The House of Atreus | ONC 2023 Shortlist

II

I wake up to busy bustling around the house. Father has sent a letter, asking for mother and me. We are to depart for Aulis today to arrive before the Achaeans leave for the shores of Troy. The news reaches me before I am even dressed, but leaves me in the dark about the reason or occasion of our trip.

I have just finished washing my face and requested breakfast and for my travelling clothes to be set out, when my mother bursts into my chamber, my little brother in her arm and a trio of servants in tow. They carry a bundle of garments, the wooden basin we use for washing and a small crate of various small items inside. I recognise Mother's curling irons and her cosmetics.

"Fetch us two buckets of hot water from the kitchens," the Queen says, not sparing Xanthe a second glance. Instead, her eyes fix on me, appraising me it seems. With a flick of her wrist, she motions for the servants to step forward.

One of them sets down the crate on a nearby table and begins to pull out little tins and bottles full of fragrant oils while another unfurls the bundle of cloth she's been carrying. It turns out to be a beautiful, saffron-coloured robe woven from linen, so fine and thin it's almost sheer. I look around with wide eyes as the servants seem to clearly prepare a bath for me. The fragrance of rose petals and violets fills the air and rises around us along with the steam.

"Mother," I say, a little overwhelmed, "what is the meaning of this?" Though I welcome the thought of a bath to start the day, it seems unwise to take it now when I am going to be covered in dirt and sweat from travelling later.

Orestes starts to fuss as if he too finds this whole affair just as confusing as I do. The Queen shushes him softly and shifts him in her arms so that the side of his face comes to rest against her shoulder, away from me.

"Oh, my little Iphia." Her lips stretch into a smile, an expression I haven't seen on her face in so long, it confuses me even more than the sudden onslaught of attention so early in the morning. "Your father asked us to come meet him because he has found a husband for you."

I knew my time to marry would come as it does for every princess my age and I have long prepared myself for it, but didn't expect it to happen so suddenly. Not with Father preparing a war and possibly leaving us for multiple months to fight all the way on the other side of the ocean. I had expected a long period of negotiations, of possible candidates being discussed between my parents, the chances of the match. I had hoped for some courting and time to come to terms with their decision. Foolishly maybe, I had hoped I might get to have the slightest say in it.

An almost faded memory suddenly enters my head, one of the oldest I can still recall. Of Father sitting on his throne, me on his knee, his hand bracing the small of my back. Later, as I grew older and too heavy to sit on his lap, I'd pull up a stool by his feet, looking up at him as he spoke to one of his advisors, receiving their reports. Week after week they'd discuss matters of trade, of diplomatic relations and finances. I memorised the names of foreign counts and princes, of cities that had fallen or been taken over by others, borders that had shifted. I learned what goods we traded with or who our allies were. At first, I only wanted to impress Father, to show him that I'd paid attention and every time I'd ask him about something or made a comment, he'd smile and rest his large warm hand on my head.

"Who is it?" The memory that unfurled behind my eyelids disperses as I look at my mother again and I try to focus on the present. I hope my betrothed is not someone cruel. I don't dare to hope it won't be someone much older than me, knowing I will most likely not have a choice to deny the match. Though I want to believe my father has my best interest in mind.

This is the way things are done. It's how Mother came to marry Father. Or so I am told, for she has never talked about it to any of us. Elektra is still too young to understand but I turned sixteen last winter. I'm a woman now, yet sometimes I feel like I'm still a child for all I know about my own mother.

"You, my dear, are to marry Achilles before he sets off to fight the Trojans."

Stunned, I sit back down onto the stool. No wonder the Queen is smiling one of her rare smiles. Even I have heard of Achilles, we all have. She must be pleased Father managed to secure this match for me. Having a man as Achilles as a son-in-law would give Mycenae strong allies. I exhale a breath and sit up a little straighter, as if I can already feel the gazes of countless women assessing me and my worth. I try not to think about what this marriage will mean for my title and standing.

I don't know Achilles, I have only heard the stories about his strength, his talent, his fighting spirit. About how he's favoured by the Gods. My only hope is that he's kind and noble and as much a hero as everyone makes him out to be.

I breathe out again, steadying myself as I stand and unfasten my garment, slipping out of my clothes. The bath is ready and the servant girls are already waiting for me as I step into it. I can't tell if my mother expects me to say anything, but there is nothing to say. I know what is expected of me.

My brother mumbles something intelligible, not yet able to put his thoughts into coherent words and throw them out there for the world to hear them. The Queen hands him over to Cilissa, one of the servants and when I look at her retreating back, I catch Orestes' eyes for a second. They're big and round as those of all babies are and easily distracted by interesting colours or movement, but now they seem to hold my gaze. The corners of my mouth lift into a smile, but instead of mimicking me like he usually does, his expression remains oddly serious, even as his eyelids droop and he's being carried away for his nap.

Despite the hot steam around me, I shiver ever so slightly. 

Notes:

Achaeans: The Greeks, Homer uses this term to refer to them collectively.