Free The Gate to Women's Country by Sheri S. Tepper

But they didn’t ask her if she would serve you, Achilles. Now that the warrants of warriors no longer run, she
is
her own ghost.
    A CHILLES She
is my
slave! It’s all been arranged. Spill a maiden’s blood, heart’s blood, or maidenhead, and she’s yours. Everyone knows!
    I PHIGENIA She is no one’s slave, Achilles. In the place of shades, we are all equal….
    H ECUBA Oh, maiden spirit, what
is
this mouthing? IPHIGENIA Achilles’ shade stands on the battlement, his member turgid with the fever of his passing, calling for Polyxena.
    H ECUBA Poor Polyxena.
    I PHIGENIA She may do as she likes, Priam’s Queen. Nothing here constrains her.
    A NDROMACHE What will Polyxena do if nothing constrains her? Mother, what will she do?
    H ECUBA I think she’ll sleep. Polyxena was ever fond of sleep. Do they sup in Hades? Do they dance? Perhaps she’ll eat, or dance. She liked to dance.

    If it were me, I’d sleep, thought Stavia. Not dance or eat. Just sleep. She yawned, turning the page.

    A CHILLES
(Descending the stair)
If Polyxena won’t attend on me, I’ll set myself some other likely game. Are you Iphigenia, maiden child of mighty Agamemnon?
    I PHIGENIA Well I was.
    A CHILLES Why then, we are betrothed!
    I PHIGENIA
(Laughing)
Don’t play the fool, Achilles!
    A CHILLES Odysseus bid you come to Aulis to wed me, did he not?
    I PHIGENIA Pure trickery to get me there, Achilles. They didn’t call Odysseus the fox for nothing! I curse him as I curse my father. You knew nothing ofbetrothal then. When my mother greeted you as my betrothed, you thought her daft!
    A CHILLES That’s true, but later on I agreed it was not a bad match. You were Agamemnon’s daughter, after all. I offered to defend you.
    I PHIGENIA
(With shrill laughter, which echoes from the battlements as though from a horde of female spirits)
Oh, Achilles, Achilles….
(Declaims)
    After I died, you said that you admired my courage, though courage it was not! Anger it was, at all you murderous men. Anger which steeled me not to shame myself!
    Some poet, hearing of your fatuous words composed a song about the bloody deed, and not content with truth, embroidered it with fulsome lies and patent sentiments. What really happened was, you hid yourself, and stayed in hiding until I was dead.
    A CHILLES It wasn’t you who died. Artemis sent a hind to take your place. Everyone knows….
    I PHIGENIA What people know is what they want to know.
    That was a late-come hind, great warrior, for I was there and never saw it come! Artemis sent no hind. Artemis had more urgent business in some other place. It was my blood spurting upon the stones each time my heart’s fist clenched, it was my brain afire with pain, my voice gone dumb, my eyes turned into dimming orbs of sand-worn glass, their youthful luster lost forevermore. Iphigenia, Agamemnon’s child, died on that bloody stone, not some poor hind.
    A NDROMACHE Oh pity. Pity.
    I PHIGENIA And though by now all poets gloss it o’er to make it seem a different, kinder thing, there was no great Achilles at my side, no goddess-given hind to take my place. I made no offer of myself as sacrifice, though all the songs in Hellas say I did.
    H ECUBA What are you saying, spirit?
    I PHIGENIA I am attempting to explain to the warriorthat those who took my life murdered me, though every poet in Hellas sings it otherwise.

    â€œHalloo there,” said a voice in Stavia’s ear.
    â€œHah!” Stavia grunted, jolted out of a half doze. “Who… what… what’s it?”
    â€œJoshua, Stavvy. What are you doing up here, falling asleep, getting yourself sunburned?”
    â€œJosh? I didn’t mean to fall asleep, though every poet in Hellas says I did….” Her voice trailed away, not yet awake. “When did you get back?”
    â€œAn hour or so ago. Nobody was home. I went to the hospital and your mother said you were having