*** Falacata: Ancient Spartan Sword.
****Aulis: Country in which the ancient Greek warships are stranded in, as punishment from Artemis.
*****Hellas: The ancient Greek word for Greece.
******Mycenaean: Citizen of the ancient Greek country of Mycenae.