Kolea stepped forward. “My lady, these are—”
“I know who they are,” Iphigenia said forbiddingly. “You may go now.” The girl bobbed her head and fled back to the sunlight.
Pushing herself to her feet, Iphigenia stepped toward Andromache. “I am glad your sense of duty has not deserted you,” she said. Then she paused, for Andromache was staring at her intently, her expression one of sadness. For a moment this confused the old priestess, and then realization dawned.
“Do I look so shocking?” she asked coldly.
“I am sorry to find you unwell,” Andromache told her. The sincerity in her words touched Iphigenia.
“I have been ill, but let us not dwell on the matter. You arrival is a surprise. We expected you in the spring.”
“A ritual to appease the Minotaur should not be so long delayed,” responded Andromache, and Iphigenia saw her expression change. Gone was the concern for her health, replaced by a look of defiance Iphigenia remembered well.
“You brought Kalliope’s remains?”
“I have.” Andromache put the ivory box on the ground and was about to open it, when Kassandra stepped forward and laid her sack down at Iphigenia’s feet.
“These are Kalliope’s bones.” Kassandra bent down to the sack and drew forth a dull gray cloth. Unwrapping it, she revealed a shining white thigh bone and a skull.
Iphigenia looked from one woman to the other.
Andromache was ashen. “How could you do this?” she asked Kassandra.
“Because Kalliope asked me to,” the girl replied. “She wanted to come home to the Beautiful Isle, where she was happy. She wants to be laid in the earth of the tamarisk grove, close to the shrine to Artemis.”
“You don’t realize what you have done,” Andromache stormed, stepping forward, fists clenched. For a moment Iphigenia thought she would strike the girl. Instead she reached out and took the bones from Kassandra’s hands, clutching them to her.
She glared defiantly at Iphigenia. “You will not have her. Not her bones, not her spirit.”
Iphigenia ignored her and called to Kassandra. “Come here, child. Let me look at you.” Kassandra stepped forward, and Iphigenia took her hands.
She spoke softly to the girl. “The tamarisk grove, you say?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew I had no intention of chaining her spirit?”
“I knew. This was not about bones but about luring Andromache to Thera.”
“Yes, it was. And I have both succeeded and failed,” Iphigenia said, reaching up and stroking a dark lock of hair back from Kassandra’s brow.
“So much has been spoken about you, child, and I see now that most of it was nonsense. You may be moon-touched, but Artemis has gifted you with the sight. So tell Andromache why I wanted her here.”
Kassandra turned to her sister. “She wanted to save you from Agamemnon, not deliver you to him. But she thought you would arrive here in the spring when the sailing season starts again, just before the siege begins. Then there would be no way for you to return, and you would be forced to remain here.”
“For what purpose?” Andromache demanded. “Do you care so much for me, lady?” she asked sarcastically.
Iphigenia released Kassandra’s hands. “The Blessed Isle remains free only because its leaders have always been strong, fearless, and unafraid of the world of men. I am dying, Andromache. You can see that. Thera will need a new leader soon. I had hoped it would be you.”
Andromache fell silent and stood staring into Iphigenia’s face. Finally she spoke gently. “But I am married now, and I have a son.”
“And neither of them will survive the onslaught on Troy,” Iphigenia replied gravely. “You will die, too, or face slavery if you remain there.”
Anger rose again in Andromache’s eyes.
“That may be the Mykene view,” she replied, “but it is not mine. Firstly, there is Hektor and his Trojan Horse. Then there are our allies of courage, like Helikaon and my father, Ektion. But even aside from the men of war, there must be some among the enemy who will draw back even now from the folly of pride and envy that is Agamemnon.”
Iphigenia’s shoulders sagged, and she returned to her chair with relief.
“Pride?” she asked quietly. “You think it is pride that drives Agamemnon? It is not, and it is why this war cannot be brought to a peaceful conclusion.”
Kassandra sat down at Iphigenia’s feet, resting her dark head on the old woman’s thigh.
“Why, then?” Andromache asked. “And do not tell me about poor Helen and the great love Menelaus has apparently developed for her.”
Iphigenia gave a cold smile. “No, Helen has no real part to play here, though if Priam had returned her, then Agamemnon’s armies would not have been so mighty. But that is of no import now.” She looked into Andromache’s green eyes. “Do you know what my father had painted upon his shield?”
Andromache frowned. “It was a snake, I am told.”
“A snake eating its own tail,” Iphigenia added. “Atreus had a dry sense of humor. His generals were constantly urging him to attack and conquer other lands. My father fought many battles, but only against those who were threatening us. An army is like a great snake. It must be fed and motivated. The more lands a king controls, the greater his army needs to be. The greater the army, the greater the amount of gold needed to maintain it. You see? As the conqueror strides into each captured city, his treasury grows, but so must his army in order to hold the conquered land. Atreus understood this, hence the snake. For when an army is not fed, or paid, or motivated, it will turn upon itself. Therefore, the conqueror is forced to take his wars farther and farther from his homeland.”
Iphigenia lifted a hand and called out. Instantly a priestess emerged from behind a column and ran forward. “Water,” Iphigenia demanded. The priestess ran the length of the hall, returning swiftly with a pitcher and a silver cup. Iphigenia took the cup from her.
Iphigenia drank deeply, then returned her attention to Andromache. “Agamemnon no longer has a choice. He must build an empire or fall to a usurper from within his own army.”
“But there are gold mines in Mykene land,” Andromache argued. “Everyone knows Agamemnon is rich even without conquest.”
“Yes, three mines,” Iphigenia said. “Only one of them now produces enough color to maintain even the miners. The largest, and once the richest, collapsed upon itself two seasons ago.”
Andromache was shocked. “You are saying Agamemnon has no gold?”
“He has plundered gold, but not enough. He has borrowed gold, but not enough. He has promised gold, and far too much. His only hope is for Troy to be defeated and the riches of the city to fall into his hands. And it will, Andromache. The armies he brings will be as many as the stars in the sky. With them will be Achilles—like Hektor, unbeaten in battle. And wily Odysseus, fox-cunning and deadly in war. Old Sharptooth will be there. Greedy he may be, but Idomeneos is a battle king to be feared. Troy cannot withstand them all.”
“All that you say may be true,” Andromache said. “But you know I would not—could not—desert my son.”
“Of course I know,” Iphigenia told her sadly. “In the spring you would have had no choice, and by summer’s end nothing to return to. But now I cannot save you. I am tired now, Andromache. But you are young and strong. So take Kalliope’s bones to the tamarisk grove and pour wine in remembrance of her. I liked her, you know. She suffered much before she came here.”