Among them he pronounced the name of Lamus, son of Onchestus, but the youth’s old father did not hear him. He lay dying in his bed, his heart full of grief because he would have to descend into the house of Hades without seeing his son, the only son that his wife had borne him. For years he had dreamed of seeing Lamus return one day, of seeing him enter the gate to the vineyard under the arbour, made a man by the war and its hardships, of seeing him toss his spear and his shield on the ground and run forward to embrace him. But now his hour had come; his wait had been futile.
When King Menelaus had pronounced the last name, the moon was disappearing behind Mount Taygetus and old Onchestus descended weeping into the shadows. The gods who see all and know all did not permit him to know that his beloved son was alive. Lamus was marching in that moment under an incessant rain on a path which climbed towards the woody heights of the Blue Mountains, in the remote Land of Evening. He was following the son of Tydeus, Diomedes, towards an obscure destiny.
Helen met with Queen Clytemnestra of Mycenae and Queen Aigialeia of Argos in the sanctuary of the Potinja, the ancient goddess and lady of the animals, near Nemea, at night, by the light of a lantern. She had requested this herself, so as not to be recognized or arouse suspicion in the men of her escort. And she had also requested that when they met in the temple, the priestess of the goddess be present as well to celebrate her rites.
‘You’ve changed,’ Queen Clytemnestra said to her.
‘So have you,’ replied Helen meekly.
‘We reign over Argos, Knossos and Mycenae,’ said Aigialeia. ‘We each have a man in the palace and in our beds, but he has no power. You must do away with Menelaus.’
‘Does he know how his brother died?’ asked Clytemnestra.
‘He knows that he is dead. That he has been for some time. And he is suffering.’
‘We’ve suffered as well,’ said Aigialeia. ‘Don’t let yourself be moved. Men are bearers of death and it is only right that they die. It is women who bear life, and our reign will bring happiness back to this world.’
‘He will soon know learn how Agamemnon died,’ said Helen, ‘if he hasn’t already found out. Yesterday friends from Mycenae announced a visit.’
‘Do you know who they are?’ asked Clytemnestra, and fear flashed through her eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ said Helen.
‘You must kill him before he has time to take any initiative. . or find allies.’
‘One of the kings might come to his aid. .’ said Helen.
‘Only Nestor remains,’ said Aigialeia. ‘The others are all dead or gone.’ She handed Helen a vial. ‘This is a potent poison. You must mix it with your perfume and spread it on your body where you know he will kiss you. He will die slowly, little by little, every time he makes love to you. When he is weakened by the poison he will no longer approach you, and it is then that you must entice him, provoke him, force him. He made war to have you back in his bed. And that is how he must die.’ Helen accepted the vial and hid it in the folds of her gown. ‘With Menelaus dead no one will be able to thwart our plan. Old Nestor will be completely alone; at his age, he won’t want to take up a war, and I doubt that his sons will either. Pisistratus, his firstborn, is a bull, but he has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Penelope already reigns in Ithaca, and Ulysses is surely dead. If he were alive he would have returned by now. In Crete, Idomeneus has been dethroned after he immolated his only male heir to the gods. There is no one left in the palace of Minos but the women. We have won!’ exulted Aigialeia.
She was the first to leave the sanctuary, as night was falling. Her driver was waiting for her, holding by the reins a couple of horses as white as the dust on the road. Helen was to go last, after allowing some time to pass. Clytemnestra approached her before taking leave herself. The sanctuary was dark by then and nothing could be seen but the image of the goddess crowned in pale light, although the priestess continued her woeful chanting.
‘Have you seen anything strange among the things that Menelaus brought back with him from Ilium?’
‘What do you mean?’
Clytemnestra smiled and her lips twisted into a kind of grimace. ‘You know. They say that this wretched war was not fought over you, but over something else. .’
Helen did not turn. ‘The talisman of Troy?’
‘But then it’s true,’ gasped Clytemnestra. ‘It was all done for the mad dream of endless power. . that is why Iphigenia was sacrificed, her throat slit at the altar like a lamb’s. .’ Her voice trembled and her eyes filled with darkness; her forehead was creased and drawn. She bowed her head and gathered her thoughts in silence, then said: ‘Aigialeia had all of Diomedes’s comrades killed and requisitioned all their booty. She searched everywhere. She was evidently looking for something.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Helen. ‘The same thing.’
‘But you must certainly know then. . Who took it? Was it Diomedes? Menelaus? Ulysses perhaps? Or maybe. . perhaps it was Agamemnon. He was the great king, after all.’
‘If Agamemnon had had it, how could it have escaped you? No one got away, as far as I’ve been told. .’
‘Many of his ships managed to set sail that night; we do not know where they went. No one has seen them since. Could destiny mock us so? Could it have been on one of those very ships?’
‘I do not know who has the talisman of Troy. I know that many that night were looking for it: Diomedes, Ulysses, Ajax, perhaps even Agamemnon or Menelaus. . there’s only one person who surely knows where it is to be found: princess Cassandra, who is your slave, I believe. She was the priestess of the temple.’
‘She’s dead,’ Clytemnestra said.
‘Dead? But why?’
‘She was his lover. I killed her.’
‘How could you have done that? What did it matter that Agamemnon had a lover? You have destroyed the only chance we had to learn the truth.’
‘What is done is done. Maybe Menelaus knows something nonetheless. It won’t be difficult to find out if you use your wiles. . You must learn everything before making him die.’
‘Why do you desire that thing so? By wanting it, you’re making us like them. Seeking power for power’s sake.’
Clytemnestra was pale, and her forehead was damp: ‘I must know why this war was really fought; I must know, at any cost.’
‘Tonight I will go naked to Menelaus’s bed, and I will be wearing the perfume you have given me. You will soon know whether your design will be brought to completion. And you will know all the rest, if there is anything more to know. But how will you remain silent, until then? Menelaus will surely demand to see the burial place of his brother, and will immolate a sacrifice to his shade. How will you explain his death? Will you shirk your own part in it?’
‘Perhaps it would be better to kill him at once.’
‘Impossible,’ replied Helen. ‘He is always accompanied by his guard, all veterans from the Trojan war who never leave his side for a moment. I am the only person to have intimate contact with him. Should something happen to him, I will be immediately blamed, and put to death. There are many who hate me. Especially the elders, who believe that the war was fought for my sake, and reproach me for the deaths of their sons in the fields of Asia. I must convince Menelaus of your innocence. Or at least leave him doubting your guilt.’
‘I know what I can do,’ said Queen Clytemnestra. ‘I will send a legation to render homage to Menelaus and to invite him to Mycenae so he can learn the truth about his brother’s death and make a sacrifice on his tomb. He will certainly sense a trap and refuse. At this point I will no longer have to justify myself, and I can accuse him of being in bad faith. You will take care of the rest.’
‘That seems like a good solution,’ responded Helen. Clytemnestra drew close to embrace her, but Helen flicked her eyes at the men of the guard who stood observing them at the threshold of the sanctuary. ‘Better not,’ she said. ‘Farewell, my sister, may the gods enable us to fulfil our aspirations.’