Iphigenia's Tears

By ElveNDestiNy

May 22, 2004

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended on The Iliad, Troy, the movie, Iphigenia at Aulis, or other works about the Trojan War. Credit to the references used is given in Part I.

Notes: This is a repost, since I wrote the story into different points of view. Although it may be a bit more confusing to read, it was an opportunity to edit my very juvenile writing (I was around 12 when I wrote this). I ended up not making that many changes anyhow. Part II is through Agamemnon's eyes.

Part II: My Father's Deceptions

Out of all of my daughters, I love Iphigenia the most. Her quiet beauty could not compare with, say, Electra's dark brilliance, but her daring wit charmed me and belied her reserved appearance. She wasn't afraid of me, unlike her sisters, and so I felt more challenged to earn her affection. I bitterly wondered why, out of all my daughters, did Artemis choose Iphigenia? Of course, the goddess knew that she was the only one who was worth aught to me.

Even as I sent for Clytemnestra and our daughter to come to Aulis, I began to wonder if there was no other way. Not only was I heartsore at the thought of losing that bold humor, I was haunted by my conscience. I had lied to my dear girl, given her false hope that she would be married—to Achilles, no less—when the truth was, I was waiting for her to come to be sacrificed, not married, at the altar.

It reflected on my men, and I feared that they muttered darkly about me. It seemed I could not give orders without being branded impulsive, or suggest a strategy without offending the other kings.

I knew Menelaus was against me. He held covert meetings with Odysseus in which they conferred gods-knows-what, after I ordered them out of the tent. I knew full well that he thought I was too weak to stand on my word. My brother thinks that he knows my flaws well, and I curse the fact that I told him many times of Iphigenia's wit, despite that women and children were rarely mentioned in talk amongst men. Now he uses his knowledge of my dear love for Iphigenia in scorning me.

If I went back on my oath to sacrifice Iphigenia, a fair wind for Troy would never blow, and Menelaus would never get Helen back. It is simple enough for me to read the dark thoughts in Menelaus' eyes. He is a hotheaded fool, and I can feel his anger: Paris, unpunished for his wrongs? Never!

He would sacrifice Iphigenia with or without my support, I know. Where Helen is concerned, Menelaus is the blindest of men, tied to his lust and need for possession. Helen had to be returned to him, and Paris must be made to pay. I am not so foolish; this is a war not fought over a woman and a princeling, but an opportunity to put the Trojans in their place—underneath the Greeks, whom they have taunted so long. Now let them live up to their foolish talk, and see who will be the victor.

Menelaus believes that he can outwit me by idling around my tent at night, no doubt hoping to hear somewhat of my decisions. I made note of it, despising him for his covert spying and fool's talk.

But I was still haunted, and a few days after the seer's prophecy, I could stand it no longer. Late at night, I summoned my most trusted slave.

"I have long had you by my side, and I trust you enough for my confidences. A few days ago the seer Calchas prophesied that I must sacrifice my daughter Iphigenia in order to appease the wrath of Artemis and receive a fair wind. I agreed to this and sent a messenger to Clytemnestra and urged her to bring Iphigenia here. They believe that Iphigenia is to marry Achilles, although it is purely a ruse and Achilles himself knows nothing about it, or anything of my daughter." I waited, watching him. The servant was perceptive and knew already what lay so heavily on my mind.

"You do not wish to sacrifice her," he said. Then he dared speak no more, but I spoke it for him.

"Yes. Only Menelaus and Odysseus, other than myself, know of Calchas' auguries. I want you to go to Mycenae and bid my wife and daughter to turn back. They must be nearly here," I said, caring not that a hint of desperation laced my voice. I could hear the weakness in myself and despised myself for it, but what else could I do? I was trapped, the army and the Trojan war on one side, my beloved's trust and my child on the other.

I gestured for him to hold out his hand and drew my ring off my own, pressing it into his palm. "Take this ring, so that they will know it is my orders."

"I will go with all the swiftness of Hermes, god of messengers," the slave promised.

With his departure I sank back, half-drowsing, for I was finally at peace with myself once my decision was made. Save Iphigenia, and perhaps it will not spell disaster, for if I have angered Artemis, I can surely make amends in other ways. A fair wind for Troy? Not at the cost of my daughter's life, though I will bargain something else to appease the gods.

I was startled awake not much later by my slave, returned at the foot of my brother. "He had no right!" the servant protested, trying to struggle free, for his hands were bound behind him. "Master, he has taken both the ring and the letter from me. He was waiting in secrecy outside of your tent and took me by surprise."

"Quiet, slave!" Menelaus hissed, face veiled by the dark of the night. To me he spoke with crushing scorn. "I have heard your words and am disgusted by the weakness of your will. Brother of mine, I have here your message to Clytemnestra, and your ring as well!"

My heart sank, for I knew well what this meant. Yet I tried to summon my anger for this confrontation, for I would follow through with my decision now I have made it.

"What right have you to lay hands on my messenger or take his things?"

"What right have you to send this letter?" Menelaus said, truly irate. "What kind of leader have we chosen, that would do treason?"

"Give me the letter!" I demanded. The proof lay in my writing, but if only I could throw it into the fire first…

"I will show it to all the other chiefs, and you will be shamed in front of us all. What king are you, to anger the gods and then refuse to do their will?"

"How can you spy on your own brother, Menelaus?" I countered, but inside I was cursing myself. I was overconfident that I would stop my brother's treacherous spying; I should have known better. I made my voice harsh, but knew that I was losing ground quickly.

"Thank the gods that I have! You were our leader, Agamemnon, not just because you brought a hundred ships, but for you character! I trusted you to command the fleet, knowing that you would bring down the walls of Troy, knowing that Paris will be shamed and that Helen will be returned to me. Do you remember, Agamemnon, how humble you seemed when we offered up the honor to you, to let you be the leader of the host?"

I looked away, guilt afresh in my heart. Menelaus pushed on relentlessly, gods curse him. "Then we came to Aulis, and all that was for naught. You could do nothing, Agamemnon, to make a fair wind blow. Days, then weeks, passed, and finally we sought the aid of a seer. And now? Now you would return to Mycenae like a defeated dog, a dog with its tail between its legs, because you refuse to right the wrong you did to Artemis?"

"How dare you!" I was truly incensed for the first time in the heated argument. Menelaus, who could not even keep his wife from the princeling's bed, accusing me of cowardliness?

"How dare I? Dare I what, to speak the truth? How the Trojan King Priam would laugh, to know that we had such a weakling for a leader. A king that will not even sacrifice his daughter in order to have a fair wind blow, to launch a thousand ships! Why have all these men come, why did they rally under our banner?"

Menelaus knew that his words had pierced me, worn away at my pride, and now he attacked. He knew exactly where my greatest weaknesses lay, just as I knew his. We have fought many times, brother against brother. "Will you have all the world see, Agamemnon, how an infamous prince of Troy can shame the House of Atreus, without punishment?"

He paused for a moment, and put all his scorn and disgust into his last words. "I am disgraced to call you brother, Agamemnon." Menelaus turned to leave the tent.

I felt rage overtake me. "Wait!" I said, hand in a crushing grip on his shoulder. Menelaus turned around and slapped my hand away, but I could see his grimace of pain. "You say all this, but what for, Menelaus? I have listen to you, but by the gods, now you will listen to me!"

"Very well," Menelaus said contemptuously.

"You may speak all the words of passion you like, brother, but mine will be tempered with cool reason. Why are these men here for, Menelaus? So that we might return to you a faithless wife, a wife without a single virtue? So that good men might die for the sake of bringing down one prince of Troy, whose arms your own wife fled to? I have heard tell, Menelaus, that Helen willingly left with Paris. That she considered you unworthy of her." It was my turn to insult, and I would be the victor, for I used cool, unarguable logic, whereas he always spoke with rash passion.

"Speak not these lies to me, Agamemnon."

"It is true that at first, I was caught up in anger for the insult that Paris did you and our house. Yet all logic tells me that it is foolish to take up war, a long war that will last ten years or so the oracles say, for the sake of a cause as worthless as ours. I may have been mad, Menelaus, but I will not sacrifice so many for the sake of your folly. All of Greece is mad, mad for honor and revenge, and the only thing that will come of this is death."

Menelaus drew a deep breath, ready to retort, but it was too late.

A messenger burst into the tent. "My lords Agamemnon and Menelaus, Queen Clytemnestra and her daughter Iphigenia are here. The men wonder why you have summoned them here, and crowd to see them. Is this for a marriage? A sacrifice? They bid me take them word so they might prepare a proper celebration."

"Their message must wait, then," I returned steadily, though when I looked down, I knew my shock was evident in my hands, for they trembled faintly. I clenched them into fists. "Go now."

All my sorrow came pouring out of me then, and I felt only weary of the world and his fate. "What am I to tell Clytemnestra?" I wondered in distraction. "She comes here expecting that her daughter be wed to Achilles, trusting me to give Iphigenia to a good marriage. What can I say to Iphigenia, who must be the sacrifice?"

Looking at my heartache, I suppose Menelaus' heart softened, for his anger dropped away. "Forgive me, Agamemnon, I judged you wrongly. Yet it is too late to save your daughter now that she is here."

"The whole of the Greek host will demand her sacrifice," I said, voice muffled behind his hands. "Please, Menelaus, do not let Clytemnestra know of what fate will befall Iphigenia."

"How far will your deception hold?" Menelaus wondered.

"As long as I need it to," I answered grimly. "There is no way to save Iphigenia now, but I do not want her and my wife to know of it until after the deed has been done."

"After Iphigenia is sacrificed," Menelaus said. If it were not for his intervention…but the gods have willed it so. My poor girl of the daring wit.

"Yes. Tomorrow, I will offer her not to Achilles, but to Artemis…as sacrifice." Steeling myheart against fate, I went out to greet my wife and daughter.

- o – o – o – o – o -

Author's Notes: Part three up soon, Achilles. As young as I was when I wrote this, I think it's still all right. If you want newer and completed Troy stories (with focus on romance), try "The Death of Paris." I do know that this writing's a little awkward, but as an eighth grader, I wasn't trying for Homer or anything, so keep that in mind if you're about to flame. Please review!