33
WE MOURNED THE DEATH of our dear Zethus, we celebrated the birth of his son, and we planned two weddings—mine to Orestes, and Electra’s to Pylades. It was also to have been Ardeste’s wedding to Zethus, and that it was not continued to be a sorrow to us all. Ardeste bravely insisted that we must not postpone it on her account and that she would rejoice for our good fortune while she grieved for her own misfortune.
King Menestheus and Queen Clymene sent out messengers to every part of Greece, inviting them to the festivities to be held at the time of the harvest.
The preparations began. Electra and I wove wedding veils, and the king’s daughters and daughters-in-law stitched and embroidered gowns of glistening linen. Sheep and cattle were fattened. Grapes were pressed, and the new wine collected in jars. Fruit was gathered and preserved in honey.
Guests arrived from every part of Greece. Menestheus kept us informed of whom he expected. “I wanted to invite Odysseus,” he said, “but he’s nowhere to be found. The oracle told him that he would not return to his home for ten years after the end of the war, and from what I hear, he has not yet reached Ithaca.”
Chrysothemis had declined the king’s invitation to the wedding. Orestes was relieved when he learned that his other sister would not make the journey from Mycenae. “The Furies were terrible, but I think my sister Chrysothemis was nearly as bad. She despises me. She was always closest to my mother.” Electra was not only relieved but pleased. And when Asius heard, he said, “Chrysothemis would surely punish me severely for helping you both escape.”
Iphigenia, though delighted that Orestes and I would marry, announced that she would soon leave Athens. “I’m returning to Brauron, to the shrine to Artemis,” she explained. “I will spend the rest of my days there as her virginal priestess. I promised I’d dedicate my life to Artemis if she spared me for a second time. I owe her that much. I’ve persuaded our magnificent charioteer, Asius, to accompany me and to stay in Brauron and attend me, if our good king Menestheus will agree.”
Menestheus nodded his assent.
“But I shall stay here for the weddings,” Iphigenia said. “I don’t want to miss any of it!”
THE GREATEST SURPRISE WAS the arrival of my parents. Menelaus and Helen of Sparta would attend my wedding.
Heralds announced that the royal ship from Sparta had entered the port of Piraeus, and I asked Asius to take Orestes and me down to meet them. I was terribly anxious, but Orestes was completely calm. “If anyone should be uneasy, I should be,” he said. “Menelaus tried to persuade the courts in Mycenae to sentence me to death.”
Orestes and I had never talked about the murders. What was there to say? He had been severely punished for what most people thought was a justifiable killing. But I knew that my father felt Orestes had not been punished severely enough. Menelaus likely disapproved of my marrying a man who had committed matricide. I convinced myself that I didn’t care if he disapproved—he had forced me to marry Pyrrhus, who was surely guilty of far worse crimes than Orestes could even think of.
I watched my father step from the ship into the small boat that brought them to shore. Menelaus’s red hair was faded now and streaked with gray, but his strong body showed few signs of age. He walked a little stiffly, possibly from the wound he received at Troy, but that was all.
He turned to assist my mother. Boatmen on other ships in the port stopped what they were doing and stared at Helen. Nothing about her had changed. Her golden hair still shone like sunlight. Her flawless skin still glowed. Her gown clung to every curve of her lovely body. Her smile still dazzled. Only when she looked at me did a tiny frown appear between her eyes of hyacinth blue.
“Well, Hermione,” my mother greeted me with her musical voice, the only quality I shared with her. “How nice that Orestes wants to marry you. But it seems you’ve been neglecting your appearance. Just look how dark your skin has become! All those freckles! Have you tried to bleach them? I’ll send my maidservant to do something with that hair.”
MY WEDDING DAY WAS both bitter and sweet. Like the scenes created by Hephaestus, the god of the forge, for Achilles’ great shield, the celebration was filled with beauty and sadness. Zethus had been dead for a full waxing and waning of the moon. All of us mourned him. Ardeste suckled her baby and wept for the baby’s father. I knew how deeply she must miss her Zethus. I missed him too. He had been an important part of my life since I was a young girl.
But still Ardeste wanted to celebrate my wedding to Orestes, and for that day she set aside her own pain to share in my joy. She had water brought from a sacred spring on a slope below the Acropolis and directed the servants to heat it for the baths that Electra and I enjoyed. Zethus’s infant son kicked and gurgled in his basket nearby while Ardeste helped me dress in my new peplos, the color of pomegranates. She combed my hair into a smooth braid and arranged the lustrous veil glittering with gold and silver spangles. Queen Clymene made me a gift of a pair of jeweled armlets, and my servant tied on soft new sandals.
The day was cloudless and bright. It had been a fine harvest, and amphoras filled with wine lined the racks in every available storage room. The granaries were full to bursting with barley, dried lentils, and beans. Jars of oil, some scented with herbs, were bottled and stoppered and stored on shelves. Down in the agora the cooks had worked throughout the night, slaughtering sheep and cattle and roasting them on spits; ovens had been fired up to bake hundreds of loaves of bread; enormous platters were filled with juicy figs and pears soaked in honey and spices. The citizens of Athens had been invited by their king and queen to celebrate a bountiful harvest and the weddings of four royal visitors whom the gods had brought to their city.
We made a fine procession to the agora. King Menestheus escorted Electra, and my father escorted me. “A woman in love is always at her most beautiful,” my father said as he walked with me to where Pylades and Orestes waited to greet their brides. “And I am well pleased by your choice of a husband.” That was all he said about Orestes. It was all he needed to say, and all I wanted to hear. I cared for his approval more than I’d allowed myself to admit.
Musicians entertained the guests, and a bard plucked his lyre and recited wedding poetry. A pair of tumblers sprang and whirled through the crowd, leading the dancers; young girls held hands and swayed, and young men showed off their astounding leaps. A traveler in a broad-brimmed hat and winged sandals smiled and raised his hand. Above us Aphrodite, the goddess of love, spun in a cloud and blessed the marriages, and we felt her blessings fall upon our heads like warm sun and gentle rain. I hoped that dear Zethus was also rejoicing and sending his love to Ardeste, who stood quietly weeping, her baby in her arms.
The wedding party feasted and laughed and danced and sang until Helios drove his flaming chariot below the rim of the earth. Then we poured libations on the ground and drank wine blessed by the gods and began the long climb back up to the Acropolis as darkness wrapped itself around us and torches lighted the way.
Orestes brought his half of our golden wedding goblet to my quarters, and we joined the halves together and drank from the goblet and pledged our love anew, fulfilling our promise. We lay on fine new fleeces, making a gift of ourselves and our bodies until Dawn reached her rosy fingers into the great vault of the sky.