Fate Pauses at Aulis
Odysseus meets Atemija Potinija one more time.
From the rocky tongue of the unyielding headland dividing the two bays where a thousand Achaean ships are moored, Odysseus watches the final rays paint the waves connecting the nearby isle of Euboea with streaks of ichor.
The familiar voice behind him breaks his contemplation, raising in outrage as it approaches. Mighty Achilles stops beside him, curls of fair hair trembling from above. A glimpse of ill-tempered gold in his green eyes sinks into bottomless shadow as he shakes his head in the dusk.
“That cursed flock of sheep has now decided to slaughter her on the altar, and the old fool of Agamemnon is going along with it! His own daughter!”
Odysseus rises to his feet.
“So they are really to slit Iphigenia’s throat. When?”
“Tomorrow at noon, above the hallow bay of Aulis. I tell you, I will not allow this to pass, or the whole fornicating army may stumble to Troy without my sharp bronze!”
The slighter man exhales.
“Mighty Prince, there is nothing we can do about it after the seer Calchas proclaimed Fate’s stream. Agamemnon should not have insulted the Goddess of the Hunt, who now blocks our departure.”
“I’ve had it up to here with all this divine business!” Achilles exclaims, freeing his sword from the scabbard and waving it at the heavens.
Seeing things getting out of hand, Odysseus grits his teeth and plunges ahead, appealing to the mercurial spirits in the mind of the brawny warrior.
“It is not only Fate; she is impotent before the arrogance of gods and the greed of chieftains. Indeed, you can smell the bloodlust on the evening breeze.
We cannot delay our journey of vanquishment and plunder, or the entire flock will turn against the great King, you and I, and our entrails shall feed Poseidon’s pets.”
“I will not stand meek as the virginity of Greece is murdered!”
Odysseus ponders frantically, then sighs, accepting the inevitable.
“Hear my words! Return to camp with calmness. I’ll speak to Her. She owes me … something. As the son of Laertes, I give you my word; the blood spilt on the morrow shall not be of Agamemnon’s fairest.”
He regards the hulking form of the Achaean champion and madman receding into the murkiness.
“Oh, Divinities, what have I promised!” he mutters before slowly making his way towards the pine grove, Her proud realm.
“Atemija Potinija, please reveal yourself; I am your servant,” the man with many faces chants as his resolve hardens with each step under a rising moon.
He just hopes Artemis won’t be in a foul mood, as he never called her after their last get-together.
See also ‘The Sacrifice of Iphigenia’ and Agamemnon’s Dilemma by
@magwitch5151 — https://link.medium.com/CvxSktdqkBb
The above texts were first published on Twitter and are © 2023 by David Pahor.
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