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Iphegenia was frightened.
She had been trying so hard to be brave. Clytaemnestra had told her she must.
“Do you know the meaning of your name, my daughter?” she asked.
It was a familiar ritual between them. It had carried her through many an event that seemed at first too difficult to bear or even contemplate. Iphegenia had always liked the conversation before, because there was something about her mother’s low pitched voice that soothed her, the same way she felt soothed when she used to slip into the ocean, which held her like her nursemaid once had, rocking her cradle with her foot while singing songs from long ago, in a language Iphegenia didn’t understand.
“Yes, mother,” she would reply. “My name Iphigenia means ‘born to strength.’”
“That’s right, sweet one, and that’s why I know you can do what I’m asking of you. You are strong, flesh of my flesh. Those fears you have are not the truth of things. Let them go.”
But this time, Clytaemnestra’s words seemed less reassuring, and her belief in Iphegenia’s strength less sure. She caught lines of worry crossing her mother’s face. Even flashes of anger.
“Do you know who has asked for your hand in marriage? The mighty warrior Achilles.”
The words were meant to express pride and happiness. But Clytaemnestra’s face expressed something else.
Iphegenia’s body flooded with feelings she didn’t understand.
She knew Achilles, although not well. She knew she was supposed to admire him, but he frightened her a little. So big all over, especially when covered with all that golden armor. And he was said to have god-blood.
Whenever he came to her father’s home, Clytaemnestra spirited her away, telling her that she was too young for councils of war. She protested that she was a big girl, but then her mother would ask her to take charge of organizing some household task like inventorying the wine cellar. Soon she learned not to say such things.
Even after Achilles left, the household would be in disarray for a time, in ways that Iphigenia didn’t understand. Sometimes one or two girls she learned and trained with would abruptly disappear. Servants would take to their beds, or walk with a limp, or be seen covering bruises with makeup. Clytaemnestra and Agamemnon would have screaming arguments, although Iphigenia could never make out what they were saying.
His hand in marriage.
She knew that when her warrior-obsessed girlfriends learned of this, they would tease her and try to frighten her about it. She’d seen it happen with other girls who’d been claimed as brides by warriors.
“Euanthe walked bow-legged for weeks after she married Xanthos!”
“He’s so eager for you, you’re to go to him tomorrow,” said Clytaemnesta. And now she really did look distressed for a moment. But then she smiled gently. “I have a gift for you.”
She handed Iphigenia a girdle.
Iphigenia took the narrow length of cloth.
“It is your bridal ζώνη (zone), my daughter. Wear it when you travel to the army camp. Your husband is to untie it on your wedding night.”
She drew the stiff cloth rapidly through her fingers. “It has a pocket for a protective item,” Clytaemnestra said.
“A charm?”
“No. More protective than that.” Clytaemnestra smiled grimly. She showed her daughter the pocket, and drew forth a small, sheathed dagger.
“I cannot travel with you,” she said. “But I can send this protection with you, Iphigenia, whose name means born-to-strength.”
Iphigenia felt confused. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but she didn’t get a chance. Her mother clapped her hands, and several attendants appeared. “Help Iphigenia prepare for her wedding journey tomorrow,” she told them. “Go with them, child — no, I mustn’t call you that any more. Young woman. Bride-to-be. I will pray for a happy marriage for you, with many strong sons.”
~~~
Iphigenia heard the driver dismount, shouting for attention, and she ventured a peek outside the covered carriage.
What she saw worried her.
The seaside army camp seemed less a camp than an utter chaos. There was garbage strewn everywhere. The tents has been raised haphazardly and some were lopsided or falling down. The tough seagrass had been trampled to death so that most of the camp was now plagued with drifting sand.
Some soldiers were lying asleep in the hot sun, some were talking and drinking — in the middle of the day! — in small groups. Others sat by themselves, gazing out at the sea.
Everywhere, she felt and saw anger.
In the shallows near to the beach, the great biremes floated.
A few of the ships were rigged, and their sails hung limp.
And then she knew why the anger was so great. The raging she’d heard from Agamemnon’s war room over the past several weeks, as he’d grown increasingly haggard, made more sense.
There had been no wind.
Iphigenia’s observations were cut short. The cover was flung off the carriage, and she beheld two soldiers. They were wearing armor, but even she, a girl innocent of war (to the extent that anyone in Agamemnon’s household could be), could tell they’d thrown it on haphazardly, with no effort to fasten the various pieces in a way that would protect them in battle. Well, she was hardly an enemy to be feared. But she knew Agamemnon would be unhappy to see them this way, especially for what should be a ceremonial occasion, receiving the fiancée of the army’s most celebrated warrior.
Agamemnon wasn’t there.
“Where is my father?” Iphigenia demanded in the voice of command Clytaemnestra had taught her.
“He will greet you soon,” said the less haphazard of the soldiers. “For now, please come with us. We will show you to your accommodations.”
Iphigenia waited for the servants that had accompanied her to get out of the carriage and put down a step for her. But they didn’t move.
“Well?” she said sharply to the more senior of them.
The attendant made a frightened face. “My master your Father told me to stay with the carriage. He said you would have camp servants when you arrived.”
“Camp servants?” Iphigenia was confused. “They have women here?” She had never set foot outside Agamemnon’s palace without at least two women accompanying her as chaperones.
“Perhaps your future husband has chosen them for you,” ventured the other servant who had accompanied her in the carriage.
Iphigenia relaxed a little. “Of course, that must be the case.” She still felt anxious as she climbed out of the carriage. She got ready to jump to the trodden grass, but to her surprise, one of the soldiers grasped her around the waist and picked her up, then set her on the sand.
If any man had tried that at home, she would have slapped him.
But this was a new place. She was in a new role. He hadn’t tried to take further liberties. She uncomfortably decided she’d let it go for now.
The carriage with her mother’s servants in it rolled back toward the road. For a moment she watched it go, chewing her lip. Then the soldiers silently guided her into the camp.
They were deep within the camp when they stopped in front of a small, lopsided tent.
“You are to stay here until Achilles calls for you,” the senior soldier said.
Again, Iphigenia was confused.
“Surely this is not Achilles’s compound?”
The soldiers exchanged a glance.
Iphigenia was about to protest further, when she remembered something she’d heard a visiting relative say once.
“Is it bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding?” she asked.
Relief showed on the faces of the soldiers. They were glad she’d brought it up herself; otherwise they would have had to contradict a social superior, which would undoubtedly be shameful to them.
“It is as you say, Princess.”
Iphigenia entered the tent. There was nothing inside but a tall bed.
“Send me the attendants my husband to be has chosen for me,” she demanded. “I have had a long journey. I must be refreshed.”
The soldiers exchanged another glance.
“As you command,” the scruffier one said, bowing. It seemed almost as if there were a hint of mockery in his voice. Well, perhaps it had been a long time since he’d interacted with any women.
Abruptly, they were gone.
Iphigenia stood gazing at the one piece of furniture in the room. A wave of exhaustion overcame her. She should remain standing until the servants arrived, so she could properly introduce herself to them. Clytaemnestra had always taught her to reinforce her status when in the presence of servants of any rank. “If you appear weak, they will take advantage of you,” she’d said.
But Iphigenia felt she couldn’t stay standing another minute. She’d get onto the bed, just for a short time. She could intimidate the servants later.
~~~
Iphigenia came awake suddenly, and didn’t remember where she was.
Then she heard the hiss of sand against canvas, and remembered.
The Greek army. Achilles. A rushed wedding.
She heard murmurs, and raised her head. The light was dim — it was almost sunset. She saw figures — men — standing in the doorway of the tent.
She should have screamed at them to get out. Asserted her status. But she had just awakened and was in an unfamiliar place, and her mother’s teachings had deserted her. She put her hand near the secret pocket of the zone, but as they didn’t move toward her, she didn’t draw her weapon. She simply stared at them, and they at her.
“To think,” one of the men said to another, as if she weren’t there. “The King is sacrificing his own daughter to bring forth the winds.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said another harshly. “Do you think he’d really send his daughter? She’s some slave sent in his daughter’s place.”
A clanging sound was heard, presumably the dinner bell, and the men disappeared.
Iphigenia waited, expecting to be escorted to dinner. Just when she was about to go in search of someone, the two soldiers from before showed up.
“We’re bringing you to Achilles,” one said.
Iphigenia was surprised. Hadn’t they just said it was bad luck for bride and groom to meet before the wedding? But she was too hungry to protest. She did not stop even to put on clean clothing, although her gown was stained from travel.
The soldiers brought her to the mess tent. The noise, crowds, and stench inside assaulted her, almost to the point where she felt too nauseated to eat. But she finally told herself she must live up to her name, stay strong, keep her body healthy by nourishing it. She sat as close to the door as she could, and ate what the soldiers had brought her.
Then a commotion began. She strove to see what was happening, but at first the burly soldiers blocked her view. Then at last she saw. At the head of the largest table, her husband-to-be was now taking his seat. The shining Achilles.
The soldiers approached him and one spoke into his ear. Achilles looked up, saw her, and a grin broke over his face.
“The precious Iphigenia! My bride! Come to me. Let me show you off to my soldiers.”
Iphigenia wanted to feel good about his noticing her, and his apparent pleasure. But something felt off. And she couldn’t put her finger on it. Perhaps she was just still weary from travel, and unused to the newness of everything.
She walked between the rows of soldiers enjoying what was apparently a more lavish than usual meal, if the gusto with which they ate and drank were any clue.
And then Achilles was looming over her.
He was indeed big, and handsome, and golden, with a gleaming smile.
And yet, there was something in his eyes that made her think of cats lying in wait for birds.
Before she could even greet him, he captured her in his arms, picked her straight up off the floor, and covered her mouth with his.
Iphigenia struggled, but it was like struggling against a stone. She was crushed against his chest…and then his tongue was delving insistently into her mouth.
She gave a shriek. It was muffled by the thick tongue, but loud enough for some of the soldiers to hear. They laughed encouragingly.
Achilles broke the kiss. He swept plates and dishes of food off the table onto the floor, and stood her where they had been.
“I’ve wanted this girl since I first set eyes on her,” he announced loudly to the others. “But her mother Clytaemnestra would insist on holding out for marriage. Whenever I visited Agamemnon’s palace, she was hidden. I turned the palace upside down trying to find her. From slaves’ quarters to the chambers of the noblewomen. I searched them all, to no avail. That frustrated me. And you know what happens when a soldier is frustrated, don’t you, boys?”
The soldiers laughed.
Iphigenia was shocked to hear Achilles’s words. She knew Clytaemnestra had withdrawn her from public life when the War Councils were held. But she had no idea Achilles wanted her, or searched for her, specifically.
Achilles was continuing.
“Yes, I admit to wreaking some havoc on the distaff side of Agamemnon’s household. Although some were not so unhappy to accommodate my…needs.”
He thrust his hips several times, to more laughter.
“And there were other compensations. Other young women at court. Many are wildly attracted to warriors. Half in love with me…or to my body in gleaming armor, anyway. You soldiers probably know what I’m talking about. Do you not find many young women eager to spread their legs for you, when you visit your homes?”
The soldiers murmured general agreement, chuckling.
“Not all were willing right away…sometimes I had to drop a hint about marriage…”
More dark laughter.
“I wager you’ve got a passel of bastard children running around,” cried one soldier, to general merriment.
“Is it true what they say about gods’ blood?”
“I don’t usually stick around long enough to find out,” Achilles said, and all the soldiers laughed knowingly. “But it will be interesting to see if I get a child on my bride tonight.”
Tonight?
Iphegenia had been listening to this boasting with discomfort. Usually soldiers’ talk about women falling at their feet was a lot of hot air. But what Achilles was saying veered close to explaining the chaotic, angry atmosphere of Agamemnon’s house after War Councils.
“My lord,” she said in a loud whisper. “We have not yet wed. Is the marriage to take place tonight?”
Achilles looked up at her sharply. “Tomorrow will be for rituals and sacrifice,” he said. “But there’s no harm in starting the fun a little early, eh?”
He pinched her thigh.
Iphigenia didn’t like either his words or the pinch. But she didn’t want to start out their relationship with an argument. There would be time later to teach him how her people preferred to respect the gods. “Yes, my lord.”
Achilles wasn’t listening to her. She felt humiliated by standing on the table like a prize animal on display, and she tried to climb back down to the floor. But his hands came around her waist and held her fast. Once again, there was no resisting him.
“My men,” Achilles said, “Only the winners of the tournament will accompany me to the bridal chamber. But I want you all to have a treat. Turn, Iphigenia, and let my men behold your beauty.”
Iphigenia was mortified. “My lord, please…”
“Turn, my little bride.” Achilles’s hands tightened around her waist until they squeezed painfully into her tender flesh. She had no choice. Mercifully, as soon as she began to turn, he stopped hurting her.
“So small. So pure,” Achilles was murmuring, gazing up at her with something like the affection one shows for a favorite pet. “I will let them see you in all your beauty,” he said, as if making a momentous decision.
And then he ripped the gown from her upper body. The zone she wore prevented him from tearing it completely off, but she was naked to the waist, her nipples tightening as they were exposed to the air.
Iphigenia screamed. She tried to crouch into a ball to protect herself from the scrutiny of the men.
Achilles chuckled indulgently. “Such a modest little girl.”
He picked her up as if she weighed no more than a straw doll, and leapt onto the table. Then he pinned her to the front of his body. He lifted her breasts, lightly slapping them, giving the nipples a little tweak too.
“Don’t those little breasts jiggle so temptingly?” he remarked to the soldiers. “And look at her nipples, they are stiff already. I scarcely touched them.”
Iphegenia was too shocked to react. She’d simply gone rigid when Achilles picked her up and began showing her off.
“Let us have a handful, Captain!” cried one of the soldiers.
“Maybe later,” Achilles said. He hauled Iphegenia over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “Seeing my bride’s charms leaves me thirsty to sample them.” He pointed at several soldiers in turn, said their names. “Join me in my chambers.”
As Achilles strode off, Iphigenia squirmed, then pounded her fists against his back, then kicked, desperately trying to free herself from his grasp.
Achilles slapped her bottom, hard. “Are you trying to excite me with your resistance, little bride?” he said with rough affection in his voice. “It’s working.”
He held on to her harder than ever, and she was unable to win free.
When Achilles reached what she supposed were his chambers. Iphigenia looked around for potential allies. There were several male servants standing against the wall. The soldiers he’d pointed at came in with him. None of these seemed as if they were likely to help her.
Achilles tossed her onto the bed.
She tried once more to appeal to his good nature.
“Husband-to-be, please do not do this,” she begged. “Let us consummate our marriage in private, tomorrow, after the ceremony.”
Achilles had been removing his tunic. He paused, the right half of his body bared. “No, Iphigenia. You don’t understand,” he said. “Tomorrow, after we make the sacrifices, the winds will come. I and the rest of the army will sail to war. There won’t be any time for fucking then.”
Iphigenia was shocked at the vulgar language. But she supposed that being part of the army for so long had roughened his speech.
Achilles finished taking off his tunic and stood naked before her. She beheld his muscular form, but her eyes were riveted on his member. It was enormous, like the rest of him, and red, and standing rigid.
He noticed her staring. “This is for you,” he said, stroking it. “Now, finish taking off your robe, and show yourself to me.”
Iphigenia couldn’t bring herself to take off the garment, even though the part supposed to cover her upper body was in tatters. She sat on the bed, knee drawn up to her chest, arms around them, and stared at her fiancé with pleading eyes.
Achilles took a step forward. “My bride is shy to show me her treasures. Very well, I’ll do it.”
She shrank away, but he seized her ankle and dragged her to the edge of the bed. He ripped away the rest of her already torn gown, leaving the girdle. He swallowed hard as he gazed down at her.
“You are a little beauty,” he said approvingly. He addressed the soldiers who had come with him. “Isn’t she lovely? Come over here and get a better view.”
Iphigenia thought she would die of shame as Achilles and the five soldiers gazed at her hungrily.
But that was nothing to what she felt when Achilles pulled her legs apart to show them what was between them.
“What a beautiful flower you have between your legs, bride,” he said approvingly. “Such plump lips — oh, and moist too.” He slid a finger between them. She flinched violently. Achilles and the soldiers laughed.
“By the gods, Iphigenia,” Achilles said. “I wanted to take my time, but you’re so resistant and reluctant, and it excites me beyond all endurance. I can’t wait any longer to fuck you.” He stepped between her legs and leaned over her, supporting himself on his mighty arms. “Don’t worry, little one,” he said in a low voice. “I have god’s blood. That means you’ll be sure to enjoy what I do to you.”
Before Iphegenia could even draw breath to speak, to refuse, to beg, Achilles covered her mouth with his mouth and her breasts with his hands. He rocked his naked, hard body against her, his member rubbing against those lips he’d just proved with his fingers, pressing against the sensitive spot inside.
Iphigenia sobbed into his mouth, overwhelmed with fear and the horror of his doing this to her while men watched them.
Then his fingers were probing between her legs. Penetrating her. He encountered resistance inside her, and she cried out.
“Sshhh,” he said, his voice tender, in horrifying contrast to the pain he was causing, as he continued to thrust and press his fingers inside her. “I just need to open up your little virgin cunt. It won’t hurt for long.” She felt a giving sensation deep inside, and his fingers slid in farther. His knuckles were pressing on the tender flesh between her lips as he probed deeply into her.
Achilles groaned. He withdrew the fingers. Iphigenia was terrified to see blood on them, since it wasn’t time for her monthly. He sucked them clean and smacked his lips. “There. Now you’re open, darling. Are you ready for me to make you a woman?”
“No, husband, please stop,” she begged. “It hurts so much.”
She could tell her begging was having entirely the wrong effect on Achilles. He groaned. “By the gods, that excites me. Beg me some more. Why do you want me to stop?”
“Please,” she said. Part of her knew she was only sealing her fate, but she didn’t know what else to say. “Please don’t take me this way, in front of your men. Please take your fingers out of me. Please stop hurting me!”
Achilles growled. “All right, my little virgin bride. I will take my fingers out. You can have my cock instead.”
Before Iphegenia had time to process what was happening, Achilles’ heavy, powerful body was atop hers. He pushed her thighs even wider apart. And something much bigger than his fingers was nudging at her opening. Forcing its way inside her. It hurt so much she thought she’d lose her mind.
“Nooo!” she cried.
Achilles thrust against her, again and again, until she felt his groin meet hers.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re taking my cock. All the way inside you, Iphigenia. Gods, your cunt is so tight.”
Then he was slamming into her, over and over. It hurt like a spear thrust every time he sawed into her, split her open.
“Exquisite,” he told the men watching. “My thrusts hurt her and that makes her clench up so tight, so sweet.”
Iphigenia remembered the sacrificial rituals she’d participated in. How, as a little girl, she’d been lost in the eyes of the animals that were stabbed in the throat, so that their blood would pour over the hot rocks and the scent of it would ascend to Olympus, for the gods loved blood sacrifice.
She felt entirely akin to those animals now. For surely she was merely an animal, a sacrificial offering, and no human being. Not any longer.
The torture inside her seemed to go on forever, until Achilles gave a roar and she felt his seed spurt into her.
He rutted against her a few more, painful times, and then he flopped on his back on the bed, next to her.
“Come clean me up, little one.”
She made to get off the bed to find a towel, but he pulled her back. “With your tongue,” he clarified. “Lick me clean.”
When her girlfriends had spoken of licking and sucking cocks, she’d wanted to cover her ears in disgust. Now, numbly, she obeyed him. She stroked the glistening organ with her tongue, tasting what she knew came from both his body and hers. Almost not caring any more that the soldiers and slaves were watching. Just glad that the painful deflowering was over at last.
Until Achilles pointed at his men and said, “you can have her now.”
Iphigenia jumped off the bed and ran, naked, out of the tent.
She ran through the camp, not caring where she was going, as long as it was away from the men who’d just been told they could use her for sex, and the man who’d told them so, as if she were a slave and not his bride.
But before long, soldiers surrounded her. Finally one gripped her upper arm and pulled her to a stop. Then she realized what a mistake she’d made.
“Look what I found, boys,” said the one who had caught her. “A runaway whore.” He held her arms behind her back with one hand and plucked at her nipples with the other.
“That’s Achilles’s bride. Better not spoil her or he’ll have your hide,” one of his companions told him.
“What did he do to her, to cause her to run away?”
“I’ve been in his unit for a few years,” said another, who seemed a little older than the rest. From his dress, Iphigenia could tell he was a Myrmidon, like Achilles himself. “He likes virgins and he likes hurting them. Some of the best warriors are just shit at being decent men, you know? He’s already fucked this one from the looks of it. Gods, look at the bruises on her. Actually, if you bring her back to him he’ll probably let you have her. But I don’t advise doing it behind his back. You can cop a bit of a feel, but that’s all.”
The Myrmidon slipped a finger between her legs and began working it back and forth.
Iphigenia opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get out any words, she began to feel something strange.
As the men held her motionless and gently touched her nipples and probed between her lips, she started feeling excited.
I’m so helpless, she kept thinking. They’re just taking what they want of me. But…it feels good.
The Myrmidon was touching the sensitive spot between her legs, his fingers working over the hard nub rapidly. She writhed and moaned quietly.
“That’s right, little bride,” he whispered. “Feels good, doesn’t it? That’s how it should feel.”
He teased her harder.
“I’m going to make you come. Then you’ll be more in the mood for what Achilles and his men are going to do to you.”
His fingers rubbed over her nub, again and again.
“Sshhh, don’t scream,” he said as she began to feel overwhelmed. He put a hand over her mouth. She shuddered in his arms as pleasure exploded inside her.
~~~
Achilles wasn’t angry when the young soldier returned Iphegenia to the tent.
“She’s a spirited one, isn’t she?” he said to the soldiers generally. “Tie her to the bed on her belly,” he said to the one who’d brought her. “Then, since you caught her, you can join in the party. I think taking a few more cocks will subdue her a bit.”
~~~
Iphigenia felt her pussy breached by another cock.
It was impaling her from behind, and her back arched painfully with each thrust.
The man she couldn’t see groaned as he pummeled her.
“Tight still? Not too stretched out from taking six…?” Achilles asked.
“By the gods, yes,” said the man who had found her, having her cunt as his reward for returning her to Achilles. His cock was long, not quite as punishingly large as Achilles’s, but it gave no quarter. Although he’d seemed apologetic and concerned for her welfare when he’d originally encountered her, he didn’t care about what she was feeling now.
Or did he?
The climax the Myrmidon had given her had awakened something in her that she couldn’t turn off, no matter how much she wanted to go back to feeling unadulterated horror at what was happening to her.
She’d been tied on her belly, and one of Achilles’s men had straddled her and pushed his cock in, and it had felt unbelievably good. The harsh feeling of him scraping inside her sore cunt had burned brighter and brighter until she couldn’t take any more. She climaxed so hard she screamed and warm liquid poured from somewhere inside her. The soldier came, moaning about how she was squeezing him.
The second, third, fourth fuckings had felt even better.
After that Achilles and the soldiers had taken a break, leaving her tied, until she whined so loudly for more that they came back.
She’d sobbed with relief when the fifth cock drove into her.
Achilles had decided to have her again. He was still too big for her, and thrusting even harder because he was angry that she’d run from him. But this time the pain was exquisitely blended with pleasure, and she’d had one long, drawn out orgasm the whole time he was holding her down and taking her.
She’d come several times around the seventh cock as well.
~~~
“I don’t want to leave on the ship,” she thought she heard Achilles say, several hours later, as he withdrew his spent cock from her mouth. “Not unless I can bring you with me. I haven’t even begun to explore all the ways I want to have you.”
Then he had fallen asleep.
All but one of the other soldiers was just as exhausted as Achilles, and they lay down, some on Achilles’ bed, nested like puzzle pieces, some on the ground, resting their heads on their helmets.
~~~
The female slaves Achilles had arranged to help Iphigenia prepare for the wedding woke them.
The slaves were unsurprised by her bruised and battered condition. Clearly they knew Achilles well. Iphigenia was embarrassed when they insisted on cleaning her inside as well as out, but she was secretly grateful. She had worried about being married with the come from six men drooling down her thighs.
She was perfumed and her hair was piled high, and she was dressed in a beautiful new gown, cinched by the zone she still retained. The wind was high and it whipped the folds of her mantle about her as she approached the sacrificial altar, wondering what animals would be sacrificed to the gods who controlled the winds and those that could sow discord or harmony between spouses.
She was surprised to find no animals before the altar, no audience or witnesses to the ritual, as were required by her people. The only people present were Calchas the seer, Agamemnon, and Achilles. Her father and husband seemed dazed and passive.
“Here she is,” Calchas said with satisfaction when he caught sight of Iphigenia. He held out his hand. “Come sit on the altar.”
Iphigenia recoiled. To sit on the altar was a sacrilege. Only sacrifices could be placed upon the altar.
Calchas, seeing her face tighten, quickly spoke. “The customs among our people are different from those among yours.”
Iphigenia thought back to the last time someone had told her this. It hadn’t been true, and she didn’t believe Calchas was telling the truth either. But what could she do? She remained where she was, staring at him, skepticism in her face.
Calchas tried another tack. “This part of the ceremony is performed in private between the priest and the bride,” he said.
Iphigenia saw then. She knew. It was as if Clytaemnestra were standing by her side and explaining the truth of the situation, as she had every day of Iphigenia’s young life, until she’d left for the army camp.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she told Calchas.
“So, you would curse the Greek army to sit on the shore, becalmed, forever?” spat the priest.
Iphegenia raised her arms, and her cloak fluttered about her in the stiff breeze.
“Wind’s up already. No sacrifice necessary today. The Greek army should leave now.”
Achilles and Agamemnon suddenly seemed to wake up.
Calchas smirked, trying to make Iphigenia ill at ease.
“You presume to know the business of a seer and priest of Artemis?”
“I only know this. The winds are up. Achilles and I are already married, and I carry his child. You’re not needed, priest.”
“You can’t be married,” said Calchas. “You need witnesses to a marriage. Fucking in private doesn’t count.”
“There are half a dozen witnesses.”
Calchas’s face turned red with fury. “Slut!” he spat.
The word seemed to spur Agamemnon and Achilles to wakefulness.
“Begone, false priest!” shouted her father.
Calchas snatched Iphigenia and held her against him, a knife at her throat.
Agamemnon and Achilles froze.
“A sacrifice is required,” he said implacably, “and she shall be the sacrifice.”
Iphigenia crowed with delight. “Stop prattling nonsense. You can’t use me in your ritual after all. It requires virgin blood, and I’m no longer a virgin.”
“If blood magic doesn’t work, sex magic will,” said Calchas. He groped Iphigenia obscenely and began to drag her backward toward the little shrine to Artemis.
“With Artemis? The virgin huntress? I think not,” Iphigenia snapped.
“Artemis isn’t the only deity.” Calchas continued to drag Iphigenia backward. If he got her into the shrine, she wouldn’t ever come out again.
“Get ready to run for the ships!” she shouted to the men over the rising wind.
The dagger from her zone came to her hand as easily as if she’d been wearing it all her life. She stabbed backward and felt it slice into the false priest’s privates.
He screamed, doubling over.
Iphigenia ran.
Let them assume she was dead. Let them assume she had been rescued by Artemis.
She didn’t know what Clytaemnestra would do. Perhaps she’d get word to her. If not, her mother would likely blame Agamemnon for Iphigenia’s disappearance.
So be it.