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* * *
Iphigenia was a slender girl; her blonde hair was nearly white, her skin pale, and her eyes a lovely sky blue. When Odysseus looked at her, he saw only a reflection of Clytemnestra's fair prettiness and not a bit of Agamemnon's sly darkness in her. "Your father has arranged your wedding to Achilles, our greatest warrior, child, and we must hurry to Aulis for the celebration before the fleet sails for Troy."
Clytemnestra took her daughter's hand. "Are there to be no other suitors, or games to decide who'll win her hand?" she asked.
Odysseus responded with a disarming smile. "On the eve of war, we can't stop for games."
"Is Achilles handsome?" Iphigenia inquired, her gaze open and trusting.
"He's a fine looking young man," her mother replied, "but you're too young to wed, especially with a war coming that might soon leave you a widow."
"Achilles is too fine a warrior to be easily injured, but come with me now and discuss your concerns with your husband when we arrive. Bring your prettiest clothing, Iphigenia. You're a beautiful girl and will make a lovely bride."
Clytemnestra thought the whole matter strange. "I'll not waste my breath arguing with you when Agamemnon is the one who's decided this. I'm sure you can promise us a wild chariot ride."
"Indeed I can, my lady."
* * *
As soon as Iphigenia and her mother arrived, Agamemnon hugged his daughter to his chest and rubbed her back. "I love you so, Iphigenia." He took a step back, and her sweet smile made what had to be done all the more excruciating. "We must go to Artemis's temple, and we'll discuss the wedding later. Wait for us here, Clytemnestra." He nodded to Odysseus to enforce his request.
Clytemnestra meant to follow. "If you are in such a rush to make the match with Achilles, why should I wait here?"
"Do not argue, my dear." Agamemnon took Iphigenia's hand and started off at such a brisk pace she had to run along beside him.
"Something's wrong," Clytemnestra cried, but before she could follow her husband and daughter, Odysseus grabbed her from behind in a forceful hold and lifted her off the ground.
"Don't frighten the child," he whispered in her ear. "She must be sacrificed for Artemis to release the wind so that we may sail for Troy." When that horror hit Clytemnestra, her anguished howl came from the bot
tom of her soul, and he clapped his hand over her mouth to silence the awful sound.
"It will be quick, and she'll not suffer," he promised, but she fought and kicked and struggled to break free. Too strong to be overpowered, he understood the depth of her sorrow and tightened his hold to keep her pressed close to his heart.
* * *
As they reached the temple, Iphigenia saw several of her father's warriors gathered at the entrance, but no handsome young stranger. "Where is Achilles?" she whispered.
Agamemnon pulled her around to face him. "I love you with all my heart, but a sacrifice must be made. Do not hate me for this."
The pretty girl didn't understand her fate until three of the men came forward to catch her and laced her hands tightly behind her back. Horrified, she screamed for her father, prompting the men to tie a gag over her mouth. Shocked and betrayed, she pled with her eyes, for surely she was not meant to be the sacrifice. When carried into the temple and lifted upon the altar, she struggled to break free, but a man grasped her ankles to hold her down. The priest raised his sacred knife above her throat.
Before the blade stuck its mark, the temple blazed with an otherworldly light, and Iphigenia vanished in a cloud of golden smoke. The men were blinded by the bright flash and knocked off their feet by its power. They sat up slowly and rubbed their eyes, and tried to speak, but a dull roar rang in their ears and made it impossible to understand one another. The priest leaned against the bare altar for support. When he regained his sight and could hear, he waved the rope that had bound Iphigenia's wrists, and the cloth gag.
"Artemis took her!" he exclaimed. "I saw her golden bow slung across her back as she gathered Iphigenia into her arms. Surely the goddess has taken the girl to Mt. Olympus, and they were transported in that flash of light."
Agamemnon sat where he'd fallen. There was no blood on the altar, or the priest's knife, and no sign of his lovely daughter. He stared at his warriors, all of them shaken and dumbfounded. When one helped him to his feet, his legs barely held his weight. "What am I going to tell her mother?" he mumbled to himself.
The priest was ecstatic to have seen Artemis, but as he questioned the other men, he found he was the only one who'd glimpsed more than the glaring light. The temple had been rocked to its foundation, and dust filled the air. "I have seen the goddess," the priest kept repeating. "I've seen Artemis in all her glory."
Agamemnon rested until his strength returned, and he could walk without weaving like a drunken fool. As he approached his tent, he heard Odysseus speaking in a low soothing voice, doing what he could to calm Clytemnestra, but it was a chore better left to him. He ducked to enter his makeshift dwelling.
"Let her go," he ordered.
Odysseus raised a brow, but still astonished by what he'd seen, Agamemnon hurried to explain, "We entered the temple, and Artemis flew down from Mt. Olympus and swept away with Iphigenia. There was no sacrifice."
Enraged, Clytemnestra brushed off Odysseus's hands. "Liar! You've killed her! How can chasing a whore to Troy mean more to you than our own dear daughter's life? Helen should be damned and forgotten!" she screamed.
She wheeled to face Odysseus before he could slip away. Her voice was choked with tears. "You told us a monstrous lie to bring us here willingly. Does Achilles know how badly you've used his name?"
