Work Text:
Come closer, mighty Achilles,
If mighty you be. I shan’t offer
To clasp your hand again,
For you do shy before it
Like a blushing bride. Here,
In this sordid and unworthy place,
My husband meant to hold the marriage feast
Though no marriage was planned.
On this sandy spit, washed
In frothing seafoam, your mother’s domain,
By the iron-bound prows of his ships,
Our daughter was to be fêted and praised
And sent floating your way. Or no way,
To no bridegroom or safe harbor.
I defied my husband in this,
Told him this was no fitting place
For a wedding, and I will defy him again,
For custom’s and justice’s sake.
Though they call me a bad wife,
None may call me a bad mother.
You did advise me not to let
People’s mockery bow me down.
Do you think me so weak with vanity?
Were I a man, I would show you
The mother’s rage which kindles within me,
But being a woman, I merely ask:
Would you have me accept the shame
Brought to my family, even by its very head,
And the injury done to my child,
As a matter of no consequence?
Nothing to be done, you say?
The maid taken up to Olympus,
The gods’ will be done?
Fie! Do they not call you swift-footed
And brave, that you run like the storm-wind
And would stand against any – man,
God, Titan, or monster – and win?
You, the son of a goddess,
And a god yourself, perhaps, one day.
You alone among men can return her to me.
Which of Olympus’s dwellers would dare
To stand against you? And what is the threat
Of offending the huntress Artemis
To one such as you, oh mighty Achilles?
If mighty you be.
Troy may be bursting with gold and men
Waiting for plunder and butchery,
But my sister’s faithlessness cannot be measured
As weightier than my child’s life.
Would it not shame you to go to war
With an army which would have stoned you,
With your own Myrmidons who threatened you
Over this matter of honor? You said
It would defile you to have your name
Be the knife which opens by treachery
My daughter’s white throat, and would defend
Her life and your honor, alone against
A barbarian horde worse than any mustered
In Phrygia and Troad: men
Denied the blood and plunder
My husband promised them.
Your words, spoken before me
And all the gods.
Yes, you speak true,
Iphigenia did take comfort in becoming
Greece’s savior, her name honored
For her selfless sacrifice.
Well, I don’t give half a fig for Greece,
Nor a child’s foolish notions of honor!
She should have worn a bride’s veil,
Become mistress of her husband’s house
And lands, toiled in childbirth,
And crowned her own daughters
In marriage wreaths, her sons
In bronze and iron.
That is a woman’s honor.
That is a woman’s good name
And her glory after death.
And now I am to accept
That some god or goddess has spirited her away
To pour his wine or braid her hair
With golden wire? Or to run fleet-footed
Alongside her in the maidenly hunt?
None are fit fates
For a daughter of Argos and Sparta.
I am her mother. I know.
Will you deny her justice
And the true honor due to her?
You speak often of your mother,
The dread sea goddess.
Do you think she would tell you
That my daughter’s life is nothing
Compared to your glory, your war,
Your destiny and good name?
Do you think shame will not follow you
From every woman’s eyes,
On every woman’s tongue?
They do say a woman’s tongue is a foul thing,
Not fit to be heard in the marketplace
Or a temple courtyard,
But it is swift and lethal
And can run ‘round the Ocean thrice
In the time it will take these ships
To reach Troy’s shores.
Do you think your own mother will not scorn you
If you accept my child’s sacrifice,
Son of Thetis and not only Peleus?
I will not ask you to clasp my hand,
Nor will I clasp your knees again.
I know how that would shame you.
But I do ask you to join with me
And shear off a lock in mourning
And don mourning clothes
Until she is found.
After you bring her back
From wherever some god may have hidden her,
We shall pour the barley into the fire,
We shall sprinkle the cleansing water,
We shall crown our heads with garlands,
We shall dance and sing under the full moon.
I will honor my husband’s promise,
Though he never intended as much:
I will lead the dance and the hymn
And lift the marriage torch.
I will honor you both,
The bride and bridegroom,
And I will offer sacrifices
Of barley and wine and meat
For your swift sailing to Troad.
First, you will honor your marriage bed,
And then the world will honor your sword,
Mighty Achilles, if mighty you be.