Nobody's Princess by Esther Friesner Page A

brothers tried to introduce the subject of our return to Sparta. Predictably, Lord Thyestes refused to hear a word about it. “How can you go so soon? You’ll break your sister’s heart.” He gave Clytemnestra a look of false fondness that quickly became a frown when she made no move to look appropriately heartbroken. He tried a different tactic. “Of course, if you haven’t found our hospitality here to be good enough for you, I’ll understand if you leave.”
    What could my brothers say to that without insulting the king of Mykenae? Castor and Polydeuces had to assure the king that they’d only offered to leave because they didn’t want to burden Mykenae with the expense of lodging and feeding us and all our followers.
    That
was a mistake.
    “I see.” Lord Thyestes steepled his fingers. “How kind of you to consider the welfare of your sister’s new home. By all means, then, send half your men back to Sparta tomorrow. I did wonder why you felt you had to come here surrounded by a small army. The roads between Sparta and Mykenae have bandits, not monsters.”
    Castor and Polydeuces exchanged a stricken look. They were not much of a match for the old king’s wit. Now, if they refused to send home half our soldiers, they’d be liars. If they complied, we’d never have enough men on our side if Thyestes decided that the time had come to force me into marrying his youngest son.
    So we discovered that words as well as swords could win battles.
    My brothers yielded, telling the king that we were very grateful for his generosity and we’d stay as long as he liked. They made no mention of sending away any of our men, but Thyestes let that pass. As he sat there, stuffing his face with food, the chief steward of the palace approached and whispered something in his ear. Thyestes sat up straight, annoyed at being disturbed while he was eating.
    “Yes, yes, I know he’s been waiting all day; I’ve been busy,” he said irritably, wiping the grease from his lips with the back of his hand. “Send him in.”
    The steward bowed and withdrew. He returned shortly, followed by a short, scowling man whose hair and clothes were still heavy with the dust of the road.
    “Hail, Lord Thyestes of Mykenae,” the man declaimed. “I bring greetings from my master, Lord Oeneus of Calydon.”
    Thyestes’s eyebrows rose. Calydon, my mother’s native land, lay far to the northwest, across the isthmus of Corinth. The messenger had a tale of wonders to tell us, a tale of the gods themselves. Old men at Lord Thyestes’s table listened like spellbound children while the road-worn man told about how his master had made the worst mistake any mortal can. When he sacrificed to the gods in thanks for a good harvest, he forgot to include them all. Artemis, goddess of the moon and the hunt, received no sacrifice. It was an oversight, but the gods don’t care about mortal excuses: They only know that the payment for any insult is revenge.
    “Now a wild boar is ravaging Calydon,” the messenger said. “A monstrous boar like a mountain, with hooves of bronze and tusks as big and sharp as scythes. The goddess Artemis sent him to punish my lord Oeneus. The beast destroys everything that crosses his path. His hooves and tusks tear up fields of grain; he breaks down the walls of houses and rampages through the streets of towns. He slaughters our herds and chases all the other game from our forests. The people starve. The hunters who’ve tried to kill him are gutted with a single slash of his tusks, their hounds trampled into bloody muck under the monster’s hooves. And that is why, Lord Thyestes, my master has at last realized that this beast can’t be killed by ordinary men. For this hunt, he wants heroes.”
    There was a great murmuring when the messenger fell silent. Many of the Mykenaeans rose to their feet, eager to start out for wild Calydon that very moment. Every young man there was ready to proclaim himself a hero. My brothers were no